Chapter 6
chapter
six
MILES
By the time we get back to the Machine, the desert has gone blue.
It’s the in-between hour where the heat finally breaks and everything softens at the edges. The cliffs in the distance fade into shadow while the first stars start punching through the sky one by one.
Usually after a field day, there’s a rhythm to how we settle back in.
Taylor dives onto the couch first, boots kicked off somewhere inappropriate, energy still bouncing even while exhausted.
Jax starts pulling footage, obsessively replaying anything somewhat questionable.
Maya organizes data with the intensity of someone preventing the fall of modern civilization.
And me? I catalog. Everything.
Every sound. Every environmental shift. Every possible explanation goes in my notebook before my brain gets too excited and jumps ahead of the evidence.
It keeps me grounded.
Normally.
Tonight, grounding feels a little harder than usual.
Because Daisy’s here.
And somehow, in less than forty-eight hours, she’s changed the energy of the entire Machine without even trying.
It’s subtle, as if static electricity got introduced into a room.
I feel aware of her constantly.
Aware of the way she’s curled sideways at the dinette now, laptop open, typing fast with her headphones half-on while reviewing audio clips from today.
Aware of the crease between her brows when she concentrates.
Aware of the fact that she stopped making jokes about this whole thing after the sound in the canyon.
That part sticks with me. The silence afterward. The way her eyes searched all of us, waiting for someone to explain it away. And none of us could.
That howl was epic. I listened to Jax’s recordings, but real life was next level.
We’ve been looking into unexplained phenomena for years now. And we always run into the things we still can’t rationalize.
I glance toward her again. She’s mouthing words to herself now while typing. And seeing her like that makes something click into place in my brain.
For all the teasing, commentary, and dumb recorder-clicking, she does take this seriously.
Maybe not the same way I do, but seriously enough.
“Quit staring.”
I look up sharply. Maya stands beside the monitor bank with two hard drives in one hand and an expression that says she’s already noticed too much.
“I wasn’t staring,” I snap.
“You were absolutely staring.”
“I was observing.”
Maya scoffs under her breath.
Outside, I hear Jax hauling wood around while Taylor criticizes his fire-building process despite contributing absolutely nothing.
The normalcy of it helps. A little.
Maya lowers her voice. “Hey.”
I glance toward her.
“Be nice to her.”
I lean back, incredulous. “I am nice to her.”
She leans against the counter. “Miles.”
I know that tone. It always puts me on the defensive.
I rub my face. “What, Maya?”
“We need this to work.”
There it is. The real thing underneath it all is that we need more funding to make this work, and this podcast could be the key.
I look toward Daisy again before I can stop myself. She’s still typing, completely locked into whatever she’s writing.
“We’re fine,” I drag out, trying to reassure Maya.
“I know you’re getting along, but you know it’s more than that,” she replies. “I’m just saying… protecting us from scrutiny shouldn’t cost us this work. Let her do what she needs to do and don’t get in your own way about this.”
“I’m not,” I shake my head.
“And don’t be too nice either.”
That catches me off guard. “What?”
Maya gives me a look. “Come on.”
I actually laugh at that. “Maya.”
“You’re not subtle.”
“I’m the most subtle.”
“You literally made her a laminated welcome packet.”
“That was operational structure.”
“That was flirting for neurodivergent park rangers.”
I stare at her in horror. “That’s not—”
“She’s pretty,” Maya says.
“I am not interested in her like that.” The lie comes out way too fast.
Maya’s expression goes flat. “Oh, wow.”
“I mean it,” I say in defense.
“Miles,” she folds her arms.
“I do.” I look back at my screen, hoping that ignoring her now will make her walk away.
She doesn’t. The problem with Maya is that she’s known me too long. She can tell when I’m spiraling before I even realize I’ve left stable orbit.
“I understand the assignment,” I say finally, quieter now. “Okay? We need this to work.”
That part, at least, is true.
Because whatever this banter between Daisy and me is, it cannot screw this up.
We need the exposure. We need the money. We need people taking this seriously before we run out of road.
Maya studies me another second before nodding once.
“Good,” she says.
Outside, Jax yells, “Fire’s up!”
And just like that, the moment’s over.
Nothing better than feeling psychologically destabilized in my own mobile research unit.
The campfire crackles low and warm against the dark.
We set up just outside the Machine, tucked into a small clearing ringed by sandstone and scrub brush. The desert cools quickly after sunset, so much that everyone ends up pulling on hoodies or jackets.
