Hank is one step ahead of me, running while he holds my hand and pulls me along, sometimes looking backward to see if we're being chased. We aren't. He did a thorough job pistol-whipping our abductors, and I figure they're out for the count.

However, I'm not taking any chances, and I'm not slowing down, even though the desert floor is tearing the soles of my feet. Hank is faring slightly better. He's managed to keep his flip-flops securely on his feet, his toes curled tightly to keep ...