Matt

The sun was higher now, already promising heat, but a thin haze in the sky kept it from being brutal.

We followed the wash, stepping around the tracks we'd seen earlier.

They grew less distinct as we moved farther from camp.

Eventually, it was just the usual scatter of animal prints and wind-sculpted ripples.

An hour later, the wash widened and flattened.

Something else caught my eye before we reached it.

Off to the left, half hidden behind a low rise, was a structure.

Is that a hut?

Miguel asked.

Old Hogan, maybe, Ryan said quietly.

We walked toward it without really deciding to.

It was like the thing had its own gravity.

The structure was small, maybe 12 feet across, built from timbers and packed earth.

The roof had partially collapsed, and the doorway had no door, just a dark opening.

It looked old, but not ancient, like something that had been used within the last few decades, then abandoned.

There were no tire tracks or footprints leading to it that I could see.

Feels wrong to just like go in, I said.

We're just looking, Ryan replied.

Not touching anything.

Plus, there's no sign.