The Car

You step closer to the car, trying to angle yourself in such a way as to make the most of the faint sunlight that seeps through the cracks in the paneled walls. A beam swirling with dust motes falls over the flecked headlights. You’re positive the flecks are blood. 

There’s some cracking in the casing over the bulb, and when you follow the splatter trail down toward the grill, you notice a torn piece of paper tucked into a seam in the metal. You try to wrench it free but it tears even more, leaving you with only a sliver of paper that reads:

Reme

The

Find the

33 Ros

The note feels familiar, as if you’ve read it before. You tuck it into your pocket.