In the end, he left.
Standing at the ferry's railing, Henry watched the choppy waves of the Bering Sea crash against the sturdy hull. The relentless sea—a constant source of headaches—didn't look any gentler now than it had during his time on the crab boat.
Though the ferry swayed, it was far better than the toy-like crab boat he'd lived on for two months. Still, a pang of nostalgia struck him. Despite the hardships, those two months had been meaningful.
He had thought about leaving some money behind for Old John. But after testing the waters, he knew the old man would never accept it—he'd just get an earful instead. So instead, Henry helped out by doing some quiet renovations on the rundown bar.
Of course, he couldn't directly ask Old John what needed fixing. In that stubborn old man's eyes, the bar was perfect. Anyone suggesting otherwise would likely earn a swift smack to the back of the head.
Instead, Henry discreetly asked the bar's regulars what they thought. Some had jokingly suggested tearing the whole place down and starting fresh—but those remarks were quickly followed by a string of curses. Not only would Old John never approve of such nonsense, but most of the town wouldn't either.
So, Henry ignored those dramatic suggestions and bought materials himself, quietly working to leave his mark on the place.
Would he ever return? That was hard to say. This place wasn't home, after all.
No one came to see him off. Old John gave him a silent hug, then turned back to the bar—just as he had when he sent both his sons off to Vietnam.
Henry's destination was Los Angeles. The old Cadillac he'd bought from Old Tom was securely parked on the ferry. He hadn't booked a private cabin; if he needed to rest, he'd either have to hunker down in his car or squeeze into the public lounge like everyone else.
The scheduled voyage would take just over a day—less than two, slower than a flight but not unbearably long.
Still, boarding this ferry was no easy task.
First, Henry had to drive to Juneau, the capital of Alaska, to catch one of the few large ferries operating during this season. Driving through Alaska in a blizzard, with no snowplows in sight, was grueling enough to make anyone reconsider their life choices.
What should have been a simple trip took several exhausting days.
Forget roadside motels—he had to carry his own food and water and sleep in the car. And of course, he had to be extremely careful about fuel. This time of year, Alaska had plenty of snow and stunning scenery—but gas stations were few and far between. Some roads weren't even paved.
At one point, he could see the road he needed on the other side of a cliff or river—but to get there, he had to detour for miles, looking for a bridge or a gentler slope to cross.
Faced with such obstacles and with no one around, Henry decided to try something he'd never dared before—flying. Channeling his inner Kryptonian, he lifted the car and flew it across.
To his surprise, flying wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined. After a few clumsy hops, he got the hang of it. Strength, too, came easily—it was controlling it that proved tricky.
He'd avoided trying to fly before because he'd been misled by the Smallville TV series he remembered from his previous life. It took Clark Kent ten full seasons just to learn how to fly and don the red and blue suit. Subconsciously, Henry assumed it would be just as difficult.
But when the need arose, he mastered the skill much faster than expected. It turned out to be the most surprising benefit of crossing over.
Thanks to this cheat-like ability, Henry was able to bypass many snowy obstacles by taking to the skies, car and all. Eventually, he made it to Juneau.
Technically, the same port where the crab boats launched also had ferries. In Alaska, small planes and boats were the primary modes of transport—cars could only get you so far.
However, due to sea ice, no ferries were running from that port at the time. And the number of ferries capable of transporting vehicles was even more limited. Some people suggested he ship the car via cargo vessel and take a passenger ferry himself, transferring to another ferry at a larger port later on.
But no matter the method, the consensus was the same: he'd have to wait until spring.
In hindsight, Henry had picked the worst possible time to leave. No wonder people at the bar had barely held back their laughter—they were watching a live comedy unfold.
As the trip dragged on, Henry cursed Old Tom repeatedly. That so-called kind old man had probably sold him the Cadillac just to get a new car for himself.
Sure, Tom's reasoning had sounded logical at the time. But looking back, it was clear he just wanted to dump the old car onto someone else—and Henry was the perfect sucker.
If he hadn't been saddled with a car, Henry could have taken a small plane from a nearby airstrip to a larger airport, then boarded a commercial flight to Los Angeles. He'd have arrived days ago.
In short, this whole ordeal was a painful lesson.
Henry had assumed those elderly townsfolk would look after a younger guy like him. But in reality, he'd been tricked and dumped into a pit. Even Tom—just because he was introduced by George—didn't make him automatically trustworthy. That so-called friendly old man had his own little schemes.
It was a stark reminder that "a friend of a friend" doesn't always mean friend. It was a lesson Henry had learned before crossing over, and now—more than twenty years later—life had taught it to him again.
Sure, the prank didn't seem life-threatening, but if he hadn't had Kryptonian powers, he might've died on the road or been forced to turn back in defeat.
In fact, back in the town, some of the residents had started a betting pool, wagering on how long it would take him to crawl back and admit defeat.
After seven days without seeing him return, many began to think Henry had died on the road. Only Old John firmly believed he was still pressing forward.
Whether he had reached his destination or perished in the snow, no one in town had the resources or stamina to go looking for him.
Their old bones wouldn't survive searching in that kind of weather. At best, they'd check the nearby towns or send inquiries south. But after that, the matter would be dropped.
They could only hope the little guy who'd set out into a frozen hellscape had truly survived.
What they didn't know was how shameless Henry had been—using heat vision to melt ice and snow, then flying over difficult stretches with the car in tow.
But Alaska in winter was practically uninhabited. The thick snow erased tracks, and there were no bystanders to see what he was doing. It was the perfect setting for practicing his superpowers. In town, there had been no such opportunities.
So, while others might have frozen or turned back, Henry flew, melted, and powered his way through the storm.
Eventually, he arrived.
When he finally drove into the port, the staff assumed he was a local. No one would have guessed that he had come all the way from a remote fishing village in central Alaska—through a blizzard, no less.
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