"Yeah, well, sorry to crash your private fuckin' party," I mutter dryly, stepping over the makeshift pallet on the ground, skirting around the dying campfire, leavin' them to argue 'bout whether or not this is real while I head toward the car.
Sliding the fingertips of one hand along the dusty hood, I stop in front of the driver's door, peering in through the grate covering the windows and trying the handle. The door opens with a click and I slip inside, letting Dexter jump into the passenger seat while I settle in behind the wheel.
Mike never lets anybody drive his car. I remember that conversation with Tom, sitting inside White Camaro, weeks before the three of us started anything.
The dirt road stretches out ahead of us in the distance, visible through the trees surrounding our little clearing. This place feels fuckin' poisonous, and already, I hate it... for all the things it did to the two of them and for the fact that it's not all dead and buried like it was supposed to be.
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Sliding the fingertips of one hand along the dusty hood, I stop in front of the driver's door, peering in through the grate covering the windows and trying the handle. The door opens with a click and I slip inside, letting Dexter jump into the passenger seat while I settle in behind the wheel.
Mike never lets anybody drive his car. I remember that conversation with Tom, sitting inside White Camaro, weeks before the three of us started anything.
The dirt road stretches out ahead of us in the distance, visible through the trees surrounding our little clearing. This place feels fuckin' poisonous, and already, I hate it... for all the things it did to the two of them and for the fact that it's not all dead and buried like it was supposed to be.