It’s really hot. I climb into the jeep, sitting down beside the man. He is in his early twenties; maybe a few years older than myself. Driving us are two grim government officers. They made me change into a colorless jumpsuit at a gas station that stank of oil and grease, throwing away my blue plaid dress. Tall dark pines shroud our route. We drive for hours. The ride is bumpy as we navigate over the eroding dirt road, and the air is thick with humidity.  We arrive in a dry and forested valley, surrounded on all sides by tall cliffs which would be impossible to climb. We get out, and the man ushers me to a large garage. He has been here before, I can tell by his stance. When I look back, we have been locked in the valley, and the men are gone. The moment we are inside, the man shuts both garage doors. They let in only a sliver of light underneath. The garage is filled with junk, unlivable save for a few square feet in the front. A dog greets us, her tail wagging. The man lights several lights and turns on a dusty radio. At first he ignores me, but soon we become tolerant friends. I sleep on the floor that night in a scratchy sleeping bag, and when I wake there are small snakes on the floor. The man is already sweeping them out of the garage door. He says that they can paralyse you with only a few bites. That they can drive you insane, in extreme cases. He has locked the dog up so she won’t attack them. They arrive every morning, and sometimes during the afternoon, for all of the days following our arrival. I don’t touch them, but the man makes sure they are all gone. Then the man leaves. I do not know where. One morning he is gone. When the snakes come, I try to brush them away, but they bite me. The dog eats the rest of them to protect me, but now she is curled in a corner, whimpering. The radio crackles sports score from New York, but I can’t move on the floor. When I feel it wearing off, a garage door opens at the other end of the building. I hear voices and see the silhouettes of people. They wear strange suits. One woman is navigating her way toward me, through the sea of junk. I clutch a knife and crouch low. The poison from the snakes is making me druel. I feel numb. She sees the recovering dog and turns. I lurch from the shadows and I tackle her. I cover her mouth and nose until she is unconscious. Then I run. I open a side door and stagger out into the daylight, the dog following me. We run for the woods.