“No Turning Back ”

Norman, a man with a pathological compulsion to keep going forward, is driving on a desolate stretch of open road. He is reminded of a news story about arrows painted on the road leading to a dead body, and the idea of cults and cannibals among the trees. He wonders if there is a town in this direction, but he continues forward, driven by the gas needle.

As he drives, he notices that his rental car seems to guzzle up the end of a tank of gas. He has driven many rental cars over the years, all of which were generic, domestic-made sedans in some innocuous color. The controls were all in relatively the same place, but each had some little quirk, like a punchy accelerator or very touchy brakes. This one seemed to guzzle up the end of a tank of gas.

The area is broadly called the interior of a state that resided in what was also called the interior of the country. It was landlocked and made up of endless flat planes of farmland stretching for miles in all directions. The few roads that bisected the fields were miles apart and flanked by sky-high rows of feed corn. It made the drive eerie and suffocating, like traveling down a long, empty hallway.

Every few miles, he would reach an intersection and strain his eyes looking for any sign of life, but nothing. Turn after turn and mile after mile, he had gone deeper and deeper into the green abyss as his rental sedan greedily drank up the precious fuel and his phone searched for a connection in vain.

Eventually, with little fanfare or ceremony, the car shuddered, lurched, and died. A little light with a gas pump blinked on the dash. The silence closed in around the car to join the dark.

Norman looks around again for any sign of an approaching car, but he couldn't decide if he was genuinely humming or if he was just a stuttering, unsure of whether he was truly humming or if he was just a stuttering.

Norman, a man driving on unfamiliar roads, wakes up to the sound of screeching metal. He realizes it is headlights behind him, likely a truck or van. A large figure emerges from the darkness, dressed in old cowhide and disheveled. He tells Norman that he ran out of gas at Ryann's place, which had been closed for years. He decides to help him with his gas needs and finds a canvas sheet covered in metal, wood, and rusted tools.

The older man, Hank, tries to find the signs on the roads with the arrows, but Norman is unable to find them. He believes he put them there. Hank turns to face the other man, who is closer than he had realized. He admits to having put the arrows there. The knife sinks into Hank's abdomen and lung, causing him to collapse.

His signs were still out there, directing prey to this spot, and there was always the slightest chance someone else would come before he could leave.

Norman is shocked and grateful for his help. He takes some deep breaths and looks out over the dark emptiness, knowing that his trips did not always prove fruitful. He knows he should move quickly now, as his signs were still out there directing prey to his spot. He has experienced similar incidents in Appalachia, where drivers didn't stop to investigate if they saw anything.

In the end, Norman realizes that he should have turned back miles ago, as he had given himself no other option, and the only way out was through.