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Mar. 16th, 2023 at 6:41 PM
[The night carries the two of them south. While Johnnie's original plan based on his map had been to travel down the coastline, he's still cautious about what lurks there, and opts for a quieter, inland route that bypasses most of the major cities in South Carolina. Whatever this state might hold, they'll miss it, aside for a brief pit stop near Lake Marion to refuel the tank, fill up on snacks, and get Chrissy a little more knife fighting practice (though with sticks found at the lakeside, no sharp edges here) before either of them are too low on energy for that.
There are long stretches where towns mostly vanish, where they're lucky to have pavement at all judging by the lack of civilization around them. The road material shifts at one point into something strange and glassy, and Johnnie has a hard time finding traction for the bike - and the explanation comes in the form of some strange electric vehicle with neon lights that zips rapidly past them, floating over the road rather than touching it. It's cool, but it also makes the hair rise on the back of his neck.
The orange-pink disc of the sun is just barely visible emerging on the horizon as they ride into Tifton. That last leg of the road had been so dark and quiet Johnnie had fallen into something of a trance, hypnotized by the black road and its yellow stripes, but a road sign for the Tifton Mine ("an unbelievable journey through time you don't dare miss!") and the lights of a fire station and golf club at the edge of town snap him out of his thoughts.
The mine is to the north, and part of him wants to just take that road and go straight there. But Chrissy needs a real bed to sleep in while she recovers from her injuries, still - dozing on the road probably doesn't count enough. And, okay, maybe he could use a couple hours' rest, too.
They pass a fucking taquerÃa and that blows his mind, and then as they get farther and farther into the city he continues to sit straight up and look a little bit startled by all the lights and signs and everything for what was marked as some tiny little dot on a map that he was expecting to have no more than maybe five hundred people. The music, too, keeping him awake this last part of the ride, is even more unfamiliar than it was in the 90s, and as he merges with traffic and looks around at dancing lights and animated billboards, he spots a bank with a time, date, and temperature reading for some absurd reason.
April 6, 2004.]
Hey, you seein' all this, Chrissy?
[Who knows if she's even awake right now, but maybe the slowing of his bike and the surprising amount of traffic at this hour have done the trick. Now they just need to find a motel, and the main drag up ahead looks like a good bet.]
There are long stretches where towns mostly vanish, where they're lucky to have pavement at all judging by the lack of civilization around them. The road material shifts at one point into something strange and glassy, and Johnnie has a hard time finding traction for the bike - and the explanation comes in the form of some strange electric vehicle with neon lights that zips rapidly past them, floating over the road rather than touching it. It's cool, but it also makes the hair rise on the back of his neck.
The orange-pink disc of the sun is just barely visible emerging on the horizon as they ride into Tifton. That last leg of the road had been so dark and quiet Johnnie had fallen into something of a trance, hypnotized by the black road and its yellow stripes, but a road sign for the Tifton Mine ("an unbelievable journey through time you don't dare miss!") and the lights of a fire station and golf club at the edge of town snap him out of his thoughts.
The mine is to the north, and part of him wants to just take that road and go straight there. But Chrissy needs a real bed to sleep in while she recovers from her injuries, still - dozing on the road probably doesn't count enough. And, okay, maybe he could use a couple hours' rest, too.
They pass a fucking taquerÃa and that blows his mind, and then as they get farther and farther into the city he continues to sit straight up and look a little bit startled by all the lights and signs and everything for what was marked as some tiny little dot on a map that he was expecting to have no more than maybe five hundred people. The music, too, keeping him awake this last part of the ride, is even more unfamiliar than it was in the 90s, and as he merges with traffic and looks around at dancing lights and animated billboards, he spots a bank with a time, date, and temperature reading for some absurd reason.
April 6, 2004.]
Hey, you seein' all this, Chrissy?
