Make Camp

By the time I set up camp, the sun has almost disappeared behind the western hills. The canyon glows deep orange beneath the last light of day while long shadows stretch across the mining road and swallow the spaces between the rocks. The desert changes fast after sunset.

I climb into the truck first and retrieve everything I might need before darkness fully settles over the canyon. I gather my revolver, extra ammunition, flashlight batteries, the toolbox, bottled water, and the first aid kit before carrying everything back toward the Airstream in careful trips.

I unsling the shotgun from behind the bench seat and carry it back toward the trailer before returning for blankets and canned food. The heat bleeds away minute by minute while the air sharpens into something cold and dry enough to sting inside my lungs.

The first thing I do is secure the perimeter as best I can. I drag several loose rocks and rusted scraps of mining debris across the road behind the trailer so anything approaching from the canyon has to make noise. Then I scatter broken glass from empty beer bottles around the darker side of the Airstream where the flashlight cannot easily reach.

The makeshift alarms are primitive and far from perfect, but they are still better than nothing. After that, I check the trailer itself carefully from front to back. Every window gets locked and covered. Every curtain gets drawn tight. I test the rear door twice to make sure the latch catches properly.

The shotgun ends up propped beside the small dinette table while the Colt stays holstered against my ribs The Airstream suddenly feels much smaller than it did this morning. The canyon outside grows darker by the minute. I finally step back outside carrying an armful of dry brush and splintered wood scavenged from abandoned crates near the roadside.

Building a fire feels dangerous, but sitting in total darkness feels worse. The lighter catches on the third try. Flames spread slowly through the brush before climbing into the larger pieces of wood with a crackling hiss. Orange light spills across the canyon walls while smoke drifts upward into the deepening blue of the desert sky.

The fire helps a little, though not nearly enough to make me feel safe out here. I sit down beside it with my boots stretched toward the warmth and crack open the first beer from the trailer fridge. The cold aluminum sweats instantly against my palm. I drink half of it in one pull without meaning to. My nerves are still humming hard beneath my skin.

The darkness beyond the firelight feels enormous. The hills rise around the canyon in jagged black shapes beneath the first stars of the night. Somewhere far above me, the moon slowly emerges over the ridgeline in pale silver. I open a second beer. The fire pops softly while I stare into the flames and try not to think about the gas station and everything I found inside it.

The empty coffee cup behind the counter, the endless tally marks carved into the hallway walls, and the hole beside the restroom stall all keep replaying through my mind whether I want them to or not. Worst of all is the memory of the eye staring back at me from the darkness between the walls. I take another long drink of beer and listen to the canyon around me.

The beer dulls the edge of my nerves slightly, but not enough to stop me from listening constantly to the darkness around the camp. At first the noises seem normal. Wind moving through narrow rock formations. The crackle of the fire. Shifting metal cooling inside the truck engine.

Then something clatters somewhere higher up in the canyon. I freeze immediately when the sound echoes somewhere higher up in the canyon. It is faint, but unmistakable once I hear it properly. Rock scraping against rock carries softly through the darkness above the camp, and the rhythm sounds wrong for a natural landslide or shifting terrain.

It sounds like footsteps. My hand closes slowly around the revolver resting beside my chair while I keep my eyes fixed on the ridgeline beyond the firelight. The flames crackle quietly beside me, throwing uneven shadows across the rocks while the canyon suddenly feels much too still. Then everything goes silent again.

I wait nearly a full minute without moving, listening so carefully that my own breathing starts to sound too loud in my ears. Nothing else follows the noise. No voices. No movement. No second set of footsteps. The darkness above the canyon simply watches me in silence.

Eventually I exhale and **** myself to relax slightly, but the feeling never fully leaves. The darkness beyond the firelight no longer feels empty. It feels occupied. I open the third beer anyway. The fire burns lower while the night deepens around me. Coyotes begin howling somewhere very far away across the desert, their cries echoing strangely through the canyon walls.

Then another sound reaches me from somewhere out in the hills. The laughter is faint and distant enough that I almost convince myself I imagined it at first, but there is no mistaking the sound once it echoes through the canyon a second time. Human laughter drifts softly through the darkness beyond the firelight.

Every muscle in my body tightens instantly. I rise slowly from the folding chair beside the fire and stare into the darkness beyond the road. The revolver hangs low beside my thigh while the firelight flickers across the canyon around me. Nothing moves beyond the firelight.

No figures appear along the ridgelines overlooking the canyon. The darkness remains perfectly still around the camp, but I know exactly what I heard echoing through the hills a few seconds earlier. The worst part is realizing how badly I suddenly do not want to sleep alone out here tonight.