Mojave

Short Story Fiction

When Renan's parents died, behind the grief - he was grateful. His parents didn't do much for him when they were alive, but in their death, after the overdose, his reality splintered in the most majestic way - freeing him from their neglectful hold. His life would finally begin.

The inheritance afforded him an RV and basic supplies. He’d learn to live off the land as much as possible and keep his earthly desires simple - food, sex, nature. Travel would be costly, but he had just enough to fulfill his minimalistic nomadic desires of holing up in Mojave Desert - one of many distant scenic places he'd daydreamed about as a kid. Accepting whatever risk, Renan would charge straight into the belly of that scorched abyss.

He had packed up most of his teenage room- essentials like clothing, bedding, abandoned sketchbooks, comics, novels, and his hidden stash of the explicit variety. Those bare-bone essentials fit into three large cardboard boxes and a hiker's backpack. The rest got sent to auction. Grandad's pistol got added to a box, the only family item possessing an aura of memoriam and importance for him.

While he gave a final walkthrough of his childhood home, a crackling heat rippled through his chest—an awakening, an aliveness—like a great bonfire, erupting lighted paths of possibility and exploration. Dormant emotions transposed into an electrifying blue whip of heat that whispered to burn it all down—no attachments, no memory, no trace.

Slamming the door behind him, he ran to the car, his breath catching as vivid images of the house on fire, vivid, pressed into the back of his vision as he peeled away to start his new life several hundred miles Northwest. A happy family will move in next week. Renan's past will melt away in a purging fantasy of disintegrating Suburban rubble.

Renan never traveled more than 50 miles outside of Phoenix before. His dad, Hank, went on business trips back when he had a nice job that paid well, before sleeping with the boss’s wife. Renan used to cry, begging to go on those trips, but Dad couldn't watch him, and his mom, Shannon was agoraphobic, barely functional between her pills and isolations. If he wanted more, he'd have to wait and hope, but hope ran dry - until today.

Today, Renan parks the RV, loosens his tight grip on the wheel, shuts off the engine, and steps outside, taking in the vastness of dusty carmine castles, alien but beautiful, sprawling over untamed vermillion clay earth, cracked, raw, timeless. The sage-bush-scented air, utter silence, and cacti sprouting near and far like ancient sculptures ease and excite him.

With no cell service in as remote and isolated an area as he could find, he'd depend on maps, books, and his instincts to guide him. The dream of breaking away from the modern world came into sharp, beautiful focus. He'd have plenty of opportunity to explore, but the sky was already transitioning into a mesmerizing fuchsia, a breathtaking warning sign that dark was just around the corner. Taking a five-minute trek to the Joshua tree in the distance, he would knock out some calisthenics exercises underneath its shade before returning to the RV to shower, cook, and read before bed. When he came back out of his RV, fresh from showering off the day's exercise regime and unforgiving heat, he sat on a serape blanket with his dinner and Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground.

"See this? In my hand. See?"

A voice from behind jolted him, twisting around to look - he saw alright.

"Fuck." More irritated than threatened, Renan wanted to send a threat of his own and get rid of this intruder.

"Don't move." Sensing Renan's anger and defiance, the rugged, dark-haired Stranger moved the revolver downward, grazing against Renan's back.

"Look, I need a few bites of that food and a ride back to my campsite. I don't want to hurt you, I hope you don't want to hurt me. Just need some help", the Stranger cocks the gun and says, "I'm not asking."

"Fucking hell, man, I just got here. And you couldn't just ask or pay me - what? You're gonna kill me if I say no?"

The Stranger's face hardened like stone, his muscles drawing a taut steel cold expression.

"Sorry to fuck up your night but sounds like you've no idea the threats that lurk around every corner out here. No ask, only take. It's been a long thr..four days, so hand me the bowl and drop me off where I tell you."

"I will, man. Here." Renan pushes the bowl toward the man's feet. After tearing through the food and nearby canteen, Stranger's eyes lock onto Renan's, signaling its time to leave.

.

.

.

After an hour of driving in silence, Renan, more hesitant than arrogant now, asks, "Hey, um, how much further? I'm just wondering. I'm getting a bit sleepy with all the darkness and silence."

"About two hours."

"I've got caffeine pills. Can you get them for me?"

"Fine. Where?"

