Two other cars on the highway—or rather, two moving cars, both heading away from the Sisters. Calliope grabbed the flashlight, told Eunjoo to stay put, and scrambled out to flag the drivers down. The first didn’t stop, didn’t even acknowledge she was on the road but sped past her as though afraid the lava could reach all the way to the bridge. Calliope knew that those five volcanoes would burn her neighborhood to ashes, yes, but their slopes weren’t tall enough to reach the Río Grande. Even if the lava could reach them, the river’s wide depression was deep enough to staunch the molten flow.

The first car disappeared into the dark stretch of highway looming to the east.

When the other car pulled over, her heart cantered. Small flashlight in hand, she faltered toward the dark-tinted driver’s-side window. It rolled down revealing the driver, a middle-aged white man with a gray spackling of stubble across his jawline, wearing a puffy orange camouflage vest and hunting cap. He nodded at Calliope like she was a police officer pulling him over. The gesture unsettled her.

“What’s the trouble, miss?”

Calliope narrowed her eyes, searching his pasty face for clues. The trouble? Besides everyone disappearing and five dormant volcanoes erupting, likely killing anyone who’d managed to survive whatever had stolen everyone else? Was he serious? She cleared her throat. “I’m trying to find my family.”

“You lost your family?” He took off his cap, scratched his matted gray hair. “That’s very sad.” His blue eyes went opaque. He stared past her toward the Sandia Mountains, glowing pink in the blaze.

Sad? That was it? “Yes, in the, um …” she trailed off, unsure what to call it. “In the event. Didn’t you see it? We both did, Eunjoo and I.” She gestured toward her car.

“Miss, can’t say I know what you’re referring to. Myself, I’m trying to get up past Taos before sunrise.”

“What’s in Taos? Relief efforts?” Had he heard something on the radio? Could Andres have gone north toward Taos instead?

“I’m meeting a hunting buddy. Been planning this trip all year.”

Calliope’s lips peeled back reflexively, and she sucked in her breath. What was he talking about? The ungodly heat mingled with the cold rising from her chest; a rush of adrenaline pumped through her veins. She looked past him into his car, his hunting rifle on the seat beside him. Maybe she shouldn’t have stopped this man. An ice chest jutted from the floor of the passenger side, secreting the smell of rotting meat. Her gut lurched.

“The flash? Didn’t you see it?” she asked. “People are missing.” She felt sick. She wanted to sit on the gravel and let the dizziness wash over her.