[Who knows if she's even awake right now, but maybe the slowing of his bike and the surprising amount of traffic at this hour have done the trick. Now they just need to find a motel, and the main drag up ahead looks like a good bet.]
Comments
Stay there! Please?
[She sweetly requests, a sharp contrast to the knife that she pulls out and pops open. The blade is lightly run across the desks and other furniture in the room, as she makes her way over to the fallen guard. He's still scrambling to try and get his gun, flustered and annoyed.
Chrissy spots his badge on his pocket and grabs a small portable computer (they're so little in 2004, wow!) to pick up and drop on his head. It doesn't knock him out, and she's left trying to use her knife to cut his ID badge off of him.
What winds up happening is he gains his bearings while she's trying to stand over him. The printer is shoved to the side along with the laptop, and he definitely has his gun out now. Panic fills her again, and she kicks at his hand as hard as she can. She makes impact before he can pull the trigger, but the gun does go off as it hits the wall. She gasps in surprise and just makes a grab at the guard's badge, and is even more shocked when he bowls her over onto the ground.
Her knife is knocked out of her hand in the process, and she huffs as she feels the weight of this guy pressing over her. It hurts her ribs enough that she screams and squirms, and she tries her best to grab her knife so she can stab him until he gets off of her.]
You're hurting me! Get off!
[Her hand wraps around the hilt of her knife while her other hand balls up into a fist as she uses the heel of her hand to jab as hard as she can against his throat.]
Even with a gun, that guard can't take both of them without backup, and he's left his radio on the desk. At the same time the guard bowls Chrissy over and disarms her, Johnnie is closing quickly, his own knife in his hand. He could shoot this asshole for threatening Chrissy, he probably should, but even for him that's a last resort. Instead, as Chrissy strikes upward at the guy's throat, Johnnie kicks that gun out of his hand and much farther away this time, then grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him up onto his knees with the blade of his knife against his throat.]
Chrissy, go get that gun. Hey, fucker. We got some questions. You wanna cooperate or do you want me to gut you like a pig? Your choice.
[The guard is warily looking around out of the corner of his eyes, trying to locate his gun, until Johnnie digs the knife in harder, drawing blood and putting pressure on his windpipe. He gasps and refocuses.]
Hey man, I just work here. What do you even want?
[He doesn't sound like he's going to be happy to cooperate, but Johnnie keeps him focused, keeps his attention off anything like escape or Chrissy or fighting back, at least for the moment.]
Does your badge open doors and gates around here?
[The guard curses under his breath, trying to stay still against the knife that's pressed to his throat.]
Fuck, that's what your after? My badge? You're a crazy bitch, you know that?
[She steps in and presses the gun to his temple]
Answer me.
[She knows he's not going anywhere. Johnnie will kill him before letting him out of that hold he's got the guy in.]
Shit. Yeah, it opens everything. But we don't keep money on property after close. And even if we did, I don't have access to the vaults.
[Chrissy's now able to reach over and tear his badge off of him. It's pocketed before she looks back to Johnnie. This guy thinks they're after money? Ridiculous.]
The idea that they've gone through all this effort to just to rob the compound of some money makes him laugh outright.]
You dense motherfucker. Where's the cosmic ash?
[The laughter is completely gone as Johnnie snarls that question out. He can see the guard visibly swallow against his blade, confusion on his face.]
Th- there's samples in the gift shop, but we don't keep most of it here. I don't know where it goes, though. If you come back tomorrow you can just buy some, and ask about where to get more. There's brochures, you can just mail order it...
[He trails off, like he's hoping he's said enough to be let go, but Johnnie has more questions, especially because that's such a goddamned obnoxious answer. Yeah right, come back to get arrested, sounds cool.]
Who do you work for? Who owns this place?
[The guard looks especially confused to be asked this, but,]
Txoria Mining Corporation? You idiots could have just found all this out by coming to the gift shop tomorrow...
[He stops as a fresh rivulet of blood trickles down his throat, courtesy of Johnnie reminding him not to keep talking once he's answered a question.]
