Johan: “Just don’t worry. I’ll secure us a solid alibi. Xan, head back to Jink’s and clean up. We’ll keep searching here until you’re done.”

It continued. The footsteps. The hammering. The flashlights seeping through the rust holes and the half-inch seam where the hood wouldn’t latch. Kitty had no idea how long she hid in that cramped engine compartment. Even when the search ended and she heard their vehicles pulling away, she didn’t move, certain that Johan had remained behind, and was standing on the roof of the office with the ax across one shoulder, carefully surveying the yard, waiting for her to emerge.

Morning broke slowly, in shades of coral and red, and Kitty wept, suddenly aware that she hadn’t expected to see a new day. Her tears were frightened and grateful, but mostly angry. She exited her hiding spot the same way she had entered—not by lifting the hood, but by dropping down through the engine compartment and slithering out from beneath the car.

It took a minute to be able to straighten her spine and legs, to first kneel, then stand. Walking was another matter. She leaned against the Impala, then pushed off and staggered six or seven steps, collapsing against the skeletal frame of what had once been a pickup truck.

Johan didn’t descend on her with his ax. The salvage yard was empty. The only sounds were the gently creaking palms and the whoosh of commuter traffic on a nearby freeway.

“Come on, Kitty,” she gasped. “Come on.”

She took a deep breath—it tasted of oil and grit—and stumbled to the next vehicle, then the next. Sweat dappled her brow. She dropped her skateboard to the dirt, lowered her right knee onto it, then pushed herself along.

There was a water barrel outside the derelict office, one-quarter full. Kitty leaned in and removed the skin of insects from the surface, then rinsed the blood and dirt from her body. The water was warm and foul-smelling, but it did the job. She couldn’t bring herself to drink it, though, despite a raging thirst.

Marginally fresher, Kitty moved on. She procured a dirty blanket from the trunk of a rust-eaten Ford, shook out the spiders, and wrapped it around herself.

She tried walking again, and managed, but slowly. Eventually, she found a gap in the chain-link and left the yard.