The wind turned more arid the farther Dara got from the freeway exit. It ripped through his hair, driving the strands away from his forehead and pelting his skin with scratchy particles of sand. Aboard his beat-up sedan in the middle of nowhere, he was convinced he was lost.

It was too early to judge, though. Asphalt still covered the main road, so he hasn't veered off into that much of an unknown in this backwater town yet. He glanced at the phone slotted in the dashboard. The map didn't make sense, showing his GPS location to still be on the way towards his family's summer villa. The sienna scenery dotted with greens and swathes of blue and white didn't look like the pictures Mom sent over in the family group chat. How was a fantasy-like forest supposed to come out of this wild western-esque landscape?

He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel harder. Maybe he shouldn't have driven after all. His calves hurt from balancing the clutch and gas pedals since forever. The downsides of driving a manual in a world full of automatics. Ah, a warm bath would be nice. He had been sweating buckets the past few hours, and his water bottle had been smoothed dry. Dad was right. Dara should have the air conditioning on this old hunk of scrap metal fixed.

A bend came up. Beyond it, the sheet of asphalt led off into more wilderness. The same landscape stretched for miles on end, showing Dara a blend of desktop wallpapers worth of canyons and mesas. The sun dimmed, already on its way down. Just great. He stepped on the gas pedal, coaxing his engine to hurry the journey up. He glanced at his heat meter every once in a while. The line had risen a considerable amount since the continuous throttle the freeway afforded him.

After a kilometer of rumbling along, the wheels hit a bump, sending him forward. The seat belt locked, barely stopping his face from hitting the horn with his forehead. What the—?

Dara muttered a curse, clicking his seatbelt off and climbing out of the car. Smoke curled from the asphalt, and the smell of burning rubber assaulted his senses. He crouched, coughing and waving a hand by his nose.

It wasn't a bump. The rubber had snapped, leaving him with a blown-out tire. He craned his neck to the sky. Was it the heat? Or because the rubber had lost thread? Dad was right again. Dara shouldn't have brought this car from the city. Its prime has long passed and wouldn't survive the long, cross-border ride. Then again, it wasn't like Dara had thousands of dollars lying around. Just the insurance of his current ride put a strain on his finances. His job could only take him this far.

What to do now? Dara braced his hips and looked around. Houses peppered the horizon at random intervals. Their backyards stretched for eternity. Must be nice, not hearing one's neighbors with them being miles away. It'd be a hassle though. Imagine walking that far just to return a plate or tell them to scoop their dogs' poop.

Should Dara take up that path? The one with the red and white paint looked inviting enough. The facade didn't look as if it swallowed grown men for dinner. That was a long walk for a man with aching calves, though. To his left, a green, reflective sign board glowed against the bright, afternoon sun. You are leaving New Herestead, it read. Huh. A drab name for a town that couldn't be drabber.

"Yo, haven't seen you around. You new?" A voice peeped into Dara's attention. He turned to find a man on a bike, pedaling towards the car. The newcomer took one look at the wheels, jerked the brakes, and stuck a foot out to catch his weight. "That ain't looking too good. Need help?"

If Dara listened to the voice nipping at the back of his head, he would have refused. He glanced at the horizon again. No other help would arrive soon, wouldn't they? He faced the newcomer again. "Got any mechanics 'round here?" Dara asked. "I need to get out of here."

A stark clicking sound erupted from the side of the bike as the man nudged the stopper out and leaned his bike against it. "We'll get that fixed, don't worry," the newcomer said. "I happen to know a good one. He's closing early, so maybe tomorrow."

Dara chewed his lip. Just the worst of luck. Should he pass the night in the car? He glanced at the man who clicked his tongue at the sign of Dara's ruptured tire. Dressed in a plaid shirt thrown over an off-white vest and a pair of dark brown jeans, he looked as comfortable in this heat as a local would. Not a drop of sweat beaded in his high hairline even though he came here by bike.

The man didn't look intimidating, nor did he want to exploit Dara for his money. At least, Dara didn't get that vibe from him, and Dad said Dara was a good judge of character. An awkward silence rose up to a wall between him and the newcomer, stretching too long and thickening with every passing second. Dara wasn't the best at small talk.

"Hey, how about you come with me?" the man prompted after a beat. "I've got myself a nice shed in town. You can spend the night there while you get your car fixed."

That was a random offer. "Thanks, but no," Dara replied. He wasn't going to follow a stranger into their house, even if they looked as if they stepped out of a magazine cover. Hard pass. In an unknown town with an unknown boy, Dara was as safe as a newborn calf. "I need to stay with the car. In case some bad guys come and nick it, you know."

The man hummed, jerking his chin at Dara. "Valid, but you don't want to be out here so late at night."

Dara narrowed his eyes. "Is this town haunted?"

"Whispers. That's all I can tell ya," the man replied. With his chiseled, clean-shaven face, he could have looked younger than Dara. Curls sat stop his head, bouncing against his forehead whenever he gestured to emphasize what he said. "Something was out there in the bogs. Crocs are moving inland, and this blue algae started covering water surfaces. Heck, even the glass I had earlier had some. I know, yuck. And there are also the storms."

A frown pulled the corners of Dara's lips. There were more? "Storms?"

The man braced his hips, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Not the usual kind, either," he added. "Lightning never terrified me as a youngin, but now, I'll avail. That shit's horrifying. Trust me, you don't wanna be caught in the middle."

"You mentioned crocs," Dara pointed out. He made a show of looking around. Nothing but the arid desert which swayed in and out under a growing mirage. "Is there water around here?"

" 'Course." The man waved a dismissive hand in the air then pointed to a vague direction behind Dara. "Drive a little further down the road, and the air cools faster than a rattlesnake's bite."

Dara stuck a lip out, casting one last look at his beat-down car. "You sure we can find the mechanic tomorrow?" he said. "I have to get to Caomora the fastest as I can."

The man smiled. "Don't worry 'bout it," he said, striding to his bike. He unlocked the stand and straddled it. "Well? Come on."

Dara blinked. "We're riding that?"

"Unless you want to go ten miles on foot," the man answered, righting his balance and resting his weight on the seat. Strong hands gripped the handles, fingers casually resting on the brake lever.

Dara crossed his arms. "I don't even know your name," he said. "I'm not getting into some rando's bike."

"Page," the man said. "The name's Page. Yours?"

He stalked towards the man and settled on the rusty backseat. Wouldn't this crumble under his weight while they were cycling away? "Dara," he said aloud. "Name's Dara."

Page chuckled, whether by Dara's hesitance and confusion on where to put his hands or just the fact it wasn't everyday he found a stranded dude from the city on the side of the road. "Well, off we go," he said, leaning forward to spur his bike and get the momentum right. "Hold on. Tight."

Then, as Dara resorted to grabbing the ends of Page's plaid shirt, they tore off across the uneven asphalt.