Terrain.org fiction in this issue:
  

Nova
by Liz Warren-Pederson, with audio

It occurred to him, as the world spun around like a carnival ride, that when it stopped he might not get off. This thought had no power over him. He let go of the wheel, and his arms whipped up around his ears of their own volition, jerking like an articulated toy. Then the roof was the floor and he was flopping upside down from the seatbelt. The position was comfortable, and comforting, and he closed his eyes.
  

Coyote
by Werner A. Low

Karl’s heart exploded when his coyote suggestion was accepted. Over the years he must have put thirty ideas into the Innovation Box—which was first a wooden Suggestion Box, and then an electronic Idea Box—and he’d never gotten more than the standard, “Thank you for your contribution” note. So this was big. Really big.
  

Higher Ground
by Darren Akerman

The moon sketched snow-crusted hills and black pines out of the darkness, stars flecked around its thumbprint like the spatter of white paint. The old Ford pickup truck idled beside the barn. Mark inhaled the aroma of November night: cold air tinged with woodsmoke from the chimney, and the crisp woolly smell of his father’s hunting jacket.
  

South of Flag
by Aaron H. Gilbreath

It reminded Curtis of how his youngest son looked when Curtis picked him up from jail for shoplifting the first time. His kid was a derelict, but at least he could handle snow. “I can give you a lift.” Curtis straightened his mesh cap, fished a bandana from his back pocket and wiped his nose. “Tell you what. I’ve got a rig out back. We’ll load your little car up and drive you as far south as we need to to get past the snow.”
  

Devil Take the Hindmost
by Rosalie Morales Kearns

From the ridge on White Mountain it takes an hour to scramble down to where her car’s parked, and then for miles she bounces along the dirt-and-gravel ribbon that’s labeled a “drivable trail” on the State Forest map. “It’s a drill,” she says out loud. But they stopped the drills years ago. Or it’s a mistake. Or something local, a toxic spill on the interstate. Gravel turns into blacktop and she’s on the access road, then Rt. 235, still not another car in sight.