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the reins, put an arm around the burro’s neck, and whipped a leg over. He adjusted his posture and sat straight. The toes of his cross trainers almost touched the ground. The burro-Coyote combo looked top heavy but Rayo didn’t seem to mind. He just kept munching the grass and twitching his ears.
    I looked to the other trees and didn’t see any more burros. “You said we had a ride.”
    “I said I had a ride. Attention to detail, ese. ” Coyote gestured to the shrubs around us. “So unless you two find a couple of burritos of your own, you better keep walking.” He tugged on the reins, pointing Rayo in the direction we had been hiking, and clucked. The little burro lurched into a quick rhythmic gait. Coyote rode with his elbows up and head bobbling on his neck.
    Jolie exhaled a deep, regretful sigh. “Our quest to save Carmen from the aliens and stop Phaedra has come to this. Mr. Third World on a donkey.”
    We jogged after Coyote. He led us on a path that meandered around and under the trees, where we had to pick our way past low branches, cactus, and spiny weeds.
    “Going forward will be easier if we either follow the middle of the gully or the ridgeline.” Jolie said this loud so Coyote couldn’t ignore her pissed-off lilt.
    But he acted like he hadn’t heard her. Instead, every few minutes he would check the Texan’s Rolex, which was interesting since I thought he seldom cared if it was morning or afternoon, yesterday or today.
    “You late for an appointment?” Jolie asked, still sounding pissed.
    “Me?”
    “There another vampire on a burro checking his watch?”
    Coyote tugged on the reins and halted. He panned the gully. “Not that I can see.” He flicked the reins and Rayo went back to his trot.
    We kept on. Coyote’s obsession with checking the time made me read my watch as well. It seemed we’d been hiking over this God forsaken terrain for hours but it had been only forty minutes. A low rhythmic drone echoed toward us. Coyote popped the reins and shouted, “ Vamonos , Rayo.”
    The little burro bolted into the middle of the gully, Coyote’s arms, legs, and head bouncing like they were held together with loose springs. He yelled over his shoulder. “Stay under the trees.”
    The drone grew loud and became the sound of rotor blades and turbine engines. Coyote continued into the gully, the burro high-stepping over the sand.
    Jolie grabbed my arm and hauled me under a thick growth of branches. She swiveled her head to pinpoint the approaching sound, looking alert and wary as a hunted wolf.
    The noise echoed louder and an instant later, a UH-60 Blackhawk zoomed into view high and to our right. The black helicopter swerved when the crew must’ve spotted Coyote and it entered a banking descent over the gully.
    Coyote acted oblivious to the approaching aircraft. Its cargo doors were open, and men in tactical uniforms—Kevlar helmets, armored vests, cargo pants bloused into combat boots, ammo pouches and radios and holsters strapped to their legs and torsos—stood on platforms behind the wheels. They carried M4 carbines equipped with grenade launchers. A sensor turret under the nose of the Blackhawk rotated toward Coyote. A red laser shot from the turret and locked onto him.
    ***

Chapter Six
    The UH-60 circled like a shark sniffing its prey, descending, slowing to hover beside Coyote and his burro. The laser remained locked on him.
    The helicopter was a dark, almost black green. I couldn’t read any markings on the fuselage or tail. The laser went out and the helicopter dropped low enough to kick up a wall of dust that reduced Coyote and Rayo to dusky silhouettes.
    At the instant the helicopter’s wheels touched ground, three men bounded out and advanced on Coyote, carbines at the ready.
    Jolie tensed and reached to cross draw her pistols. Against her, the crew from the helicopter had little chance. Against the both of us, they had none. But when the helicopter had appeared, Coyote had ridden