"It's in that middle drawer under the… oh SHIT!"

Out of the blackness, a form leapt in front of the RV. Renan slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel to avoid collision, but the impact came with a sickening thud, shattering glass and sending the vehicle skidding into a shallow off-road ditch.

"You hurt?" The Stranger unbuckled quickly and hovered near Renan, scanning for injuries.

"I'm okay - I think. What the hell was that?" Renan asked, voice cracking as he fumbled to grasp the door handle and get outside to look at the damage.

"Looked like a mustang, maybe cut itself loose."

The crumpled bumper lay discarded, the hood dented and smeared with blood, the front tires sunken in dirt. Under shattered headlights, the lifeless horse lay a few feet away, still strikingly majestic in death. A few feverish hours in the strange landscape threatened to plunge Renan deeper into shadowed realms.

Red heat flooded Renan's chest. "So my fucking RV is ruined, and we're stuck here?!"

"Yes. That's what happened. Let's hope that horse doesn't have anyone looking for it. I need to rest. I'll help you tomorrow." He shot a sharp, commanding look at Renan, locking onto his eyes for a few moments, then let himself back into the RV.

"Fucking unbelievable," Renan muttered to himself, running a hand anxiously through his hair. He felt glass and metal crunch under his sneakers. "Whacko pulls a gun on me, drags me out here, and now my goddamn RV." Heat and panic surge inside him. "He'll pay for this shit."

Slamming the door behind him, inside Renan sees the Stranger taking off his boots.

Stranger pulls a phone out of his pocket and holds it up for Renan to see. "No signal, no one coming to help. The RV ain't going anywhere. I got what we need to get out of this mess; we're going to my place in the morning. Town is too far. You're out here alone and look what happened." Stranger sets his boots in a corner.

"You're what happened! I was totally fine. It's not my fault you ran out of supplies and got lost."

“I'm not lost, I got attacked. Was out on a supply run when a group of masked fuckers took my car. I shot two of 'em, but they got away. Been walking for days with nothing, no one around till I saw you. Don’t you understand where you are? I’ve been living out here for years, but we don’t have time to go into that. You need to trust me unless you want trouble worse than me.”

Renan checks his phone on the counter to his left—still no signal, of course. Pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists, Renan’s stomach twists, heart pounds, and body burns with heat as the gravity of his choices flood over him.

"No signal for miles. Understand? You don't have another choice but to do what I tell ya, unless you got a death wish. We take care of it my way, and it'll work out fine."

Stranger starts undoing his belt.

"Jesus, dude, are you taking your pants off?" Renan darts his eyes away.

Stranger pauses and smirks knowingly, "Are you that shy? No one change in front of you before?"

Renan darts his eyes back at him in challenge.

"I don't wanna wear these dirty clothes in your nice bed, is all."

"My bed?!" Renan's face burns hot and red.

"I told you I need rest," Stranger says, pulling the belt off and placing it on top of the boots.

"I'll sleep in boxers, or you could let me borrow some clothes. I don't think they'd fit. Same height, but I'd probably rip through your clothes." Stranger sizes up Renan's tall, well-developed frame, which, in comparison, is still a good 40 pounds lighter and less muscular than his own.

Renan clenched his jaw. He didn't trust this guy, not for a second. But what was the alternative? Waiting in the wreckage, hoping someone passed by before he ran out of water?

Renan groans, riffling through a drawer. "Here, just try this." He throws the leisure wear at Stranger.

Stranger holds the items up then tosses them back. "Yeah, I'll rip this shit." He yanks off his jeans and pulls off his shirt - piling them onto his boots.

"How old are you anyway? I thought you were way older…at first. How long have you been in Mojave?" Renan asks, turning his back to Stranger while changing into the fresh pair of clothes as quickly as possible.

"I'm 24. I moved out here at 17. You?" Stranger asks while making himself fucking comfortable, peeling back the bed sheets like he owns the place.

"Well, I moved out here today, arrived at 4:00 pm, and you showed up at 7:00 pm."

"Oh. Shit." Stranger says, now full on laying in Renan's bed with the covers pulled over him.

"And I'll be 19 on Tuesday." Renan walks up to the bed, too tired and shell-shocked from the day to put up any more fight. He climbs in, thankful there's at least enough room to maintain space between them.

