Suddenly our truck—Ben-David’s and Giora’s—brakes hard and plunges frame-down onto a berm of sand. The vehicle stops as if it had hit a wall. I’m flung violently into the dashboard.

ME

What was that?!

I thrash back to upright. Ben-David and Giora are peering forward over the hood.

The view is straight down.

Our truck has nose-dived over the crest of a dune and belly-flopped to a stop on the summit.

Two hundred feet below, we see headlights and taillights, fog lamps, and the red and yellow spot-beams of a pickup truck’s light bar. Through breaks in the murk we glimpse two male figures and one female.

BEN-DAVID

It’s Rachel! That’s Instancer!

I’m out the door and onto the sand. The second male below is Manning.

ME

Go down! Drive down!

GIORA

I can’t. We’ll flip like they did.

I’m shouting down the dune to Manning.

With the storm he can’t see or hear me.

I start down on foot. Ben-David grabs me. Giora holds me back too.

BEN-DAVID

That’s quicksand. You’ll sink into it like water.

I’m struggling against them.

BEN-DAVID

Wait!

Ben-David points to the base of the dune. I follow his finger. I’m straining to see through gaps in the murk.

As Ben-David, Giora, and I watch, Instancer mounts to the driver’s seat of the Chinook. Even through the storm we can hear the growl of the 7.6-liter Duramax diesel. The pickup bucks forward. Its massive desert tires churn. The buried Humvee won’t budge. The diesel screams again. We can see the Humvee twitch, then buck a foot or two forward. Sand spills from its topline. Instancer rocks the pickup, tugging, tugging. The tow chains sing. We can hear them, like human voices, through the gale. Suddenly, with a ferocious heave and pop, the Humvee springs forward and up, shedding sand in great sheaves. The vehicle careens wildly, almost flips, then squirts free, totters for a moment on its rightmost rims, then lurches again and crashes down hard onto its four tires. The Humvee has righted itself. Instancer has righted it.

BEN-DAVID

Giora, back off this dune! Get the truck moving!

I’m peering through binoculars now. I see Instancer, moving swiftly and efficiently, decouple the tow chains and sling them, clanging, back into the cargo bed of his truck. He lifts the tailgate and shuts it.

Instancer and Manning stand across from each other.

They’re speaking.

I’m watching and timing the exchange in my head. Five seconds. Ten. Part of me wants to scramble back to the comm tablet in Ben-David’s cab on the chance of catching a phrase or even a word. But I don’t dare tear my eyes from the scene below.