Mack is pulled over on the shoulder ten miles down the road, the hazards on his trailer blinking a rhythmic, mocking red against the desert sand. He’s sitting on the steps of the cab, his head in his hands, the phone pressed to his ear with a trembling grip. "Dusty... Rusty... please, listen to me," Mack sobs into the receiver, his voice a jagged, high-pitched wreck. "I was driving... she was right there! I felt her hands! She was in her pajamas, she was right behind my head!" On the other end, the line is silent for a horrific second before Rusty's voice comes through, sounding small and terrified. "Mack? What are you saying? Where is she?" "She’s gone!" Mack bellows at the empty desert, his legs finally giving out as he sinks into the dirt. "The door... the latch must have snapped when we hit that hole! I looked back and the sleeper was empty! Our girl is out there somewhere in the dark, and I just kept driving! I didn't even stop!" He clutches his chest, gasping for air as the guilt starts to swallow him whole. "She's just a kid, Dusty. She’s just a kid in her pajamas and I left her in the middle of nowhere!"