"Today Sunday?" Stranger asks.

"Yeah." Within a few minutes, rhythmic breathing filled the silence. Stranger was asleep. Renan exhaled sharply - as if pushing out the weight of misfortune and then inhaling determined resolve to regain control of his fate. He shut his eyes and slept deeply.

.

.

.

A pleasant scent woke him. No one had cooked for him in years - his tired mind was musing half asleep with wonder about who was cooking, what food, what unexpected blessing might this be?

Then he saw him and remembered.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

The Stranger kept to his plating without glancing in Renan's direction, and answered flatly, "I don't want to waste the daylight. I let you sleep, but I have shit to do. We need fuel." Stranger walked the plate over to Renan. "Eat it, quick, so we can head out."

"Have any weapons?" Scanning the room, Stranger spotted the hiker's backpack and hooked the canteen outside of it. "We'll also need lots of layers for night. It'll be at least two days before we get to my place."

“Listen…Uh...”

“Hale.”

"Okay, Hale, I'm in an equally fucked situation now thanks to you - stranded with limited food that you keep eating. I gotta figure out how to get into town, not escort you around."

"I already told you town is too far. Don't be a dumbass. I'm trying to keep us alive. We need transportation, and I have motorbikes and more, so help me pack."

"You're trying to keep us alive? You?!-Who's pulled a gun on me and keeps taking my stuff?! You're only trying to keep yourself alive."

"No more gun on you, alright? I can get there alone. I don't need any more from you. The food and sleep got me right. I don't even know why I been offering to help you with the wreck." Hale turns cold. "You can stay here and figure it out yourself. I'll head off."

"Fuck! Goddamn it. okay. okay… Wait. So we go there, and then you're gonna lend that bike? Let me use it until my RV is fixed? Even if it takes weeks?"

"Yeah, I can do that - if we have a mutual understanding.", Hale says, sounding threatening without trying. Renan gives a slight nod in agreement.

"Give me a shirt; it's windy today; we'll need to make face coverings." Hale ripped an old flannel, creating two makeshift bandanas. "Gather layers to keep warm at night. Flint. Weapons."

Renan grabbed Grandad's pistol out of its case. "I only got this half box of ammo. I was gonna pick up more on a future run. I figure I wouldn't need so much as I'd mostly forage and rely on beans."

"Better than nothing, bring it all. Kitchen knives, too." They pack the map, rope, duct tape, food, water, sunblock, compass, thermal clothing, and one sleeping bag.

.

.

.

Once outside, Hale pulled the bandana that hung around his neck over his nose, creating a protective shield. Hale's dark shades, black cowboy hat, and Renan's beanie pulled low down to his eyebrows collect gusts of flying dust.

"What about those masked dudes? Is that the first time something like that happened to you here?" Renan probed.

"Stay left," Hale said sharply, jerking his chin toward the smoother trail. "Lots of loose rocks there. Twist an ankle, you'redone. I'm not carrying your ass either."

Renan studied Hale's movements closer after that and closed the distance between them, opting to just follow a bit behind him.

"First time that I got my car stolen, but not the first time someone try to take from me. Not the first time something tried to kill me." Hale's casual tone darkens, and with a distant gaze, he says, "I heard about those fucks months back. They know how to ambush and evade. Gotta stay alert."

"What did you hear about them?"

"I know few good people out here, and one of 'em was robbed and murdered by the fuckers. Seeing them, I'm sure they're part of a drug cartel. Preying on vulnerable, petty theft, bullshit initiations. Weakest shitheads I ever came across."

Renan couldn't help but think of his parents and their escalating addiction. They died long before the overdose. He was pissed off at them, pissed off at dealers and cartels. The albatross of grief, fire, and rage that lived inside him stirred.

"Fuck that. They get in my way I'll take them out."

"Growing a pair? Fast learner. Do you even know how to use that pistol?", Hale teased.

"Yeah, it was Grandad's. I got good aim. We'd shot some weekends till he passed four years ago."

"I'll believe it when I see it, kid. But keep up that confidence."

"Fuck you, you're only five years older than me."

"Not my fault you remind me of a kid."

