In the distance a decrepit house comes into view on the side of the road. As we approach my stomach sinks. The house looks like a blackened skull in this ruddy light. The warped wooden beams sag and bulge. The house hunkers in a yard of weeds and thorns. Thin, tattered curtains flutters like ghosts in glassless windows that trail us like sunken eyes. Goosebumps break out over my arms.

Stripped of anything useful, the sagging house is likely infested with bats, rodents or a starved vagabond who will kill us for our shoes. As we stride past, our gait quickens. I peer in, wondering what lurks in those shadows. Who’s watching us as we walk by? A mile down the road, I still feel eyes on the back of my neck.

When the town wall appears, a brown scar across the face of the horizon, I know something’s wrong. The broad stretch of wooden wall has a gaping hole in the center like a mouth widening in a scream. The gate creaks mournfully in the breeze. No town would leave a gate open like that. Clay’s eyes lock with mine and we exchange a look. The fear in his eyes is unmistakable.

“Do we keep going?” I look around at the gathering dusk. The first stars peak through the navy canvas above. “It’s getting dark.”

He shifts Ethan up on his back and wrinkles his brow. “I guess so. Can’t bed-down roadside or we’ll be coyote food. And our water’s ‘bout as dry as a dead dog’s dingo.”

Up until now Ethan’s been dozing on Clay’s shoulders. He lifts his head, rubs the hair out of his eyes and peers toward the town. “Why’s the gate open?”

“Maybe it’s busted,” Clay offers.

Maybe they’re all dead, I think. I nod along with Clay, but I pull the rifle into my arms.

When we reach the gate, Clay puts Ethan down and draws his guns. “You two stay put.” He takes a step forward, tightening his jaw.

I shake my head and turn to Ethan. I think about telling him to stay behind, but we can’t leave him alone outside the gate.

Ethan shakes his head as if reading my mind. “We stick together.”