“These raiders are always either cooking each other or cooking up new ways to keep themselves entertained. I don’t have time for this. I’ve already wasted enough of it flapping my jaw with this freak.”

— where it waited, fingers coiled close to the Sequoia like a rattler waiting for the opportune moment. “Everything’s negotiable,” she spat, not quite appreciating the gravitas of the situation or pretending not to. “Th’ hell is a deathrun?”

Joanna blinked. Could be from the evening winds, could be that the thought of a raider camped up somewhere in those dunes with a crosshair trained right on her temple actually surprised her. She shouldn’t be, raiders tend to travel in packs. The smart ones do, at least. Her hand didn’t move from —

“Alright, then. Two extra holes in the head. Special offer.”

“I just need this raider gone. I need water, I need sleep, food, ammunition. Guarantee all that and more are in that settlement. Temptation to just give him an extra hole in the head and leave him for the cazadors is rising.”

“Don’t talk shit about my HAT.”

“Something about this raider…Something off.”

“Thought I was the good kind’o trouble.”

“Well if you work here wouldn’t you be a person who would know why I’m on a list of YOURS?!”

— to spit the sand that had collected in her mouth between them. “My ears work out here just as well as they would in there.” She inclined her head towards the thick, sturdy door. “And where is this ‘interested group of people,’ hm?” The tiniest smirk. “Close by, I hope.”