"Guess you won't be getting any road head," Emily said to Frank indicating Tristen in the back with Jane, as they pulled off the dirt road to the base and out onto the moonlit asphalt.

"Don't sell yourself short. You can work the pedals and I'll steer," he replied.

"You're quick. I'll give you that."

Frank smiled and let the cool night air ruffle his unkempt, shaggy hair. It was difficult to ignore the smell wafting off Roy, but Frank did his best to imagine it was just roadkill or overcooked meat at a roadside barbeque place.

He closed his eyes for a minute. His headache hadn't miraculously evaporated as he'd been hoping, but it had started to wane a little. He needed sugar and calories to help get his strength back up but for the moment, he felt relatively content. Concussed but content. Out of morbid curiosity, he pulled down the visor to inspect himself in the vanity mirror, sure he was going to see an absolute horror show.

"Daddy?" he said, lightly touching the bandage across his forehead. Then he burst out laughing. He wasn't even upset that the rest of his face looked like it had been through a meat grinder.

"I thought you'd like that," Emily said.

Frank was wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, god, that is amazing," he squeaked, gasping for air. "Holy shit! I wish I could take a picture of this."

Emily was smiling ardently, hands loose on the steering wheel.

"Although... it's starting to look a little rough," he said, poking at the dark blood stains. "Think we might need another strip from your tee-shirt pretty soon."

"If you want to see my tits you dirty old man, you just have to ask."

"Can I see your tits?" Frank asked.

"Fuck you grandpa," Emily said, smirking.

"What are you guys saying?" Jane shouted. "I can't hear anything back here."

"Does... did you say your grandpa has tits?" Tristen added, seriously confused.

After a brief interlude during which the only sound was the wind noise coursing through the Jeep and after Emily and Frank exchanged a look, they were all laughing. Jane and Tristen didn't even know why but it felt good to release the pent-up energy. It was more than a reaction to something funny it was a cathartic necessity. They were exorcising their demons, ripping through the fabric of their macabre reality by howling in its face. Everything they had done, seen and experienced in the last few days was just too absurd and awful not to laugh at.

It continued for some time.

"I hate to say it," Frank half-shouted so Jane could hear as he slid down in his seat a little, "but I'm kinda wishing we had some Malibu Rum right now."

Jane let out another barking, short laugh, which instantly morphed into a scream as a rumbling military transport truck sideswiped the Jeep out of nowhere.

Emily struggled to keep the vehicle on the road, fighting the wheel as it insisted it wanted to go a different direction. Her knuckles popped with the effort as the knobby tires lost traction and began sliding sideways across the worn asphalt. A second later, they were off the highway, the tires digging into the soft gravel shoulder, halting their momentum and sending the Jeep toppling over, flinging Roy into the bushes and sending a shower of black dirt and over-long grass cascading in their wake as they began to tumble toward the dark trees.

After rolling a few times, they were finally jolted to a stop by a group of creaking pines, dried needles raining down on them as the dust began to settle. They were tilted at a 45-degree angle but still upright. Smoke was belching out from the front of the Jeep like it was struggling to find its last breath. Frank registered something dripping off his nose and held up his hands, watching them become polka-dotted with fresh drops of blood. His Daddy bandage was skewed across his head covering one eye. He pulled it off and everything swirled and distorted around him as his brain attempted to settle into stasis. He looked over at the driver's seat, but Emily wasn't there. She'd been thrown out during one of their vehicular cartwheels having refused to wear a seatbelt, ironically contending there wasn't much of a chance of getting in an accident.

Tristen coughed and sputtered in the back.

Frank turned around and saw Jane staring back at him, wide-eyed and stunned. She had a few new scratches on her face but otherwise didn't look seriously injured. She was panting heavily and still holding onto Tristen, gripping him and the seatbelt like they were the edge of a cliff. Tristen was bleeding profusely from the forehead and his left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, having been crushed under the roll cage at some point.

"Jane. Are you..."

"Frank!" she blurted, beginning to point at something just over Frank's shoulder. He turned but didn't see the face of the soldier who bashed the butt of his gun into his head.