“I fear Groom Lake has become a theme park.”
“Do I keep going?”
“By all means. We’ll be meeting our guide at a diner on this road.”
“Does it have a cross street? A mile marker? A name?”
“No, no, and I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll recognize it when you get there.”
Riley thought that was an unjustified vote of confidence.
“It’s lunchtime and I’m getting hungry and there’s nothing out here,” she said after several miles. “Are you sure there’s a diner? One that actually sells food?”
“I have no reason to think otherwise.” Emerson sat forward. “I believe it’s just ahead of us.”
Riley squinted against the sun and saw a silver double-wide shimmering in the distance. A couple one-room bungalows and several small campers and trailers had been arranged behind it. The sign on the double-wide said EARTHLINGS WELCOME. She supposed it meant them, because there were no other earthlings in sight. The diner was in the middle of freaking nowhere. A dusty pickup truck, an even dustier Chevy Volt, and a dented and Bondo-patched Volvo station wagon were parked in the lot in front of the double-wide. A small hand-painted sign stuck into the hard-packed dirt advertised OUT OF THIS WORLD FOOD.
“Clever,” Riley said.
“More sarcasm?”
“Astonished disbelief.”
Riley shrugged out of her hoodie, wrapped the gun securely
inside, shoved the bundle under the seat, and got out of the car.
Inside the double-wide was a jumbled display of alien kitsch. T-shirts, mugs, and shot glasses lined shelves, all bearing images of bulging-eyed gray aliens and glowing spaceships. A counter ran along one wall. A few barstools that had been patched with duct tape lined the counter. Behind the counter, a hard-faced waitress with a pink apron and a lot of teased-up hair gave Emerson the full body scan. A large American flag hung on the wall behind the counter.
“Patriotic,” Emerson said.
Riley nodded. “It reminds me of the bars back home.”
They sat at one of the Formica-topped tables and looked at the plastic-encased menu. The waitress ambled over with coffee.
“What’ll it be, hon?” she asked Emerson.
“Grilled cheese,” Emerson said.
“Go figure,” the waitress said. “I had you figured for a carnivore.”
“I’m the carnivore,” Riley said. “I want a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.”
The waitress walked off, and a weathered forty-something woman left her seat at the counter and approached Riley and Emerson. The woman was wearing a flak jacket with a military insignia over the pocket, her long blond hair was going gray, and her eyes were hidden behind mirrored aviators.
“The migrating birds fly low over the sea,” she said to Emerson.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Riley thought. Should have brought the gun with me. This woman is a nut.
Emerson looked up at the woman. “The toothless tiger rules the restless jungle.”
“Oh boy,” Riley said.
“That was our countersign,” Emerson said to Riley. “If I’m not mistaken this is our guide.”
The woman pulled a chair up to the table, sat down, and leaned in close. “Yep. I’m your guide, all right. I’m Xandy Zavier. That’s Xandy with an ‘X.’ My real first name is Amy, but screw that.” She focused on Riley. “Who are you?”
“I’m Riley Moon.”