Chapter One When the rain isn't so much falling--be it in bucket loads or like cats and dogs--but rather slamming into the car like an avalanche of stone, you know it's time to pull over. When you can't see much more than the slaphappy wipers splashing through rivers on the windshield, when you're suddenly not sure if you're on the road any longer, and your radio emits nothing but static, and you haven't seen another car since the sky turned black, and your fingers are tense on the wheel in an attempt to steady the old Accord in the face of terrifying wind gusts, you know it's so totally time to pull over. Wendy leaned over the steering wheel, searching for the yellow lines that separated the two-lane highway. No real shoulder that she could see. What was to keep another car from rear-ending her if she pulled over here? She'd seen the black clouds pillaring on the horizon as she headed across the Nevada desert.
