The shrill scream cut through the night, followed by a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder. Rain pelted down outside the Whispering Springs saloon. Gia scooted into a corner on her backside. Then drawing her legs up, she encircled them with her arms.

"What's up, sis?" Greg questioned as he loomed above his sister.

Frantically Gia shook her head, unable to speak. In the eerie darkness, her brother appeared like a specter. As he bent over her, the love beads that swayed in front of her wide eyes clattered together. Again, she opened her mouth and shrieked.

"Ga...ga...ga...ghost," the frightened girl stammered as she tried to scooch further into her corner.

"It's just me," Greg Williams stated, squatting beside his twin and taking her ice-like hand in his.

"Get us outta here, Greggie," Gia cried, grasping her brother around the neck.

"In the morning, girlie," he responded. "We can gather rainwater for the bus, then get back on the road."

"But what about Trace?" the girl questioned. "We can't move him."

"Then I'll drive back to that gas station and call for help," Greg answered. "There's a phone back there."

"You can't leave me here alone," Gia mumbled, staring into hands folded in her lap. "I won't stay here alone."

"Tracey will be here," her brother suggested.

"What good is he?" the girl glumly responded.

Together, brother and sister glanced toward where their companion lay prone before the bar. Although they hadn't moved him, Gia had balled up her vest to create a pillow for his head. Tracey McMaster's body lay crumpled and broken. Neither of his friends knew the extent of his injuries.

"Yeah, well," Greg meditatively spoke into the darkness. "You take the bus back to the service station. I'll wait here with Trace."

Gia's eyes widened with fear. She had never driven the kombi, nor did she have a license to drive. What did she fear the most, the frightened girl wondered, staying in the ghost town or driving the kombi along the rutted road? Although the signpost had claimed they were in Whispering Springs, Gia knew they were actually in Nowhere, New Mexico.

"Aw, c'mon, Gia," her brother stated, plopping down next to her. "Someone has to go. It's either you or me."

"Yes, Greg," the young Flower Child conceded. Meditatively, she chewed on her bottom lip.

"In the morning, sis," Greg declared, rising. Striding toward the swinging saloon doors, he silently stepped outside.

Rain pelted him as it poured off the overhang. Dimly, the outline of the VW Bus loomed in the darkness. Why had he believed the shortcut was a good idea? The map had deceived him. Instead of cutting their trip to fifteen miles, it had taken them more than fifty miles out of the way.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Greg Williams marched along the warped board sidewalk. Stopping at the end, he glared out at the rain. For the first time in his life, the hippie had to take responsibility. Up until this point, he had drifted through life. The world had been a playground filled with pot and LSD trips. The band had played one-nighters here and there across the country. They had stayed only long enough to get paid. Then, they coasted into the next town for another back alley barroom gig.

Thoughtfully, Greg considered his elder brother. In their early childhood, he and Gia had called him Phil Perfect. Phil had gotten good grades throughout school and had been on the honor roll. Their parents had held up their firstborn as an example to the twins. However, they consistently failed to reach his pedestal. According to their father, they were lazy children. Their mother often chastised them for cheating on tests or failing to do their homework.

Phil Perfect went to college. Then, last year, he entered medical school. On the cusp of their high school graduation, the twins dropped out. They hit the road in their kombi in the view of making it big in the music world. Psychedelic Mushroom was as good as the Zombies, and the Byrd's in their opinion. However, they couldn't get any further than the barrooms that hired them for one-night gigs. Still, they made it to LA. If it hadn't been for the amp fire, Greg was confident they would have been "discovered."

Wistfully, Greg kicked out at the support holding up the overhang of the mercantile at the end of the sidewalk. Then, he leaped back as the rotted wood collapsed. Digging his hands into his pockets, he headed back to the saloon.

"This would have never happened to Phil Perfect," the boy muttered to himself. The weight of his mistake hung heavily upon his shoulders. His brother would have known how to care for Tracey. His brother would have fixed their ride and gotten them out of their mess.

No, the young hippie changed his mind. Phil would have never been in this situation, nor would Phil have ever been in a fried-out kombi. Phil wouldn't have gotten lost in the desert or caught in a ghost town. Phil was perfect.

"I think Tracey's dead," Gia glumly stated. Slowly she raised her tear-streaked face as her twin entered the saloon. "He's...he's not breathing."

Swiftly, Greg fell to his knees beside his sister. Grasping their companion's wrist, he checked for a pulse. He had learned that much from Phil.

"He's okay. There's a weak pulse," the youth responded. Slinging his arm around his sister's shoulders, he pulled her close. "Only a few more hours than it will be light enough to travel. Are you okay with driving the bus?"

Gia nodded, although she wasn't okay with driving the bus.