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He shook his head with a rueful chuckle. Then he noticed the tattoo on her right forearm.

A cluster of Inca lilies.

Just like his drawing.

Santiago snapped the notebook shut. At the same time, there was a loud pop, like a firework exploding indoors. Santiago’s body was thrown to the side as the car lurched to the right, tires screeching in protest.

Potato and plantain chips rained all over them, and he heard Ali swear as she fought for control of the wheel. Adrenaline jolted through him and he threw out his hands, bracing against the dashboard and the passenger door before their vehicle bounced to a stop, engine still thrumming through the chaos.

Santiago and Ali panted heavily, stuck in tense-muscled shock until she had the wherewithal to cut the engine. Without air-conditioning, the car was quickly invaded by dry desert heat, despite the sun beginning its descent on the western horizon.

“Are you all right?” Santiago asked Ali when his heartbeat had slowed enough to attempt speech.

She nodded stiffly, rolling her shoulders with a wince.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Tire blew. I should have known; the car was practically abandoned. All its tires are probably thin from disuse. Careless.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Santiago answered. And he meant it. “What do we do?” They were only halfway through their drive, stranded in the middle of an empty expanse of desert.

Ali fished out her cell phone, the frown on her face confirming what Santiago had already suspected.

“No signal?” he guessed.

Ali released a string of Spanish curses so foul, Santiago’s jaw dropped.

Then he snorted.

Ali flashed him a warning glare, but he couldn’t help it. Laughter bubbled up inside him and jumped from his throat before he could tamp it back down.

After a moment, Ali’s thunderous expression melted, and she joined him. Santi knew it was just a response to the adrenaline, but it felt good.

When they finally calmed, he scanned the horizon. It was warm now, stifling even, but he knew what happened once the sun set over a desert. The temperature would plummet, and they were in the middle of nowhere.

“There was a farming community about a mile back,” Santiago recalled. “We could walk there. See if anyone has a spare tire to sell us.”

Ali nodded, and they both stepped out of the car, taking a moment to put away their food and lift their packs onto their shoulders. She locked the car, which made them both chuckle again.

Then they turned and raced against the setting sun.

16

The horizon was cranberry stained by the time they reached civilization, the dirt beneath them reflecting its vermilion glow. Lights were already on in several households as they made their way through town, but oddly, no one seemed to be in them.

The high notes of flutes and low beat of drums in the distance interrupted the ghostly stillness of the scene.

They followed the song, awed as simple, dusty streets rose to life with bright flowers and candles. In between rows of two-story houses, strings of lights and colorful banners fluttered in the gentle evening breeze, as if they, too, were moved to dance by the music. As the melody grew louder, so did the jumbled cacophony of conversation and peals of joyous laughter.

The village plaza was alive with the rhythms of joy.

He saw women in brightly colored embroidered skirts and dresses, their long braids twirling around them as they spun and stomped. The men, in starchy pressed shirts and trousers, danced with them. Some of the older folks slapped their knees and nodded their heads from the sidelines.

Santiago’s chest blossomed with warmth, an involuntary smile rising to his lips. The goose bumps that rose on his arms were not from the evening’s budding chill but from sheer wonder. How lucky they had been to arrive at a time like this.

Ali, by contrast, stood rigid. Her eyes scanned the crowd like it might attack. Or hide an attacker.

“We could be interrupting something,” Santiago said, remembering his nerves. “At least they’re in a good mood?”