At 6:30, there was still a rainbow.

Wendy snapped a picture through the windshield as they passed through Terlingua, headed to spend the weekend with friends about half an hour away.

Fifteen minutes later, the rain was coming down faster than the wipers could clear it.

“We’re almost there. The map shows a gas station in about ten miles.”

Bobby pointed through the windshield.

“There’s one right there.”

Two rusted pumps stood outside an old building that looked as though it had been closed for decades.

“I wonder if this place is open.”

It wasn’t.

But with the storm worsening, Jack forced open a side door.

Inside was strange.

Not abandoned.

Paused.

Cans still lined the shelves. An old cash register sat on the counter.

Beside it was a half-full glass of water.

Then the rotary phone rang.

Wendy picked it up.

“Hello?”

A woman answered.

“Wendy.”

She froze.

THUMP.

The sound came from behind a narrow door at the back of the store.

Jack looked at her.

“Don’t.”

Naturally, Wendy opened it.

A staircase disappeared into darkness.

She leaned over the opening.

“Is anyone down there?”

And this is where I stopped caring what happened to Wendy.

Such an unfortunate lack of survival instinct.