The road began to narrow as we exited the main highway.

The smooth asphalt turned into rough, patched concrete.

The trees on either side of the road grew closer, their wet branches hanging low.

The headlights caught the silver trunks of the eucalyptus trees.

The air inside the car felt heavy and warm.

I rolled the window down an inch.

The sharp, clean scent of rain and wet soil filled my lungs.

“Are you afraid?” Ana asked.

“I am angry,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “Use that.”

She turned the sedan onto the winding gravel road that led to the ranch.

The tires crunched loudly on the loose stones.

The car bounced over a deep pothole, sending a spray of muddy water against the wheel wells.

I saw the outer perimeter fence.

The wooden posts were dark and weathered, some of them leaning at odd angles.

“Look,” I said, pointing through the windshield.

The iron gates were swung wide open, just like in the photo.

One of the hinges was bent, hanging loose from the stone pillar.

He had rammed his way in.