“What the hell is that, and why are you aiming it at me?” Amy’s voice was high-pitched. She jumped down, landing like a gymnast on both feet in the sand. She barreled toward Calliope, seeming much larger than she was. “You gonna shoot me?”

Calliope lowered the gun. “Chica, if I’d wanted to kill you, why in God’s name would I have helped you escape those coyotes?” Truth was, she didn’t know why she’d aimed at Amy or what she’d been scared of.

Amy stared at her like she’d just cursed in church. “You helped me escape?” She nodded toward the gun. “Where’d you get that thing?”

Calliope didn’t want to explain Susana’s suicide. It still didn’t make sense. She shrugged, clicked the safety, then tried to tuck the gun into the waist of her leggings, but it was too heavy, and started slipping. She pushed the elastic down to her hip and tucked the excess material over the gun again, pouch-like, a makeshift holster.

“I checked the gas gauge. Three quarters of a tank should get us to Cruces.”

Calliope looked away. She wasn’t going to Las Cruces. They’d have to split up. Or she’d have to convince Amy to stay with her until they got to Tía’s. Calliope needed Amy; it wasn’t safe out here. But she couldn’t rationalize the wasted time detouring to Cruces instead of finding her son.

They switched supplies from car to truck and woke Eunjoo. “Whose truck is that?” the girl asked in her bird’s voice as she stumbled across the bramble toward the truck. Thunder roiled in the distance. “Has the man come yet?”

Calliope’s pulse spidered. “What man?”

“The man with the black hair.”

Calliope scanned the landscape. She saw no one. “Chica, you were dreaming. There’s no man. Hop in the truck.”

Calliope grabbed three Gatorades, handed them out. “Straight on till sunset?” Calliope asked Amy, who held a map across the steering wheel.

“Ain’t no sun out here, momma.” She folded the map, slammed her door, and backed the truck out of the tree.

In the tape deck, a cassette stuck out like a black tongue. Calliope pushed it in. Blaring from the speakers, Credence Clearwater Revival. I hear hurricanes a blowing. I know the end is coming soon … Don’t go around tonight. It’s bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise.

“Tell me about it,” Amy shouted over the music.