Ema Novak stood at the window of the convenience store and stared into the night. She could not see much beyond the two gas pumps and the circle of light provided by the halogen lamps above them, but she did not need to see into the darkness to know what was out there. West Texas offered little more than creosote and cactus, and on a good day a horny toad or a roadrunner broke the monotony. Or something died, hit by one of the tractor trailers that occasioned the road, and the corpse drew buzzards from near and far to

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