"Fine," she said. Tacoma had told her the truck could drive under water if it had to, popping up a breather tube for the engine. There weren’t any bodies of water around to seriously do that in, that Flynne knew of, and just as well. She looked up now and saw the cow-drone, more or less where she’d last seen it, but pretending to graze. She’d seen bullet streaks on the concrete wall back of Coldiron and Fab, thinking how lucky it was that Burton had been the only one to catch a ricochet. The way they’d gone out to the truck this morning, they’d been out of Luke 4:5’s sight, at least until they got on Porter, and by then they were far enough away that it didn’t matter. And anyway Luke were mostly still sleeping, in identical black pup tents they’d pitched in the lot opposite the mall, in tight rows, like insect eggs, Leon said, or slime mold. Now she knew that they hadn’t really been targeted with a drug that turned you into a homicidal sex maniac, she found herself feeling less kindly disposed toward them. Like why couldn’t Griff and Tommy, between them, figure out some relatively low-impact, legally nonatrocious way to get them the fuck out of town? Made a mental note to ask about that. "Any chance we could get the breakfast burrito and some coffee, at Jimmy’s?" she asked Tacoma.