My shirt was damp, the collar stuck to my chest. My hair plastered to my head. But my headache had subsided some. And my stomach was less queasy. In fact, I felt the first pangs of hunger, which I considered to be a good sign. After all the fried sugar I’d consumed, I could use a vegetable or two. Okay, maybe just one.

The dirt road was narrow and rocky with a line of tall grass running up the center that scraped the undercarriage. Al’s Oldsmobile kicked rocks and rolled over the uneven terrain like a boat through swells, my head flopping on a flaccid neck. A gap in the dense foliage outside my window caught my eye, and I turned to look. Saw sporadic cabins set deep in the woods. Haphazardly placed as though someone had thrown them against a game board like dice. One had a pine tree crashed in through its caved-in roof. Another was collapsed in on itself like an upside-down crab. Through the blurring stretch of pine and birch I saw a leaf-strewn dirt road, disconnected from the one we were on now. An abandoned depot with incomplete sign letters cast askew. A larger building with a tall spire that I glimpsed before it became obstructed by a dense uprising of wood. Perhaps a church. Then the road turned uphill and the little village was lost behind us.

We went maybe another mile before reaching a clearing on the side of the road barely wide enough to squeeze the car through. A trapezoid of cut wood was stacked in front of a cabin coated in weathered red paint. It was dark back here. Tall, thin trees crowded the house, leaning toward it as though conspiring. The windows were screened over and coated in small branches and spiderwebs.

Al continued past the house and parked on the far side, hiding the car from the road. The car gave a tired cough and quit as soon as Al cut the engine. Old man was as exhausted as me.

We listened to the ticking engine and cry of outraged insects. “You lied about the view,” I said.

Al peered through the windows. “How’s that?”

I pointed at the web-strewn window screens backing the house. “Spiders.”

“Ah, right. Out here we call that mosquito repellent.”

“Clever,” I said. “I’ve always called that necrosis.”

“Leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. Just remember, you’ll be sharing the bed.”

I shuddered despite the damp heat turning the car into a sauna. My forehead felt like an oil slick, and a little pool had formed in my clavicle. “Where’s the bellhop?” I said.

“I’ll show you.” Al reached over and pulled down my sun visor. All I could see in the narrow mirror on the backside were my bruised and bloodshot eyes. “You’re looking at him,” Al said.

God help me, then. A futile prayer, for the land out here is Godless.