“I think we need help,” she said, and, contrary to her character, began crying. “Where’s your cellphone? We need to call DJ.”
“This is no mescaline trip, Annie,” he snapped, grunting as he righted the bike, then tore off his coat and began cleaning the bug guts off the windshield. “Look at this s**t. This is real.”
She moved to respond then paused, staring off down the highway, first north, then south. “Where is everybody? Where are all the other cars?”
He dusted himself off and followed her gaze. “Just vanished, I reckon. Like that truck.”
She looked at the sky forlornly. “Jesus ... look at it.”
He did so, watching as the clouds boiled and spiraled slowly and what appeared to be heat lightning flickered in the distance. But it wasn’t just the otherworldly weather that struck him and
