Blake drove through rocky hills, smooth road twisting beneath pristine stars, cool air that tasted like the ancient earth. When the sun sets on the desert, you can see the blue-purple band of the atmosphere lit up by the sun like a crown, a fragile shield, a blanket. He stopped to drink cold water by the side of the road, absorbing the night’s beauty until he could bear it, until he could drive once again without his eyes drifting to the sky. He felt joy in his heart, but mingled with terrible sorrow and horror. The land lay peaceful and free, though caged in woven barbed wire.

  They were headed into Chaco Canyon. Coyote stalked through juniper, sagebrush, and cacti. This place had been a river valley once, but the river had become ephemeral. The people who lived there were often called Ancestral Pueblo or Basketmakers. They were the ancestors of the Hopi and Pueblo. They had hauled sandstone blocks for miles and built houses in the cliffs. They made ceramic bowls and turquoise beads. They farmed corn and hunted with bows. They practiced astronomy, built observatories, and recorded their findings in petroglyphs. In 1054 AD, they observed the Crab Nebula Supernova, which was also recorded in China and Iraq. Around 1150 AD, the Basketmakers disappeared mysteriously, possibly due to climate change.

  Blake could not afford hotels every night. In fact, he could not afford a single damn thing. He counted his dollars like grains of sand in an hour glass.The laws of the United States permitted one to camp for free in National Forests, but these were few and far between, like islands of refuge. (This was after Denver, but before the Grand Canyon.) Blake had found a National Forest on his map, but it had been dark for hours and he was getting too tired to drive. They drove around the edges of the forest, but they couldn’t find an entrance. The GPS didn’t work. Eventually, they found a road leading up into pine hills. This road had no sign or markings, but it certainly headed towards the National Forest they were seeking. They turned off into the woods.

  The road turned to gravel, but Lil Ol’ Blue had four-wheel drive. Blake felt grim, groggy and delirious, but too hungry to sleep. After a mile of driving hairpins uphill, they found a place to pull off. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The stars had disappeared. Blake took out his gas stove and started cooking a pot of lentils and peppers. When it started to rain, he opened the car door and used it to stretch a tarp over the stove. He and Mohammed sat in the steamy car, grumpily yearning for sleep. Green lentils take forever to cook.

  A light shone near the top of the hill. “Look at that,” whispered Blake. Blue-white light, a powerful beam, swept across the woods.

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  Mohammed sat up and narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck is that?”

  “It looks like one of those lamps they have on cop cars. You know the swiveling ones? They mount ‘em by the side mirrors.”

  “It could be a flashlight.”

  “But it’s too big. And it’s not wobbling. It’s got to be mounted on something.”

  “But look, it’s rotating 360 degrees. It can’t be on the side of a car.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s probably aliens.”

  “Or it’s on the back of a quad bike.”

  “You hear an engine?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  Blake checked the lentils. They were still hard and flavorless. It would take another 20 minutes. Suddenly, the light disappeared.

  “It’s definitely aliens,” said Blake. “That, or we’re about to get shot.”

  “You think we’re on private property?”

  “It’s possible. I haven’t seen a sign.”

  They grumbled and joked. Mohammed fell asleep. The rain grew stronger till the stove stood in a puddle. Blake left the cabin light off. He didn’t want to be seen by the mysterious watcher. He sat there looking at the rain on the window, testing the lentils every minute.

  The beam of light returned. Its point of origin remained exactly the same, but it swept more quickly across the woods, more intently. Suddenly, it found them. The beam fixed upon the car, blazing bright in Blake’s eyes. He put his hand on Mohammed’s shoulder.

  Mohammed said, “Fuck fuck fuck,” and Blake took down the tarp. He put away the stove and tossed the pot into the back seat. There was rainwater in the lentils and on the seats of the car; Blake’s hair and shoulders were soaked. The beam of light still glared intently at them. Blake started the engine. As he drove down the hill, the light followed them, implacable. They returned to the highway and drove for half an hour before Blake pulled over to eat the undercooked lentils. Mohammed declined, having already sated himself with jerky and trail mix, but he volunteered to drive while Blake rested.

  After an hour, they found a parking lot where they could sleep, the incandescent outskirts of a superstore. Since it was still raining, they had to keep the windows closed. The car filled up with the steamy scent of wet socks. “At least we didn’t get abducted,” muttered Blake.

  “Might have been better if we got abducted,” said Mohammed. He held out a bit of hope for adventures into another world. Blake looked up into the darkness, thinking of sharks in the deep sea.