“I haven’t. A playground, a mile marker. A little farmers market stand with a yellow sign.” His eyes are still closed. As he names each thing, they rise up in front of us and pass by. The playground has a bright blue slide and three red swings. The mile marker says 221. The roadside stand has a sign that reads A LITTLE FARMERS MARKET STAND WITH A YELLOW SIGN in bold white lettering.

“What the f—” I start, hitting the brakes so violently that the seat belt cuts off the rest of my words. The farmers market sign is already gone, vanished into the fog behind us. I twist around, straining my eyes, trying to see it.

“A gas can,” Elliott finishes, and then opens his eyes. He glances at me—and then his gaze goes past me, over my shoulder. Expecting a Being or an alien or, shit, I don’t even know what at this point, I whip around and follow his gaze.

But it’s not an alien. It’s …

A gas can.

For a second I just stare at it. It’s old, dull red and smudged with dirt. It’s sitting next to the caved-in ruin of what used to be a gas station. The nearby pumps are overgrown with vines, useless without electricity to power them—but that doesn’t matter, because I can see from the way the light hits the gas can that it’s full.

“It’s a trap,” I say finally. My voice sounds tight and foreign. “It has to be. The aliens are planting this stuff, everything you said just now, to lure us out of the car.”

But Elliott is shaking his head. “They don’t need to trap us. We’re sitting ducks already—and anyway, we were out of the car just a few minutes ago, at the road sign. They could’ve ambushed us then if they wanted to.”

“Then they’re messing with us. They want to watch us run.”

If that’s their plan, they’ve devised a good strategy. I want to run. I know there’s nowhere to go, that we’re outmatched and possibly surrounded, but it doesn’t matter. I need to get out of here. I need to at least try to escape. Unbuckle, I think, but I can’t pry my fingers off the steering wheel.

A door slams. I jerk upright, but it’s just Elliott. He’s striding around the car, grabbing up the gas can. Judging by the way his muscles strain when he carries it, my guess about it being full was right. He stops at the back of the car and shouts, “Open the fuel door!”