Matt

If anything, we were closer than before.

But the car in front of us didn't care what the GPS said.

Maybe there's more than one rusted sedan, I said weakly.

Maybe.

Look, Miguel said.

He pointed toward the hood.

There, almost invisible under the dust, was a faint outline where some long-gone owner had once stuck a decal and then peeled it off.

The adhesive had left a slightly darker shape that time and sun hadn't quite erased.

It was a circle with four lines crossing through it at odd angles, the symbol from the hut wall.

I don't remember deciding to get out of the truck.

One minute I was in the back seat, the next my boots were sinking into hot sand.

The air felt heavier, the brightness of the sky pressed down.

We're not lost, Ryan said, more to himself than to us.

We can't be lost.

I have a compass.

I have a map.

I have... He broke off.

From somewhere off to our right, faint but clear, came the sound of a woman crying for help.

Hello, she called.

Please, someone… Her voice was thin, ragged.