Taylor makes a beeline for the closest camp chair, wrapping herself in a blanket like a tiny chaotic burrito.
Jax mans the hot dogs with far too much confidence.
“These are gonna change your life,” he says.
“They’re gas station hot dogs,” Daisy replies flatly.
“Exactly.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
I settle onto a log across from her, trying very hard not to notice how the firelight catches in her dark hair.
Trying and failing.
Because she looks different out here at night.
Softer.
Like the desert’s worn some of her armor down already.
Jax passes her a roasting stick. “After a day like today, you’re one of us now,” he says.
“I don’t know, you guys are kind of crazy,” she says jokingly, accepting it anyway.
Taylor points aggressively. “That’s our brand.”
I hate it, but she’s right.
The fire cracks softly between us and sparks climb into the dark. Wind moves low through camp, carrying smoke and desert dust. Daisy sits cross-legged across from us, wrapped in one of Maya’s extra blankets. Unlike every other sleepy person around the fire, her expression is alert.
“So, can I ask you guys some questions?” Daisy asks, hopeful. “I don’t even have my recorder with me. I just want some grounding. An understanding of sorts.”
Jax points at her with a marshmallow skewer.
“Wondering if we’re in a cult?” he wiggles his eyebrows.
She opens her mouth. Pauses. “I plead the fifth.”
Taylor snorts into her hot dog.
Maya shakes her head. “We’re not a cult,” she laughs.
“Terrible branding choice if we were,” Jax mutters.
Daisy laughs despite herself, then looks between us.
Her face softens. “No, seriously. Why… this?”
This is not the question I expect. Most people ask what we’ve found or what our craziest story is. Nobody really asks why.
Maya doesn’t hesitate. “My grandma used to tell stories when I was little,” she says.
“About places where the world felt thinner. Places people respected because they knew they weren’t the only things living there.
My family’s Hualapai—they’re actually not far from here.
We grew up hearing stories about ancient things that scared the shit out of most kids. ”
“Skinwalkers,” Jax stage whispers, and Maya slaps him hard on the shoulder.
Shaking her head at Jax, she continues, “Well, the stories didn’t scare me.”
Daisy leans forward. Listening. Really listening.
Maya shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t think mystery means danger. I think people stopped having the courage not to have answers.”
Something in Daisy’s face shifts, and she nods.
Taylor finishes her hot dog and picks up a second.
“For me?” she says. “I think people pretend certainty exists because uncertainty scares them.”
She gestures toward the dark around us. “But life’s weird. Timing’s weird. People survive impossible stuff every day. The world’s too big to be that certain.” Her voice stays matter-of-fact. Almost careless. But I know better. Embracing uncertainty is her life’s guiding principle.
Jax points dramatically at the stars. “I’m here because if aliens are real and nobody told me, I’d take that personally.”
Maya groans and Taylor throws a piece of her hot dog at him.
“I’m serious!” he says. “Also because…” His voice softens unexpectedly. “I don’t know.”
The fire pops, and he fiddles with his marshmallow skewer.
“Maybe the kid version of us before we grew up and got conditioned by the world is actually how we should be. Before we got all jaded.” He scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck, then looks around at us. “I want to do what I can to get back to that.”
“That’s really poetic, Jax,” Maya stares at him as if this is the first time she’s heard him admit that.
“So, why Bigfoot?” Daisy asks.
Everyone looks at me expectantly.
I pause, debating how deep to get here. “Bigfoot’s always been on my list, and there was a surge of sightings in Ohio that got us on that track.
” I sigh, feeling the pressure of hopelessness weighing on my shoulders after a few weeks in Ohio resulted in nothing.
“But it was too saturated with other crews. I’ve been seeing a rise in reports here, so here we are. ”
“What was Ohio like?” Daisy questions.
From there, the conversation stays easy. Mostly teasing. Stories. Jax recounts the time Taylor almost flipped the 4Runner because she “followed intuition instead of road conditions.”
Daisy laughs so hard she almost drops her hot dog.
And every single time she does that—every time she laughs genuinely instead of performing it—I feel it low in my chest like something warm cracking open.
Which feels more like a problem every time it happens.
One by one, people start peeling away.
Taylor first, dramatically exhausted.
Then Maya after triple-checking the week’s route schedule. Making sure everyone remembers tomorrow is a work catch-up day.
Then Jax, who disappears inside, muttering about drone batteries.
Until it’s just Daisy and me. And s’mores.
“Want one?” I ask, holding a bag of marshmallows up.