Four hours into the trek, Hale's steps were less brisk and determined, his posture slumping slightly and feet pulling up slower as if struggling under a heavier weight than before. Then, his breathing became noticeably labored. Renan figured his body was exhausted from another day of slogging through the cracked terrain. Hale stopped abruptly and bent over, pulling his bandana down off his face to hang around his neck. Renan watched curiously. Then Hale's legs gave out, and he was on his knees with a hand clutching tight around the bandana.

Hale looked like.. like he was choking? No, the sound of his breathing was too rapid, shallow, and nonstop - it wasn't choked off. Hale's hands darted into each pocket while he staring at a spot on the ground trying to get a hold of his breathing.

Renan rushed up, "Hey man, what happened? Are you okay?"

Hale waved a dismissive hand and got up slowly. He stepped forward, then stopped, feeling dizzy and almost falling backward. He steadied himself.

"Seriously, what's wrong? Do you need something?" Renan dropped down to his level and saw his pale face under the hat's shadow.

Between coughs he said weakly, "Asthma."

"Asthma..shit.. okay, do you have an inhaler with you?"

Hale shook his head no.

"What else..what else can we do? Okay, just sit down, breathe. Are you too hot?" Renan reached for the canteen.

"Need rest. Just a...minute," Hale muttered, his words barely audible between sharp breaths.

"Yeah, we gotta take a break. Cool you down. Okay, breathe with me." Renan guides Hale with a few slow, deliberate breaths. While Hale works on matching Renan's slow, deep breaths, Renan soaks the bandana with water and gently presses it to Hale's forehead and across his cheeks.

"Keep breathing like that. Hold this up to your forehead. Take a sip." Renan guides the canteen toward Hale's lips. Hale dips his chin downward and raises an eyebrow, wrapping his hand around the canteen to take it from Renan and show that he can do it himself.

"Alright, alright." Renan chuckles and leans backward.

Hale's coughing stopped, and his breathing eased after a couple of minutes. Hale could sense the questions hanging in the air. "It's been years..I always have my inhaler, but I don't need it… my body's gotten used to what I put it through. It shouldn't have.. and it was in the car…" Hale shuts his eyes, tilting his head back, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I'll be fine. We'll keep going. I'll hold my pace back from what I'm used to - keep an easy stride. I can handle that." Hale stands up and takes a few steps closer to nearby Catci. Based on that cactus shadow.. it's around noon. Got a good 7 hours before it's dark - gotta use em."

.

.

.

A ways off trail they found a rock formation with a large overhang providing partial protection from weather and predators. Hale showed mastery with fire starting and they hadn't seen any scorpions yet - great signs in Renan's eyes.

"Tired?" Hale asked after finishing off a final piece of jerky.

"Nah, no way. It's too early. Guess we should try to sleep anyway, huh?" Renan sighed.

"Nope, you'll take first watch. I'll be sleeping. Ideally, we'll each get five hours, but if you get too tired, just wake me up first. We're too exposed to take any chances." Hale reached for the backpack, "Plus - one sleeping bag."

"Right. Hey, what do you do if you gotta take a dump?" Renan asked, glancing around. "Everything's dried out and spiky - not trying to rip my ass to shreds here. You know, just in case."

Hale smirked and then turned onto his side, pulling his hat low to cover his face. "Figure it out rookie. Welcome to desert life. Oh, and make sure you don't step in it." Hale let out a soft chuckle, turning into the sleeping bag. "Quiet now, you're on watch."

"Fucking shithead. Yeah, thanks for the help. Sleep well, princess."

Renan tucked the remaining bag of jerky back into the backpack and, with huge relief, noticed a roll of toilet paper that Hale must've stolen from the RV nestled in there. He also snuck in Renan's Dostoevsky book.

Thumbing the book open by the fire, Renan's anxious mind found refuge and surrender under the mythic expanse of diamond-bright starlight blanketing the cold vastness with the promise of protection and veneration. The ground and the sky so opposed yet unionized to the mission of supporting life and inspiring beauty. Renan felt unfamiliar peace wash over him as he read, enjoying both the whips of cold air striking at exposed cheek and the shifting flames stretching closer with heat like the perfect burn of a hot shower, soothing from head to toe.

He didn't realize when, three chapters in, he had drifted to sleep.

