From the tone in the man's voice, Max knew that River Dog harbored some regrets about the aid he'd given.

"You had a vision with me in it?" Max asked.

"Yes," River Dog answered. "You and your friends." He sipped his tea and looked up into the hills that would shadow the village as the sun began its descent into the west. "Somehow, you and they have a part to play in this."

Part of Max doubted that. Probably River Dog's vision was based on wishful thinking. Still, that wishful thinking wouldn't have existed if the ghosts/spirits/phantoms had not started manifesting.

"I don't want any part of this," Max said.

"But it will want you," River Dog said softly. "Until you arrived this morning, I had watched my ancestor for hours. Bear-Killer flickered in and out of existence, into this world from the next, then back again, without touching me. His voice had been only a whisper, not the shouts that you'd heard."

"I didn't do anything," Max protested.

"You were there. Somehow your presence made the ghosts stronger."

Max lifted his hands and gazed at them. A tremor passed through his fingers and wouldn't stop. He knotted his fists and put them away in his jacket pockets. "It's not me."

"It isn't you alone. There is something more than you that brought these ghosts from their rests in the world beyond ours." River Dog pierced Max with his direct gaze. "But you are part of it."

Max looked away, trying to figure out what to do. "I'm not part of this." Don't make me be part of this. I've already got enough things in my life that are going wrong.

"The ghosts will continue to get stronger," River Dog said. "Back when they returned the last time, the ghosts only appeared to the People and spoke to the families. After a time, however, they became violent. They could ride the wind and bring storms from a clear sky. And the touch of a ghost could bruise and eventually maim and kill. Bear-Killer could never touch me till this morning."

Max remained silent. Somewhere only a short distance away in one of the houses a radio came on, bringing a semblance of normalcy. A woman's voice said something that sounded urgent, and the radio noise disappeared. That sounded more normal and relaxing than anything he'd heard all morning.

"Maybe your people should think about moving," Max suggested.

"To where?" The shaman spread his hands. "This is our home. It has been for hundreds of years. My people can't go anywhere else, and the United States government would have to be dealt with." He fell silent for a moment. "I don't think you would want the government agencies looking closely into this matter any more than I do."

"No," Max agreed. He'd had enough of government agencies, secret and otherwise. None of them had his or his friends' best interests at heart. By not departing on the Granilith, they'd given up any hope of returning to their original birth world. The government agencies would take them away from the world they'd chosen to remain in if their secret was revealed.

Running feet sounded out in the dust-covered dirt road that threaded between the homes. The hound at River Dog's feet raised his gray-streaked muzzle and barked at the two small children who raced around a fifty-year-old Ford pickup parked next to the porch.

"River Dog! River Dog!" the two young boys yelled. "You must come!"

River Dog put his drink down and stood. "What is wrong?"

"Our grandfather," the oldest boy said. He wore ragged cutoffs and was brown from the sun. Dust covered his bare feet and legs. He pointed back down the narrow alley between houses.

"What about your grandfather?" River Dog asked.

"He has come back," the oldest boy said. He wrapped his arms around the younger boy, who was crying and holding his head. "He's yelling at Mom, saying terrible things to her!"

River Dog turned to Max. "Come on."

The last thing Max wanted to do was go with the shaman, but he felt drawn into the events. If River Dog was right about the occurrences somehow being connected to Isabel, Michael, and him, he needed to know.

River Dog led the way out into the alley, pausing only long enough to take each boy by the hand.

As Max trotted after the shaman and the boys, he heard a woman screaming in terror and pain. Other men and women ran from their houses, joining in the rush to reach the house where the sounds came from.

For a moment Isabel believed that the van bearing down on Jesse and her was filled with government agents. In that moment, she was certain that their secret had somehow spilled out again. Then she spotted the terrified woman behind the steering wheel.

The driver had her mouth open, screaming in terror, but the roar of the racing engine drowned the sound. The woman was looking over shoulder, staring in wild-eyed horror at something in the back.

Even as Isabel finally freed herself from the frozen moment, Jesse gripped her in his arms and got her into motion, pushing her back toward the picnic area. Caught off-guard, Isabel dropped the picnic basket.

Jesse propelled her from the path of the speeding van, but tripped as he shoved her. Isabel saw in an instant that he'd lost his footing and was unable to move to save himself. She turned and caught his jacket in one of her hands, then pulled him backward, acting like she'd tripped as well.

They went sprawling as the van rushed by, then hit the paved area of the rest stop hard enough to drive the breath from Isabel's lungs. Remembering the driver's frightened face, Isabel rolled from Jesse's protective embrace and turned to watch the van.

Evidently the driver came to her senses. The van jerked away from its course toward the stone picnic tables and benches. But the effort came too late and resulted only in causing the vehicle's tires to lose their precarious traction on the pavement. Rubber shrilled as the van's speed and weight tore the vehicle into an uncontrolled skid.

The passenger-side tires slammed into the high curb at the edge of the picnic area. Off-balance and riding high center, the van flipped over on its side. The momentum continued to flip the van another 180 degrees as the vehicle crushed one of the picnic tables and benches. The engine continued racing, revving out of control till it sounded like an explosion was imminent. The horn blared, holding steady and true over the banshee wail of the racing engine.

"Oh my god," Jesse said.

Isabel struggled to her feet. The woman inside the van might be still alive.

"Come on, Jesse!" Isabel cried. "We need to check on her."

"Who?" Jesse asked, not letting go of her.

"The woman driving the car." Then Isabel turned and started for the van.

"You saw a woman?"

"Yes." Isabel had to speak loudly over the screaming engine. The odor of burning oil and gasoline tainted the hot, thin air. "She looked scared. She was screaming."

Familiar electronic beeps caught Isabel's attention as she closed on the rear of the van. She turned at once, watching as Jesse punched in the three numerals on his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Isabel asked.

"Calling nine-one-one."

Isabel grew more afraid then; 911 meant law enforcement personnel and reports, maybe even reports with Jesses name and her name on them. Her father was an attorney in Roswell; he looked at legal documents all the time. It was a stretch to think her father would see the report on the accident on U.S. 285, but the instant those reports were filed, that possibility existed. And if her father found out they'd been together, what would he do? And what could Max do? Thinking about her brother made Isabel feel even more guilty. Max had been through enough. Knowing she might have found happiness would make his own loss seem even sharper.

She looked around, knowing one couldn't do anything except wait for what was going to happen. All she could do was wait for the inevitable.