The American Humvee speeds behind Matt and Lola's bikes as they race over the salt pan and follow the Canadians' tracks.
Lola's KTM is rigged with gun holders that run down each side of the dirt bike's steel frame. They hold M16s and Uzis. She still has two pistols strapped to her thighs, and ammunition belts wrapped around her waist. She is packing.
Books drives the Humvee. Sophia sits alongside him. Jim mans the M2 machine gun in the Humvee's turret.
In the rear of the Humvee, Cutter dozes. Next to him, Jedi keeps busy and copies down the numbers from the outside of the red and blue cases into his notebook.
Lloyd watches him. "Careful with those, kid. Books said those were dangerous goods."
"Just reading off the numbers," Jedi says. He glances over at Lloyd and watches him try to get comfortable.
'Ow—this fucking shoulder," Lloyd winces.
"Bad?"
"Yeah, like I need a new everything."
"You gotta hang in there, dude. It'll be over soon."
"Yeah, one way or another. I'm hoping the other way to the way I think it's going to go."
"Hey, positive thoughts, Lloyd. Besides, we've got Lola now. She's pretty awesome. She's like an angel of death."
"Kid, you got a lot to learn about women."
"Yeah, that's something I'm sure looking forward to."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lloyd asks.
"Forget it."
Lloyd laughs. "Are you trying to tell me that you ain't got laid yet, kid?"
"I said forget it."
"You got plenty of time—it's overrated anyway."
"Maybe for you—at your time of life."
"Hey, my time of life's good, kid—you'll get to try it one day."
"Sorry, no offense meant, Lloyd."
"If I remember rightly, when I was your age even thirty seemed old."
"Yeah, a lot starts happening to your body at thirty." Jedi picks up the Europeans' remote and studies it.
"How come?"
"Your brain starts to lose around seven thousand brain cells a day. That's 2,555,000 a year, and over one hundred million by the time you reach seventy."
"Well, that's a concern. If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working—hey, kid, pass me those painkillers."
Jedi throws over a small bottle of tablets. Lloyd catches them with his good hand and unscrews the cap, then drinks several of the pills down in one go.
"Just so you know, you can take steps to slow the rate of brain cell loss," Jedi says.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. You just gotta drink plenty of water. Totally cut out cigarettes, alcohol and fatty foods. You know—all the bad stuff."
Lloyd laughs. "When you get to my time of life, that's actually all the good stuff. I'm beginning to regret this conversation." Lloyd shuts his eyes and his breathing deepens.
"Hey, Lloyd?"
"What?—I'm trying to have five here."
"You don't need to worry because you've still got about one trillion cells up there." Jedi taps his head.
