A year ago in tiny Ingram, Texas, a local police officer named Jaron Alexander responded to a noise complaint—a baptism party, it turned out, held by Joanna Martinez and her extended family. Shortly after, Alexander began working in tandem with US Immigration and Customs Enforcement, in an arrangement that has recently doubled the number of local police working with ICE. Within months, six people who attended Martinez’s party had been detained and deported, or else had fled from Ingram. Francesca D’Annunzio and McKenzie Funk grant impressive access to a local cop whose decision to work with ICE has transformed a small town into a claustrophobic nightmare, upending the local economy and fracturing countless relationships.

One family notarized guardianship papers, in case the parents were detained and the children left behind. One woman swore Alexander showed up outside a memorial service and asked people for IDs. Another woman said he detained her and her husband when they returned home from church. Parties dwindled. Invite lists shrank. People began to move away, to Kerrville and San Antonio, and Alexander’s reputation reached as far as La Ceja, a village in the mountains of central Mexico, where an elderly resident said he and his neighbors were familiar with the Texas town’s police. “El Charger negro,” he said, with a knowing nod. He estimated that some 20 or 30 people in the village were recent deportees from Ingram.

Alexander’s fortunes seemed to rise as the Martinez family’s fell. With her husband gone, Joanna Martinez couldn’t afford payments on the trailer they shared. She and their infant and her 4-year-old son moved back into her childhood bedroom in her mother’s crowded home, where several relatives and their children also lived. She tried to stay connected with her husband, Macias, via WhatsApp calls while working as much as she could as a house cleaner to keep afloat. “I can’t lock myself up in my room and just cry,” Martinez says.

In its heyday, Route 66 was a road of opportunities and dreams. Today, it’s a highway of ghosts, a symbol of what once was, although it still attracts visitors. For Current Affairs, Jesse Wright reflects on America’s historic highway in a time of artificial intelligence, when so much land across the country is being bought up, repurposed, and turned into data centers. Wright, who traveled the road from Chicago to Santa Monica, asks: What will these massive centers leave behind?

But what is new, perhaps, is the utter absence of even having been at all. The data centers’ legacy will be nothing. Their absence will be complete. Computer hallucinations leave no room for the dreams of humans. In 100 years, there will be nothing. Nobody will want to spend their vacation touring endless rooms full of rusty server racks.