In his dream, he watched himself slumped over by the fire - his real self, the dumb idiot dead asleep. His second self, the one dreaming and watching, it felt a powerful presence from behind. The presence glowed white, not that he could see so much, but he knew. Something was being said; he couldn't make out what, but whatever it was that the presence was saying, it was fucking empowering. It felt like a spell, the good kind, like that angelic or ghostly thing was hexing him but in a positive way - like singing prayers and praise over him. The unknown words had sounds he couldn't hear; they had vibrations he couldn't feel, yet they made Renan, the dream Renan, want to cry from overwhelming joy.

Then that presence behind him spoke something clear as day, saying, "See?" a deep red orb appeared in front of Renan, "This is your power." That darkened red orb, a small ball of light which started to expand larger into a larger ball of pink light with violet flames all around it. Dream Renan watched the violet orb between his hands, watched it expand and contract and expand with an understanding that who he was and his old ways would cease. His bitterness no longer made sense to him.

A distant gunshot startled Renan awake. A second gunshot followed, pulling Hale out of his sleep and prompting him to action.

"I think it's them. People don't go around shooting at night unless they're creating trouble. God damn cartel scum." Hale started kicking dirt over the fire.

Renan snatched up the backpack, taking out his pistol. He stood motionless, staring at the gun, thoughts running with possibility, all of which stiffened him with dread.

Packing up the sleeping bag Hale said, "We'll move quiet, try to stay clear of em. We don't got nothing they'd want but doesn't matter to those psychopaths. Lobos Mortales."

"What's Lobos Mortales?"

"Deadly Wolves - on their jackets."

Renan followed Hale through the darkness. They walked carefully, quietly, but that didn't help the gnawing sense of exposure, like prey caught in the open.

Renan slipped on something slick on its surface and firm but buoyant when pressed beneath his shoe. The sensation was so multi-layered with contrast, so alien, he couldn’t help but let out a muffled shriek of confusion or fear or disgust. Especially when, before losing balance, he heard and felt an unmistakable crunching - different from yesterday’s glass and metal crunch - and though he’d never crunched this kind of crunch before, he knew it was bones breaking.

"Fuck. Ew. Ow. My ass." Still sat on the ground, Renan was jerking his body back, scooting his ass backward, trying to get away from whatever alive or dead thing he encountered.

"It's a hawk - dead." Hale inspected it closer and saw a bullet in its eye.

Veins bulged along the sides of Hale's temples and neck, his jaw clenched tight, eyes cutting and full of fury.

Renan saw the familiar steel-cold expression and noticed fingers trembling with barely controlled rage as his eyes scanned the bird's broken form. "I-I didn't mean to I didn't see it. Why was it on the ground, did I kill it?"

"It's got a bullet in its eye- shot and left here. A message." Hale said balefully.

Hale held his hand out and helped Renan up.

.

.

.

In silence, they continued walking another 40 minutes before they saw him. One of their own, lying facedown, bled out, with ten or so long black feathers placed around his head like a death halo.

They heard the hum of motorcycles approaching. "Shit we gotta hide." Renan pulled at Hale's forearm, but Hale was immovable. "Nowhere to hide. Go, run far. I'm gonna deal with them." Hale pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to Renan. "Keep this on you. Go." Hale shoved the backpack on him and pulled out his revolver, cocking the gun in the direction of the amber headlights. Renan quickly opened the paper and scanned the pen-scrawled notes: In Cima, the RV with the blue shed is mine. Ken, brown nearby house, he'll help you get bikes from the shed and with the rest of it. Show him this. - Hale Sutton.

A ripping sound carried through the air, the motorcycles were close. Renan balled up the paper and stuffed it into his pocket, sweat beading on his palms. His mind was yelling at him to run and save himself, but something held him there. "Cima, huh? I’ll run with you. We can both run, or we can have a crazy ass shoot-out."

The roaring silenced, and that made Renan's heart beat wildly. The motorcycles’ sound cut to halt about 50 yards away.

A feral grin pulled at the corners of Hale's lips. "Almost too late now. Still feel confident about your aim?"

"Hell yeah. Outshoot you any day."

"Last chance. Run to Cima or prove it and pop em before they have a chance to react." Hale took off, keeping his stride light but quick, holding out the revolver the way Renan had seen in all those Criminal Minds episodes.

All four of the Lobos Mortales were off their bikes, two smoking, one lighting up, and the fourth twirling a closed switchblade knuckle to knuckle while languidly walking toward their discarded comrade.

