PART 1 — LEFT BEHIND IN THE DESERT

Their laughter still appears in my nightmares sometimes, sharp and cruel beneath the roar of an engine. But on that scorching afternoon five years ago, as a silver pickup disappeared around a bend in the Arizona desert, it was the loudest sound in the world.

“Kyle, stop!” I shouted, running after the truck. “This isn’t funny!”

My husband remained behind the wheel while his brothers, Brad and Chase, leaned from the windows with their phones raised, recording my panic.

“Good luck, Lena!” Chase yelled. “See you in three hundred miles!”

Then the truck vanished.

I stood alone beside a nearly abandoned gas station, waiting for them to return. I kept telling myself it was another stupid prank and that Kyle would soon drive back wearing the boyish smile that had once made me trust him.

But the road stayed empty.

The building was called Cactus Jack’s Last Chance Gas. A faded sign warned that the next station was eighty-seven miles away. Beyond the single fuel pump and small convenience store, there was nothing except heat, desert brush, and distant mountains.

Then I remembered that my purse, wallet, and phone were inside the truck.

Kyle had asked me to buy him an energy drink. Because I believed we would be there for only two minutes, I had left everything behind.