Lucas slid his credit card across the counter. He held his breath as the ancient card reader dialed out, clicking and whirring. Approved.

The woman returned, thumping a heavy, heavy cardboard box onto the counter. The brand-new aluminum casing of the alternator caught the shop's fluorescent light, looking like a silver crown in a room full of junk. "That'll be two hundred even," she said.

He pulled out his phone, the screen cracked and dimming. He typed four desperate words into the search bar: .

The neon sign for "Bud’s Auto" flickered against the heavy rain, dropping the 'B' into darkness so it just read "ud’s." Lucas pulled his steaming 2008 sedan into the gravel lot, the battery light on his dashboard glowing a furious, mocking red. He killed the engine, and the windshield wipers died halfway through a swipe.

She disappeared into the back, the sounds of metal clanging against metal echoing through the dim warehouse. Lucas checked his phone again. 3% battery. If this part didn’t work, he was stranded in a town he didn't know, with no way to call for help.

The map dropped a pin exactly where he was standing. Bud’s was the only green dot for twenty miles.