That what it says on his badge, Chrissy?
[What an awful name, really. Her nose scrunches up, and she taps the tip of the gun against the guy's temple.]
Your mom must have really not liked you. I understand what that's like.
[Her eyes look to the blood along his throat, and she glances up at Johnnie with a smile. He's attractive to her all the time, but seeing him in his element really makes him seem like a rugged action hero to her.]
What else do you need to know, Johnnie? I'll grab his radio and then we can head inside.
See if you can find somethin' like rope around here. Or, get his belt off. Get his wrists real tight together. You got a telephone here, Kip?
[What a fucking name.]
I have a phone, yeah - on the desk.
[The second part of that reply comes after another enforced reminder. And once his wrists are bound, one way or another, Johnnie shoves him down to the floor on his back, trapping his hands beneath him, and plants a foot on his chest.]
Babe, you wanna find me that rock? I'm just gonna break this dude's knees so he'll stay here. Someone'll find him in the morning. Gonna be a long night here, Kip, settle in.
[The guard starts begging and pleading for him not to do that, but Johnnie isn't exactly listening.]
So she sets the gun aside on the desk and goes over to retrieve the rock with both hands. Johnnie gets a quick kiss as she hands it over, and then she's left skipping her way back over to the desk to hop up to sit on it. She grabs the gun and holds it in her lap as her legs sway and kick.]
You know what, Kip? You're really lucky. Someone will find you tomorrow, and they'll get you to the hospital. And then you'll probably get paid time off from work. You should be thanking us.
[She's ever the optimist, even in Kip's moment of terror and pain.
With that hopeful thought in mind, she leans over to grab his walkie talkie, so she can hold that in her lap too.]
Do you think I tied his wrists tight enough, baby? I don't want him to be able to get away.
[Chrissy takes to this so well, it's not only endearing but genuinely helpful. Man, and to think he was afraid at first that she'd flee at the first sign of trouble, way back when they first met. He hefts the rock in his hand, then shuffles sideways a little, digging his heel into that soft space between ribs and stomach to keep Kip from trying to move around too much, because he's pretty sure the moment he starts in, the guy is going to scream and howl and try to fight back. Broken knee's gotta hurt like hell.
Kip hisses a breath through his teeth, clearly already anticipating that, as he continues to plead.]
You fight back an' she shoots you.
[That's the only warning he gets before he hammers that rock hard down onto Kip's right kneecap. He really needs a hammer for this sort of thing, because the force of the rock against his hand and wrist is kind of jarring. Needs earplugs, too, actually, because the scream-howl of pain as Kip writhes is annoying as all fuck. They should've gagged him, but whatever. He doesn't want to ask Chrissy to do that when having the gun trained on the guy is more important.
Johnnie forcibly keeps Kip in place with that heel against his stomach and hammers again and again with the rock until the blows feel softer, like the bone has cracked and shattered enough for muscle and sinew to start absorbing the hits, and the knees of his pants are wet with blood through the black fabric. Kip is moaning, but his movements are slow and meaningless, his body in shock at the pain. Johnnie tosses the rock aside, and heads toward the desk, giving Chrissy a pat on the knee.]
Thanks. All right, you got his radio, you think this is a phone? Don't want him crawling over here to call out any time soon.
[He picks up the little metallic device still on the desk and flips it open. It's not like any phone he's seen, but it has three letters per number, and that part is familiar.]
Oh wait.
Resting on the far end of the desk is a pair of really small earplugs on a cord. They're attached to a little rectangular thing. She keeps her arm outstretched with the gun and leans over to grab the earplugs. She pulls on them, and is surprised when everything comes to her in one piece. The earplugs are put in, and she's shocked to hear music coming out of them.
And she knows the song playing, too!
