They waited for “the bus” just outside the main terminal at McCarran airport. She stood with the agent never more than six feet away from her and she couldn’t help but feel anxious. As she stood in the hot, dry air, she tried calling home, but couldn’t get a signal. That worried her—though it was probably nothing.

A bus pulled up in front of them, and the agent said, “This’ll be for you.” It had no markings, the windows were all blacked out, and the license plate was government-issued. None of which eased her worries.

The door opened, and the agent ushered her aboard. Goose bumps rose on her skin as the cool of the air conditioning greeted her. A handful of other people were already aboard, and Kathy sensed a general feeling of bewilderment among them.

She took a seat by herself, and the bus began moving.

For a long time, the only sound was the hum of the engine as the bus moved ever forward. With the windows painted black, she had no idea where she was going, and her phone continued to have zero bars.

She did not like this. Not at all.

###

After a long ride—Kathy wasn’t sure how long, because she fell asleep—the bus jolted to a stop. The front door opened with a hiss, and the passengers piled out. A couple of them whispered to each other in Spanish, which only intensified Kathy’s feeling of isolation. Not only did she not understand what they were saying, but these two people had each other to talk to. She had no one.

Outside the bus, the sun shone brightly on a drab brown world of barbed-wire fences, soldiers with guns on their hips, and blocky concrete buildings.

It looked like a refugee camp.

Surrounded by high fences, she stood in line, waiting. The people ahead of her were being interviewed by some Spanish-speaking soldiers in fatigues when a soldier motioned to catch her attention. “May I have your name?”

She approached the soldier, who was wielding a clipboard and pencil. “Katherine O’Reilly.”

The soldier looked at his clipboard. “Got you right here. Miss O’Reilly, welcome to Camp X-Ray.” He held out a small plastic bin. “Please put your personal belongings in here. We’ll return them upon your departure.”

“I can keep my cell phone, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” the soldier said with a sympathetic tone. “But don’t worry. You’ll be provided with everything you need.”

With a deep shuddering breath, Kathy placed her phone—her last connection to civilization—in the bin, along with her purse, which contained her hairbrush, deodorant, and all manner of other things she’d regret not having. “Do you know how long we’ll be in here?” she asked.