A NEON SIGN: VACANCY. Beth pulls into the lot of a ramshackle roadside motel. She shuts off the engine and gets out, starts walking toward the door to the office—and pauses. She looks around the lot.
The wind has picked up considerably. A section of newspaper skitters past ... a Styrofoam cup bounces serendipitously across the pavement. The VACANCY sign buzzes. Beth's car is the only one there. She goes in, finding the little office to be silent as a tomb, and rings the bell.
Waiting, she glances at a magazine lying on the counter. Its cover boasts a photo of bright lights on the desert horizon. Its caption reads: "Nevada's Area 51: What Exactly Are They Doing Out There?"
A two-way radio seated in a battery-charger on the counter suddenly squawks to life, and Beth jumps. She catches bit
