Matt

"'Desert's got good acoustics,' Ryan said, forcing a grin.

"'Sound bounces in strange ways.

I had a campfire once where a donkey sounded like a demon.'

Nobody laughed.

We sat there listening for another minute.

The chorus started up again, farther away this time, and I could tell Ryan was right about one thing.

The sound was doing something strange in the wash.

It seemed to come from one direction and then another, like the voices were circling us without actually moving.'

After a while, it faded.

We tried to pick the conversation back up but it never really regained the same easy momentum.

The night pressed in around us, thick and watching.

I kept having the sensation that if I just turned my head fast enough, I'd catch something standing right at the edge of the firelight.

At some point, I realized Miguel's eyes had been flicking toward the same spot behind me every few seconds.

I turned casually, like I was stretching.

There was nothing there, just darkness and the vague outline of scrub.

You keep looking over there, I said.

You seeing something?

He shook his head without meeting my eyes, just making sure I don't see something.

That didn't help.

Around 11, Ryan announced he was going to crash.