Hao dragged his slimy, rotting carcass up the cliff onto the prickly, dead grass at the edge. It usually took a few tries, and sometimes he’d fall back into the crashing waves below, but he’d yet to miss a night since his car careened over that cliff last month.

Brushing mud from his algae-infested jeans, he planted his fists in his hips and waited.

It didn’t take long.

A neon-orange sports car came flying down the hill, blazing lights blinding in the overcast night. No matter how many lives Dead Man’s Curve claimed, no one ever learned. He heard the familiar cacophony of pounding base. Uncontrolled laughter. Beer cans clattering against concrete.

They had to stop now or they’d never stop again.

Hao stepped into the road. Sticking his thumbs in his ears, he waggled his fingers and stuck out his tongue.

They swerved.

Tires. Brakes. Screams. Glass. Then ominous silence.

Picking his way through the wreckage, he wrenched the driver’s door open.

Jackpot. A large pizza box lay nestled on the center console, still steaming in the chilly air.

Ignoring the moaning passengers, he claimed his reward and shambled back to the cliff. Maybe tomorrow’s rescue would yield burgers.