He turned off the highway and coasted into the gas station.

“Fill her up!” he called to the attendant. He got out on the hot gravel, leaving the car in gear. His mouth watered. A plateful of hotcakes, side order of ham, steaming black coffee… “Can I leave her here?”

“The car?” The white-clad attendant unscrewed the cap and began filling the tank. “What do you mean?”

“Fill her up and park her for me. I’ll be out in a few minutes. I want to catch some breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

Douglas was annoyed. What was the matter with the man? He indicated the cafe. A truck driver had pushed the screen door open and was standing on the step, picking his teeth thoughtfully. Inside, the waitress hustled back and forth. He could already smell the coffee, the bacon frying on the griddle. A faint tinny sound of a jukebox drifted out. A warm, friendly sound. “The cafe.”

The attendant stopped pumping gas. He put down the hose slowly and turned toward Douglas, a strange expression on his face. “What cafe?” he said.

The cafe wavered and abruptly winked out. Douglas fought down a scream of terror. Where the cafe had been there was only an open field.

Greenish brown grass. A few rusty tin cans. Bottles. Debris. A leaning fence. Off in the distance, the outline of the mountains.

Douglas tried to get hold of himself. “I’m a little tired,” he muttered. He climbed unsteadily back into the car. “How much?”

“I just hardly began to fill the—”

“Here.” Douglas pushed a bill at him. “Get out of the way.” He turned on the motor and raced out onto the highway, leaving the astonished attendant staring after him.

That had been close. Damn close. A trap. And he had almost stepped inside.

But the thing that really terrified him wasn’t the closeness. He was out of the mountains and they had still been ahead of him.