Abba's Dancing Queen was always one of her favorites. With the happy song playing her ears, she can't hear the screaming or the sound of bone crushing. She just watches poor Kip be beaten to an upbeat song. Her legs kick and sway and she keeps the gun trained on him.
One of the earplugs are removed as Johnnie approaches her, and she glances over at the thing he's asking about.]
Hold on a second, and I'll grab it.
[There's a black backpack on the floor. Probably Kip's. She hops down and grabs it, figuring she can go through it later. For now, the earplugs with music, the walkie talkie, and the phone in Johnnie's hand all go into the backpack. And just to be safe, she pulls the corded phone from the wall and puts that in the backpack too.
It's zipped up and she puts it on.]
Did you get both of his knees? Because I can always try shooting him there.
[She's just thinking there's no way he'd be able to crawl anywhere if she did that.]
Yeah, he's not goin' anywhere. Even if he gets his hands loose, what's he gonna do, drag himself around? Can't really even crawl right.
[There is some weird stuff in this office, now that he has a moment to look around. The technology isn't entirely foreign to him, though - he sees the camera feeds on the TV screens. But there's nobody to watch them now, so who cares, really.
There are binders and notebooks and other records on the shelves, but he's not that interested in the history of this place, especially the boring type of history that can be held in a spiral-bound report. He decides, for now, none of this matters.]
C'mon, let's see what's in the other building, now you got that badge. We'll come back here if it doesn't have the answers we want. What's this thing?
[He gestures to her corded... earplugs?]
[That part is said to Kip, who seems a lot more focused on his knees. Whatever. Chrissy pulls his badge out of her pocket, and makes sure the safety is on the gun before she tucks it into the waistband of her skirt. It doesn't exactly work the same as when Johnnie does it in his waistband, so she pulls it out and offers it to him to hold for her.
She makes her way over to the doorway, and as Johnnie approaches she takes hold of his hand so they can head back toward the main building.]
I left the walkie talkie on, so if anyone tries calling him on it, we'll hear. His badge had four numbers written on the back. I'm betting that's the alarm code, if there's any alarms in there. But with all those cameras he was watching, there may not actually be any alarms.
[Hey, he's into anything that plays music and is portable, that's pretty exciting. He doesn't really get how something that small works, but that's not going to bother him, it's just neat that it does.
He tucks their second gun away to free up his hands, then trots on down toward the gate.]
Smart. Yeah, we'll see. I know some alarms don't do anything obvious, they just call the police. But you'd think with a pass like that, we'd be fine, right? No alarm's gonna go off if it thinks we're supposed to be there.
[The gate here with the key slot Chrissy found earlier opens readily with that badge inserted, and leaves them facing the main building from the side. They get inside it just as easily thanks to the keycard slot by the door, which unlocks with a click. Johnnie closes it behind them once they're both inside, then finds the light switch.]
Exhibits left, gift shop right here. They sure don't want you to miss out on spending your money.
[Typical bullshit, but useful in this case.
There are books about mining, lots of toy dump trucks and excavators, and a whole array of rocks and jewelry for sale that don't seem like they have anything at all to do with this place. It's a whole grab bag of toys and decor arguably related to science and geology right by the registers.
But the rear half of the gift shop, the side you enter from when coming fresh out of the exhibits, is themed with a less terrestrial approach. Books about space, cheap toy telescopes, and tiny meteorite samples in boxes surround a central display, a glass case with a locked panel. Here, as Johnnie approaches, he can see a column of tiny glass bottles on little shelves, each corked and decoratively printed with a cut gem motif, each labeled as Cosmic Ash. The contents, about a tablespoon per bottle, do look gray and powdery, but they shine with a rainbow sheen.
And there are brochures next to the display, like Kip had said. Johnnie grabs one, glowers at that cut gem on the cover, then flips through it.]
