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key, and I have been diligent, as were those who came before me.”
    Outside the car, dry lightning carved the sky, highlighting clouds that looked like seething shapes forming on the horizon. “If you could rewrite the Bible, the Nag Hammadi, the Tablets of Thoth, directly from the source, would you sacrifice your life to do it   ?”
    Another religious loony tune—this one with a shiny heretical paint job, Max thought, trying to chuckle in spite of a gnawing fear that was coiling in his stomach. He quickly turned the key and tried to give life to a halting ignition while avoiding glancing out into the darkness. He was still shaken by the crash, and nervous that he might be stranded out on this forgotten ribbon of highway with this obviously insane misanthrope and whatever loped up into the hills.
    After much protesting and cajoling from Max, the battered engine sputtered to life. He revved out the kinks, then backed out from the embankment and out onto the highway, jammed the car into drive, and drove wobbly on in the same direction he was going, the voice continuing its diatribe, with Max trying not to listen. The compass still spun like a mindless dervish, so it was no good to him. But Max knew where he was going. West. Ever west and as west as he could. He had to leave this weird fucking place behind.
    As he built up speed, the radio signal got stronger, and Max found himself listening more intently in spite of himself, finding courage in motion, and increasingly fascinated by this obviously deranged individual who somehow attained access to the radio airwaves. It was like an auditory train wreck, the ultimate metaphysical reality show, and Max couldn’t turn his ears away, or move himself to turn off the radio.
    “It’s late in my mission,” the voice said, “and nearly time for me to move on. I’m waiting for my replacement so the work and the message can continue. They tell me that the time of the awakening is at hand, and as such, the preparations have become more urgent than ever before.”
    The signal started to fade, and so Max slowed. He was now fully engrossed in this mournful monologue, and felt somehow compelled to keep listening, as if guided by a gentle outside force. Nearly losing the signal all together, Max stopped the car in the middle of the empty highway, dropped into reverse, and trundled backwards in the darkness cut open by his white reverse lamps, until the signal increased in strength again. He stopped and idled, leaning forward, as if to better connect with this lone speaker in the darkness.
    “The desert tells me to do this, and I do as I’m told, because you never, ever argue with the desert.” The voice giggled again, this time with more mirth, but it ended with a terrified edge, as before. “So, now I whisper to you, speaking for the desert, speaking for those behind the desert, and speaking for myself, as my time here has lately become short.”
    The car engine shuddered, seized, and expired. Max didn’t notice.
    “There is beauty and horror here, wisdom and madness, and I have drunk deeply of it all. Will you do the same   ?” The man went silent. Lightning licked the sky. Max, again feeling the car close in around him, began to wonder if this was merely a one-way conversation.
    “Will you   ?” the voice asked again.
    “Me   ?” Max answered.
    “You,” the voice continued, as if in confirmation. “Will you do the same   ?” The signal wavered and buzzed, then faded into fuzz again.
    Max flung open his door and tumbled out of the car. Rushing to the smashed hood, he pushed against the cracked grill with all of his might, and moved the Dodge backward, gaining momentum as he labored. As it picked up speed, Max ran to the open car door and jumped inside, breathing hard as he turned up the volume. The signal came back in, and Max quickly veered the car off the road onto the graveled shoulder, settled in behind the wheel and listened.
    “—slicing open the