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Chapman had never had a chance to screw it shut. She did so now, feeling a bit queasy. When she looked up, she saw David wince. “Let’s go,” she said, and headed inside.
    Behind the counter, a bored-looking guy in a beat-up Pearl Jam T-shirt was turning the pages of a magazine. He glanced up when they entered but did not seem particularly interested in them. They wandered down the two short aisles, searching for maps. David found a road atlas that cost $16.95.
    “It’s too much,” Reese whispered. “We have to buy gas.” Her stomach growled. “And some food.”
    He flipped the atlas open to the page on Nevada and scrutinized the tiny lines and letters. “We’re on 93 North, right?”
    “Yeah.” Reese peered over his arm at the map. “Look, there’s Ash Springs,” she said.
    With his finger, he traced a line that jutted west from 93 North. “We can take this—318 to 375, then to 6 and 95 North.”
    “North? Don’t we have to go west?”
    “Ninety-five will get us to Reno, and then we can get onto 80 West. That goes straight to Oakland.”
    She took the atlas from him and followed the white lines he pointed out. “Okay,” she agreed, memorizing the road numbers. “You want me to drive for a while? You could get some sleep.” David had the dazed expression of someone who had been trying to stay alert for too long.
    “Aren’t you tired?” he asked.
    “Not as tired as you are. You’ve been driving all day.” Helooked skeptical, and she said, “If I get too tired I’ll pull over and go to sleep. But I think we should keep going as long as we can.”
    “All right,” David relented. “Let’s go pay.”
    At the counter, Reese set down two granola bars, a large bag of Doritos, a Diet Coke, and a bottle of water. “Is there a pay phone around here?” she asked the attendant.
    “Yeah, but it’s broken.”
    “Do you know where the nearest pay phone is?” David asked.
    “You might find one in Rachel. Don’t you have a cell phone?”
    “No reception,” David said.
    The boy shrugged. “It’s spotty out here. You know, military presence and all.”
    “What military presence?” Reese asked.
    “You’re not from around here, are you?” the boy said flatly.
    “We drove up from Vegas,” Reese said. “Haven’t you heard about what’s going on?”
    He shrugged. “Some crazy shit with birds, right? Whatever. I still gotta work.”
    David’s eyebrows rose. “Well, we’re heading to 318 West,” he said. “Do you know how to get there?”
    “Sure. Everybody who comes through here wants to go there.”
    “Why?” David asked.
    “It’s the Extraterrestrial Highway. You know,
aliens
. Area 51.” The boy whistled the
X-Files
theme song.
    “Oh. Right,” David said. “So is it far from here?”
    “You can’t miss the turnoff for 318. That’ll take you to Rachel too. Just keep an eye out for the Alien Fresh Jerky sign.”
    “Alien jerky,” Reese repeated in disbelief.
    “Alien
fresh
jerky,” he corrected her. “Can’t miss it.”
    “Thanks,” David said. He turned to head back out to the gas pump, and Reese hurried to keep up with him.
    “This place is crazy,” she whispered.
    “No doubt,” David agreed, and pulled the gas nozzle out of the pump. He hesitated for a moment before unscrewing the cap to the tank, and Reese knew he was thinking about Mr. Chapman. She shivered, crossing her arms, and glanced nervously around the gas station. But there was nobody else there. Ash Springs was deserted except for them.

    The sign advertising ALIEN FRESH JERKY appeared just as the sun dipped below the horizon. A green alien head—a pointed oval with black, almond-shaped eyes—peered out from the billboard. Near the sign was a brown shack that during the day might open into a farm stand but was now boarded shut.
    Reese turned left onto 318, taking a sip of her Diet Coke. David had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had left the gas station, but the stop in Ash Springs—and the