"Oh, come on. It was funny."

He gives an awkward wave to the monster on the ground and jogs after Z.

"Yeah, yeah."

When they reach the wagon, he digs around in it and retrieves a flare, walks a few yards away.

"You good if I take a second shot at this?"

"Fine if you are."

He nods, sets the flare up, and (BANG) sets it off.

Then he sits back cross-legged and waits.

A silver spark shoots up from the horizon and burns bright in the sky.

Z silently pumps his fist.

It's actually kind of weird that there's someone out there to come get them. Knowing Z, Camillo wouldn't have guessed that his dream would have -- what, responsible and helpful authority figures?

Whatever. He shoulders his backpack again, ready to get moving.

And they're on the road again.

It's a fairly uneventful twenty minutes before a distant car comes into view, kicking up a plume of dust. Z pulls them both off the road and waves.

The Jeep skids to a halt on the gravel by the side of the road, and out of the driver's seat comes a familiar face (with another shotgun).

"—whose blood?"

"Mostly not mine. We're cool, no fatalities."

"...I did shoot that one guy a bunch."

"...one fatality, probably. But I'm pretty sure there wasn't a...guy...in there anymore."

"What happened to the car?"

"Not-a-guy jumped out into the road. Hit him, and then a rock. Definitely needs a tow. Sorry."

"It was pretty messed up."

It's really weird having a conversation with someone whose throat you slit yesterday.

She sighs.

“We’ll tow it back home.”

She and Z make short work of the Oh-Shit Wagon, and within minutes they’re on the road.

Z shares the back seat with Camillo,

behind the Jeep’s other passenger.

Every time Camillo sits behind this guy, he’s filled with the overwhelming urge to pull his hair. 

“Where are we headed?”

“To tow the car. I have straps in the back.”

Z seems relieved at the news.

He’s still a little tense. His eyes keep flickering to the back of Kyou’s head and back.

Camillo elbows him, mouths you good?

He nods.

(He’s still looking, though.)

This is reasonable. Camillo also stares at Kyou’s hair sometimes. 

They make it back to the car in short order. Dorothy and Z dismount to alternately secure and swear at the car.

“Did the books make it?”

“I think we got everything.” Camillo doesn’t remember seeing any books specifically, but there were a bunch of boxes.