"... but sometimes, as we all know, the journey through the greater cosmos asks us to stay a little longer than we'd like. Whoopsie! No problem, because with cosmic ash, we can remind ourselves, or you can remind a friend, that there's time to drift the cosmos later, but now we need to take a break! Cosmic ash can be inhaled on its own, but has far greater potency when coupled with our patented diffuser-" what a fucking crock of bullshit. This fucking asshole-
[Time to cut into some profit margins. He grabs one of those shitty display telescopes and swings it like a bat at the display case. But the case is sturdier glass than it looks, and the telescope is shittier, so it actually just breaks the scope off the tripod and sends it clattering to the floor.]
Look at what I found, Johnnie.
[She pulls out a toolbelt. There's a variety of little tools attached, but one that catches her attention.]
We could've used that hammer on his legs.
[Oh well, maybe next time. She pulls the hammer out and tosses the rest of the tools on the belt aside onto the floor. If Johnnie wants them, he'll pick them up. But Chrissy is focused on taking that hammer and going up to the case.
Thinking it will crack under any amount of pressure, she gently taps the hammer against it. Offense is written all over her face when the hammer recoils without even cracking the stupid case open. Her jaw sets as she tries again, this time harder. It doesn't do anything.]
Oh gosh, this is hard. [She hits harder, and there's a cracking sound. But no crack in the really sturdy glass.] Fuck. [Ugh, this is hurting her hands and her ribs. The hammer is held out to him, so he can go to town with it.]
You smash it. I'm going shopping.
[She's got Kip's backpack. There's souvenirs she wants to steal.]
[Who knew he'd need random fucking tools on this journey, but he's happy to have them.
He watches with anticipation, and a growing scowl as she can't break the glass. He takes the hammer from her, but the key here must be to go for a weak spot. The case does have its unlockable panel, presumably for staff to reach in and take these little sample bottles out for customers to purchase, and that's got to be the best place to attack.
The hinges look sturdy. The lock is a keypad that needs a code. He could try the one Chrissy found, but a security guard being able to open this doesn't really make sense to him, and it's way easier to smash his way through the buttons. With a few heavy blows, he pretty well obliterates the keypad, sending pieces of metal flying, then slides open the lock with his hand and pushes the door wide open.
No point wasting further time. He discards the hammer on top of the rest of the tools, then grabs four bottles in one swipe.]
How much - wait.
[The brochure has usage directions, probably. He picks another one up and pages through it, past the sales garbage and an order form with an address in California. He'll have to hold onto that.
The last two pages do offer some usage advice, but it assumes there's a diffuser in play, and he can't see any of those sitting around the shop. Mail-order only, maybe. Well, it's stupid bullshit anyway, so he's going for one of the novelty mugs, black with green glow-in-the-dark stars, and starts dumping the little bottles of ash into it. It immediately makes him sneeze.]
Wonder if you can overdose on this shit. That'd be somethin'.
[Because he's filling this mug to the brim, one spoonful at a time, and tosses the empty bottles behind the registers as he goes.]
What kind of world is a drug legal, and out near candy for kids?
It's really messed up.
By the time she makes her way back over to Johnnie, he's taking the little bottles and dumping them into a mug. Unsure if they should put all of their eggs in this basket, she swipes a handful of vials and puts them into the backpack.]
Are you going to try all of that at once?
[Worry creeps into her tone, and she reaches out to stop him from filling up the mug any further.]
Maybe you should start small and we can work our way up to trying to overdose.
[But she's right. This is stupid, and he knows better. With every new drug, you start small until you figure out your dose. This is supposed to be an anti-drug, but who knows what the fuck it actually does.
So he stops before uncorking another tiny sample bottle and looks at the small pile accumulated in the mug, then over at her.]
You're right, though. I'm gonna, uh. Sit down.
[Just in case. He tugs her with him as he folds his legs, then shrugs and gives her a smile, and a kiss.]
Here goes.
[The mug is a little too deep for its shallow contents, so he tips it sideways and taps the bottom until most of it slides up the side, toward him. That brochure, and the TV ad, they'd both implied you need to breathe the stuff in, so that's exactly what he's going to do. He presses his face forward, and inhales sharply.]