Hale was already squeezing the trigger before he could fully process it, like a predator, his only strategy was to land the shot. And he did.

Renan's heart was distractingly loud - ringing, pulsing, thudding in his ears - but as his vision focused on his pistol in his hands, muscle memory and moments with Granddad flashed him into the past and present at once, his eyes moving past the barrel, re-enacting target practice, locking down the visual, and BANG.

"¡Mierda, deténganlo ahora!" The furthest man shouted, ducking behind the bikes as the closest to Hale flicks the switchblade open and lunges toward him. The switchblade was held low, its aim heading for Hale's stomach, and while a large hand grasped Hale's shoulder roughly to pull Hale into the knife. Hale sidestepped, the blade shallowly cutting his forearm.

Renan, still behind Hale, had no clear shot. The target, Switchblade, was mostly covered behind Hale's formidable frame. A bullet went flying through the air past Renan's head. Renan crouched and willed his focus on his target, shooting at his calf.

"¡Hijo de puta!" Switchblade yelled, dropping to the ground in pain. Renan closed the gap, hovering over Switchblade, barrel aimed fiercely at his head. BANG. The body collapsed in a loud thud as another bullet came flying, zipping past them all.

Hale ran left, and Renan ran right, both looking for quick cover from the bullets coming from behind the motorcycles, from that Shithead. A car pulled up next to the motorcycles, and momentarily, the gunfire ceased. Renan ducked behind a boulder, while Hale turned back to aim at the Shithead.

Fsst…..BANG. Hale's bullet ripped through Shithead's throat. Shithead's eyes bugged out as he clasped his hands around his neck and fell backward, choking on the spluttering blood.

Hale then noticed the car—his goddamn car—starting to reverse. The fucker was fleeing the scene. He fired at the left tire but missed. Sprinting, he aimed again, a loud pop of exploded rubber and metal hubcap skidding signaled Renan into action, following Hale's lead and aiming for the front tire on the right. Hale shot the windshield, but the bullet lodged without shattering the glass. He aimed for the passenger window while Renan started shooting at the back tire.

In all the chaos, trying to floor it out of there, the car reversed hard into a tree, the back bumper dragging now in its slow crawl. Hale and Renan shot at the passenger window. The car stopped. The door jerked open slowly, revealing a bloody hand raised in surrender. Hale and Renan approached cautiously, guns ready.

The crew's leader let out a raspy laugh, his face twisted into a contorted expression mixing sick joy and deep pain. He coughed, and flecks of red splattered from his lips, coating his teeth. "End me then. Doesn't matter. You can't stop this pack."

The leader smirked, leaning his head back against the seat. “The wolves will keep coming. Los Lobos Mortales, cazaremos y mataremos a todo lo que se cruce en nuestro camino. Somos los reyes del desierto. Escucha nuestros aullidos en tus sueños.”

"You're bleeding quite a lot there. Should I let you die slowly, bide my time so I can enjoy watching when the vultures catch a whiff and tear you apart?" Hale leaned close up to the man's blood-stained face, staring into his eyes with a low tone, "Or do you want the easy way out, tough guy?"

The leader grimaced, a cruel teeth-baring gnarl, "Fuck you."

Hale took a step back and shot the face off of him. He wiped down his gun with the bit of the leader's shirt that wasn't drenched in blood, got the inhaler from the glovebox, closed the door, and sat on the ground. Renan grabbed Marlboros off Shithead and sat next to Hale, lighting them up.

"You shouldn't smoke, you know?" Hale said, taking the lit cigarette from Renan.

"I know. I only do it after a kill." They chuckle and savor the sharp, earthy smoke, bitter but magic in its ability to unravel nerves.

Hale starts coughing, and realization dawns on Renan, "Oh shit. You shouldn't be smoking. You have asthma! Idiot."

"I'm okay." Hale smiles, squeezing Renan's knee.

"Okay. Yeah. Me too." The corners of Renan's mouth pull up ever so slightly as he pulls away from Hale's gaze and watches the sunrise.

Hale stands, holding a hand out to help Renan up. "To Cima?" Renan grab his hand, “To Cima.”

---

Thank you for reading! I sometimes make specific playlists on Spotify for stories I write. These were the songs that got me into the vibes to write Mojave: