A layer of red dust sloughed off my tent and joined the swirling eddies that danced across the predawn desert. A black nose poked out from the tent, followed by a brindle face. A few deep sniffs and the Koko bounced out into the cold to do her business. Most people think Koko was named for her golden brown and black brindle coat. But really, it's just short for K.O., as in knockout. A fitting name for a boxer. The puppy was her usual punch-drunk self today.

I yawned and stretched as I stepped out of the tent. Then I pulled my jacket on tighter. The cold morning air worked better at defogging my brain than coffee. While Koko worked on sticking her nose into every bush in the area, I started the campfire and set the kettle on to heat. After another stretch and I headed behind the Jeep. We were settled in a beautiful canyon surrounded by tall red rocky bluffs, far from the noise and smells of the city. The stillness was only broken by the soft sounds of wind playing among the shrubs. Free from the ever-present stain of humanity, it was as close to idyllic as possible. It was places like these where I felt most at home. My eyes closed as I drank another deep breath of clean, cool air. And then I lowered my fly.

"Dad!" The shrill voice of a child interrupted me midstream.

"Behind the Jeep, son. Put on your big jacket. It's cold this morning." I answered.

I finished up just in time to hear the shuffle of little feet against the gravel. I exited the privacy of our four-wheeled lavatory wall and saw Noah huffing beside the tent. My oldest child was in his medium-weight jacket, arms crossed over his chest. His brown hair stuck out at bedhead angles, and a pout twisted across his little face.

"I'm mad at you," Noah said with a stamp of his foot.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I wanted to start the fire!" Noah replied.

"I'm sorry, but it was cold this morning. But maybe you can help me put it out before our hike today?" I replied with practiced calm. "And maybe we can have hot chocolate this morning?"

Noah switched moods at the suggestion of hot chocolate, as only a six-year-old can. "Hot chocolate, hot chocolate!" He shouted. The excitement brought Koko running back. Noah glomped onto the puppy and dragged her around while I got a couple of tin cups from the kitchenette. A few moments later, we were sitting on the tailgate of the Gladiator, waiting for the sun to crest the horizon. Noah juggled his cup in one hand and petted Koko with the other. Koko was enjoying the attention when her head suddenly popped up, head pointed at a tussock of bear grass beside our tent. Her paws scrabbled across the blanket and leaped into a run. I watched as she sniffed around, warry of sleeping rattlers.

"Dad, why is the sunrise green? Shouldn't it be red? And, and what's that color?" Noah asked.

"Hum?" I replied while taking a swig of my coffee. Then I saw it. The coffee flew from my mouth, and the cup fell from my hands. The ruby sky was streaked with greens, blues, and purples. My mind staggered. It was like an aurora but unlike anything I had ever seen before. Lines of yellow and darker colors swept against the grain, dipped and bobbed, and began to weave themselves through the prism of colors. The sky had gone plaid. Then it got weird.

Tendrils of light descended from the heavens and crawled along the craggy bluffs. Only, it wasn't a natural light. It was something that scratched at the edge of human perception. Something that should have remained hidden. Shadows flipped as wisps of nothingness crawled and oozed along the landscape. Colors and shapes undulated in spectrums that would haunt me forever. My body froze, eyes welded open to witness the madness as it crawled closer. I was vaguely aware of screams that bounced and echoed in the canyon.

Something slimy and wet rubbed my face and urged me back to consciousness. My eyes fluttered open, and Koko's fuzzy face came into focus. My head pounded. Despite the gravel trying to embed itself into my exposed skin, I didn't want to move.

"Noah?" I called out, my voice raspy and throat sore. I grabbed onto the tailgate to steady my legs. Noah was just starting to wake up. He had fallen back into the truck's bed and whined a little. I sat next to Noah and pulled him into my arms. He whimpered a little, but no tears. That was usually a good indication that everything was okay. I rubbed Noah's back, looked around, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

Then Koko barked. She was pawing at something on the ground. It was some strange little creature like a kangaroo mouse, but with a lime green stripe of spiky hair. Its head was misshapen and scaly with an oversized mouth and dull bulging eyes. Kind of like an inbred toad rodent mix. I leaned forward and gaped at this strange creature. While I may not have been an expert in zoology, I was relatively sure this wasn't natural. It could have been caused by a mutation, but what was out here? Radiation? Then, just as I remembered the strange lights, the toadant's mouth blurped open, and its bulbous tongue lashed out.

Despite the sore throat, I managed a scream that would put a coked-up cheerleader to shame. The creature crunched under the heel of my boot. And then the world flashed blue and white. I closed my eyes and shook my head. When I opened my eyes, they refocused.

"What was that?" Asked Noah as I dragged my boot through the dirt.

"I'm not sure, a toadant, I think? Koko, no! Don't eat that!" More things flashed in my eyes, and I blinked them away. "Are you seeing any more of those lights?'

"No. What happened? What's a toadant? Koko is eating it again!" Noah replied.

I searched over the horizon. Everything looked normal enough. Still, something was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And I didn't think it was just the chilly air.

"Noah, go ahead and douse, er, put out the fire. Then grab your stuff and load it back onto the truck. We need to get back home." I gave Noah quick instructions before grabbing the cooler and pushing it back onto the truck.

"But I want to stay here!" Noah whined in reply.

"No dawdling! Get to work, something strange is happening, and we'll be safer at home." I shoved Koko away from the mutant corpse and headed back to the tent to get the sleeping bags.

Ten minutes later, I closed the tonneau cover on the Jeep. Back at the campsite, only our bright yellow tent remained. Noah was poking the ashes of the doused fire with a stick. And Koko was doing that cute puppy pose. The kind where she was pointed at something while holding up her front paw. Her adorable little stubby brown tail lifted in the air. Her soft short brindle fir bristled in lovable tufts. Koko's sweet jowls raised to show her teeth. And from her scratchable belly, a low growl emanated. Oh. Crap.

A low eerie hum started to resonate through my bones. The kind you feel more than hear, and as it rose in volume, I felt my breath stick in my lungs. In the distance, a line of dust rose from the dry canyon floor and swirled our way.

"Noah! In the truck. Now!" I barked with parental authority before slamming the tailgate and scooping up Koko. With the critter and kid loaded into the truck, I dropped into four-wheel drive and threw gravel as I peeled away. We slid around the bend and out of the campsite. I glanced in the mirror and watched our abandoned tent get sucked into the ground.

Inside each adult is a unique list of sublime swears and creative curses reserved for genuinely horrific moments. I had mentally cycled through my list twice, amended it, and repeated it. Then added some portmanteau profanities and a guttural scream for good measure.

"Dad! Can. I. Play. My. Game?" Noah bellowed from the back and interrupted my internal swear soliloquy. I glanced back at him in the mirror, and my vision blurred. That was happing entirely too much lately. Fortunately, I could still see enough of the trail to drive. But it was annoying, like an extensive collection of eye floaties that just wouldn't go away.

"Yes," I replied between alternating blinks.

"What about the robot game?" Noah pestered.

"Yes, you can play whatever you want," I answered. Those stupid eye smudges kept changing and floating in different patterns. This was getting increasingly disturbing.

"Can I play the racing one?" Noah asked.

"Yes, yes, yes. Yes, to everything. Just give me a moment." I said.

"Are you mad at me?" Noah asked.

"No, I'm not mad,” I replied with a softer voice. “I'm sorry. I love you very much, Noah. I was just trying to focus on driving and didn't want to be distracted." Then with a sigh, the infuriating eye bugs disappeared.