Abigail trailed after Brooks and shuffled into the back of the bus. The arrival of Hans and Mark meant little to her; they were nameless gunmen sent to make their lives a little easier. She avoided the pointed looks at her return. Her hand throbbed and itched. She was tired. As everyone else filed into the bus and hunkered down for a long ride, Abigail shut her eyes and lay down across multiple seats to-

[I]Don't sleep.[/I]

Abigail opened her eyes, grimacing. [I]You don't know what happens if you're woken up in the middle of one of those weird dreams,[/I] her hindbrain muttered. [I]Don't know what'll happen if you die while dreaming either. Don't risk it.[/I] She wearily sat up and stared out of the window instead as the engine sputtered to life and sent the bus trundling down the road and then out into the brush.

Boredom and hunger quickly settled in. A five hour trip wasn't alien to the kid, but she usually had her whole bedroom travelling with her. All she had to entertain herself with were strangers twice her age, most of whom had split into their own conversations and didn't give the injured brat in the back much acknowledgement - save for the glances. The whispering. A ripple of indignation flowed through her but it was softened by a thick blanket of shame, alienation, awkwardness. Again, Abigail was painfully aware that she didn't belong here. She was too young and out of place. She flitted between having something to prove and wanting to be left alone. The excess of attention to a kid who never received enough in her early years, was nauseating. It eventually congealed into resentment of these strange heathens and their disgusting magic, hiding like rats in a sewer drain; this quickly turned into self loathing. The unavoidable truth that she was also an affront to God, riding a greasy bus to find and kill the fuckers that crossed these degenerates, lingered in her mind like a bad stench.

And yet...the heat of the day was starting to swell. By god, Abigail was hungry. This wasn't peckishness - it was full blown 'Meemaw lost her EBT card after one too many cans of Busch and now we have to drive around churches and food banks and hope for the best' hungry. Gut-pinching, back-hunching, hand-shaking hunger. For many, these sensations of discomfort would have only exacerbated the wretched mood they were in but Abigail was hit with a wave of nostalgia. With it came the optimism and self-assurances. How many of these fancy-pants 'tenants' and 'homeowners' could teeter on the border of famished with a fucked up hand in sweltering ninety-something degree heat and feel like they were back home? This was her element. This was why she was here.

During those five hours - particularly when they all had to shuffle off the bus in order to let it roll up a hill - Abigail had to stand out in the baking hot sun. One hand pointed back the way they came, the other (injured) hand stabilising it at the wrist, a quick check to make sure nobody was in the way then a searing burst of purple fire, high enough to avoid skirting the brush, low enough to avoid giving away their position. Like clockwork. The kid made it look as mundane as brushing one's teeth. It was easy to deduce what her magic entailed from her practical demonstrations. Consequentially when Ellen concocted a plan, she seemed a little thrown off by her role in all of it. "You mean...I get to cover you and run back to tell the others when you find the coolbox?" She asked. "Then it's just, stay in the bus, right?" Abigail blinked, nodded to herself, the brief flit of a smile twitching on her lips as she agreed with a gentle "Cool. Ready when you are."