Ah - oh, fuck.
[Shit, that stuff burns. He coughs and sneezes a couple times. Okay, that's probably why the diffuser. Fumes, rather than just inhaling powder. It's harsh as shit and he sneezes again, then sits still, squinting at the floor and waiting for anything to take hold.]
Y'know, maybe it's like coke. Takes a few minutes.
Not doing that again.
She's more worried about him continuing to snort until he makes his nose bleed or something. But she smiles over at him to try and not let him onto her worry. This is fine.]
I'm sure it will work soon, but...
[She looks over toward a door that's labeled as employees only.]
Are you okay to sit here alone for just a minute? I can go check and see if there's those diffusers in the back stockroom.
[Glancing back toward him, her smile is a little more warm as she leans in to kiss him. His poor broken nose must really be burning right about now. ]
He sniffs, then leans lightly into that kiss and nods, giving her arm a pat.]
Yeah, I'm not goin' anywhere. I'll yell at you if that changes.
[He has more in this mug, he could try more, but he'll wait and see if she finds anything, or if he starts to feel anything. He's pretty sure he feels something, actually, but he doesn't know what, and it isn't making any big, major changes to his current state of sitting on the floor being dead still. If anything, he kind of has a headache.]
Angry, Chrissy growls under her breath and knocks a row of mugs onto the floor. The sound of them clattering and breaking on the concrete floor soothes her somehow. She hurries through the rest of the back area but doesn't find anything useful.
She wants to cry, but holds it in for now. That reassuring smile is on her face as she sits down, but quickly melts away when he's still sitting there. Just as dead as he was before. Her hands start to fidget, grabbing hold of the fabric of her skirt and twisting.
This isn't how this was supposed to go. She thought he'd sniff a little, then be alive again in a few minutes.]
They're out of diffusers, so maybe you should try more. Are you feeling anything yet?
[Well, he's feeling angry. It's a cold anger, the sort of thing that starts slow and builds on itself until it's all-consuming, white-hot.
But maybe he should try more. Because at least it doesn't seem to be causing any obvious harm, other than being goddamn irritating to his nose, which has already been through enough in the last several days. He raises the mug up for another stiff inhale, then coughs and sputters and grimaces as he sets the mug down beside him.]
Man, that shit sucks. I'm gonna be blowin' rainbow dust out my nose for weeks at this rate, fuck.
[He sneezes again, and looks generally miserable about the whole thing. A few more minutes, though. One last chance for this to do him any good at all.
But it just... isn't.]
Is it some kinda fucking scam? Why the fuck is it all locked up if it's bullshit? Just, fuck.
[He slams a fist at the floor, then takes a slow breath. His chest feels hot, and that's not the cosmic ash, he's pretty sure.]
Here, just...
[She has no idea what to do, how to make this better. Her heart sinks down into her stomach, and there's a pit of despair settling in. This isn't how this was supposed to go.]
Just lay your head in my lap for a minute.
[It gives them a little more time to see if anything happens, and she can keep her hands on him. Maybe it will soothe them both. She urges him to recline back with his head in her lap, and starts to work her fingers through his hair. Little kisses are pressed to his forehead and peppered across his face, and she tries to distract him from waiting and getting angrier.
But the longer they sit like that in the middle of the gift shop, the more obvious that it is the cosmic ash isn't going to work for him. Her little touches and kisses slow to a stop, and she doesn't realize that she's crying until her tears run hot against her cheeks. They fall from her and hit his face, and she's quick to wipe them away.]
It's not any fair. [Her voice sounds broken and lost.] I really wanted you to be alive again. Because you -
[More tears fall, and she winds up curling in over him, so her forehead can rest against his and she's wrapped up over him protectively.]
You wanted it so badly. The cosmic ash should've worked. They promised.
