Calliope still wasn’t inured to Eunjoo’s pronouncements or prophecies or whatever they were. She settled back with the corn girl still sleeping against her chest, tried to steady her breathing and clear her mind of the fear fomenting like stormwater in the bay of her thoughts. She couldn’t help it. Even after Eunjoo had fallen asleep against her lap, Calliope kept glancing back every few minutes to make sure Arlen and the other masked figures were not following, reminding herself they were not gods but men; they would not bound atop the truck as the Suuke had thrown itself onto the airplane. Whatever Eunjoo had seen in the pasture, it wasn’t a vengeful Suuke. They’d killed them both. Arlen’s scalding anger could assure her of that.

They ran out of gas a few hours past Black Rock, hadn’t traveled more than a hundred miles on the dirt washes and remnants of ancient dirt roads. The truck gears grinded to a halt beside a patch of rabbitbrush she could tell was bright yellow in the day, though it was covered in shadow now, the moon half hidden by clouds. They’d known they were leaving for months. Why hadn’t they prepared? Were there even any gas stations left? She hated that they were stopping so near Zuni. What if Arlen and the others had followed them? They’d catch up any time.

Mara stated the obvious: “We really didn’t plan this through.”

Chance opened the cab door, jumped out, saying, “Maybe you didn’t.”

Calliope followed him to the truck bed, the corn girl stirring only slightly but then settling back to sleep as Calliope rubbed and shushed her. Chance shone a flashlight and lifted the tarp to reveal an assortment of tools, the Suuke knife that Amy had tossed back there at Tía’s hacienda, and two steel barrels the size of beer kegs.

“You want us to drink our troubles away?” she joked, averting her eyes from the knife.

His mouth inched into a flaccid smile, lacking its usual buoyancy. He said nothing, just climbed the tailgate and lugged one barrel to a standing position on the edge of the bed nearest the gas cap. “Let me help,” Calliope offered, filling the uncomfortable silence.

“You ever siphoned gas before?”

No. But she could learn.

He picked up a clear snake of plastic tubing, and she felt slightly ashamed that even with Chance, she was still relying on a man for help. If Amy had been here, Calliope bet she would’ve known what to do.

“Open the cap, insert this all the way down the filler neck.”

She followed instructions.

“I’ll do this part. Don’t want you getting gas down your throat.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for you?”

Chance shrugged, his expression and demeanor since they left Zuni troubling Calliope. As if he were saying, How much longer do I have, really?