[Her voice cracks at that last part, as absolutely all hope of the stupid cosmic ash working is lost.]
Shit, it isn't even like this is his fault, he was fucking murdered, not a junkie.
He takes a slow, ragged breath, his nose and throat feeling raw from uselessly inhaling that ash, and pushes Chrissy away so he can sit up, then stand.]
Not everyone who promises shit means it, babe. Sometimes they just wanna take advantage of a couple suckers.
[He takes the hammer in hand again, then nudges the tool belt toward Chrissy.]
Those come with us.
[He sees those bottles of vide noir over there, by the way. He knows exactly what they are, just from the look of the stuff. He'd smash every last one of them with this hammer but it would go splattering everywhere, and he'd rather not come into any kind of contact with it. Instead, he starts at the registers, delivering a solid blow to one once, then twice, then again and again until sparks fly.]
Well, she's used to comforting herself. It's not a big deal. Her legs pull in close to her chest, and her arms wrap around them, and she buries her face against her knees so she can just cry in peace for a minute.
She had really wanted this, more than she had ever wanted anything.
But the more she cries, the more her sadness and desperation lights a fire within her. As her tears dry, she's left with a burning hot anger that she's never felt before. She can't control it, doesn't know what to do with it. She's silent as she finally climbs to her feet, but is almost trembling with rage.
She doesn't say a word to Johnnie, but looks around the gift shop. There's a tray of lighters on display, and she grabs a handful of them. This stupid place is going to go down in flames for breaking their promise. The cosmic ash is just a scam.
The lighter is ignited and she goes over to light a pile of shirts on fire. Once the top one lights, the rest of the stack quickly follows, then spreads to the others. She goes over to the hanging hoodies and shirts and repeats the same thing. Then sets a shelf of stuffed animals on fire one by one.
That being done, she grabs the tray of vide noir and hurls it out of the gift shop and out into the hallway. There's a stand of golf umbrellas nearby, and she grabs one so she can start breaking whatever she can reach. She screams as she does it, sending shirts on fire flying onto the floor. She's just so angry and has no real way to get it out of her.]
This entire place has to burn, baby.
[It's her only concern when she finally speaks, her voice ice cold.]
And these lighters aren't enough.
[The store is on fire around them, and she stands in the middle of it, looking like she wants to scorch the entire Earth.]
How's this?
[Better than a little lighter. He passes that to her, then takes one of those golf umbrellas and holds that to the spreading flame to create another. He grabs one of the few remaining un-burned sweatshirts, but the umbrella is already well-lit. It sends bits of molten plastic dripping to the floor as it burns, and for a quiet moment it's soothing just to watch as they catch on spilled items and help the fire race up the walls.]
C'mon. We got work to do.
[Fuck this building, fuck this mine, fuck the whole goddamned town. They'll all know before morning exactly what it means to suffer.
Next stop is that portable office, through the gate. His flaming umbrella-torch is just about out of its burning plastic by the time they cross the parking lot, leaving a metal framework, but that's fine. He can fix that later. He goes to the truck closest to the building and pries the gas cap open easily, stuffs the sleeve of the shirt into the tank with the butt of the umbrella used to push it farther in, then gestures to it.]
Light that. Then we better fuckin' run, though.
[At least there's a fence to contain the shrapnel from what he hopes is a really big explosion. That better be a nice full tank.]
With her new backpack on her back, and the tool belt held over her arm, she hurries toward the gate so he can get it open and they can get the hell out of here.
She's still so angry she doesn't know what to do with all the rage that's in her. But the fire is helping a little. Suddenly, she gets why Johnnie is so obsessed with it. It really is soothing.]
We'll need more to get the town.
[But she's not worried about that. With enough alcohol, rocks, and cloth, they can burn everything down. Maybe that will make her feel better.
For now though, she lets him lead her toward the bike at a run. They need to get out of here and watch their destruction from a safe distance.]