“Poison, what is that?” Fun Ghoul squinted out the windshield, his friend barely glancing at him before returning his attention to the dust rolling beneath the old Trans Am.
“What’s what?” The red-haired man sighed, thinking it was another of his friend’s childish games.
“There’s something out there, look!” Fun Ghoul pointed, and Party Poison slowed the car as he followed his friend’s gesture. There was indeed something hulking on the distant dust, blurred by the waves of rising heat and the haze of polluted sunlight. “Let’s check it out.”
Party Poison pursed his lips, automatically thinking of traps, but ultimately steered the car toward the shadowy mass. Fun Ghoul leaned forward on his seat, trying to squint through the dirty windows to better see the thing, but he was unsuccessful.
Only when they pulled up nearby and exited the car, guns drawn, did the pair realize that what they had spotted was a large beach umbrella, bleached out by the sun, riddled with holes, tattered by the elements, perched over an Adirondack chair that looked like it had been cobbled together from bits of houses, cars, and other chairs. The chair and umbrella were angled just so, enough to obscure the person reclining in the shade, who had his back to them.
Exchanging a confused glance, Party Poison and Fun Ghoul each edged around opposite sides of the chair until they were facing the person.
It was a woman who looked to be in about her thirties, though she looked unlike anyone they had seen in nearly a decade.
She wore vintage, mirrored aviators, a worn out, tye-dyed Grateful Dead t shirt, faded bell bottoms with holes in the knees, and sandals. She was entirely unarmed, and seemed to just be relaxing, a plastic cup of water resting on the arm of her chair beside her, her feet propped up on a small cooler. The faded green nail polish on her fingers and toes was chipped, but she didn’t seem to mind.
The only thing that suggested she was a Killjoy was the fact that she wasn’t in black and white. She seemed too at ease, too mellow. She had no mask, no weapons, no battle scars or nervous twitches.
“Who are you?” Barked Party Poison. “What are you doing?”
“I’m relaxing.” She replied easily, as if the fact that the world was over didn’t bother her. “My name’s Lucy. Who are you? What are you doing?” She asked, the question sounding a bit deeper coming from her.
“I’m Party Poison, he’s Fun Ghoul.” The red-haired man replied, nodding to his short friend. Their eyes were narrowed warily behind their masks, guns still aimed at the woman, though she hadn’t moved at all.
“That’s all fine and well, but what are you doing?” Lucy asked, her voice sounding so relaxed as to be almost sleepy.
“…Interrogating you?” Fun Ghoul tried, glancing at Party Poison, who shrugged.
“Are you sure?” Lucy pressed, and Fun Ghoul lowered his gun slightly, furrowing his brow behind his mask as he studied the woman.
“Patrolling?”
“Of course.” Lucy nodded slightly, accepting an answer while still not believing it.
“Fighting Better Living.” Party Poison said firmly.
“Why?” Lucy asked, her attention shifting to focus on him, though she didn’t appear to have moved at all. “You’re free, why fight? If Battery Citizens wanted out, they could walk out. If you wanted in, you could walk in. Why can’t the Killjoys live their lives and the Citizens live their Better Lives and you all just leave each other alone?”
“…What?” Party Poison asked, lowering his gun as he stared at Lucy in confusion.
“You people are all up in arms over nothing. There’s no fight here. You can just walk away. Relax.” Lucy smiled slightly, her head shifting back as she got even more relaxed on her chair.
“Like you’re doing?” Party Poison snorted derisively. “You’re sitting here, enjoying your little vacation, while good people die. You could be helping us-!”
“I could help you, I could help them, I could sit here, I could run away, I could do a lot of things, but what I won’t do is fight. They don’t bother me. You don’t bother me. Why do you bother each other?” Lucy interrupted, her easy cadence grating violently on the nerves of the two men, who, being originally from Jersey, were used to fast-talking people who just spat out the facts.
“Because they want us dead!” Party Poison glared, though Lucy was unphased.
“Because you want them dead.” Lucy replied. “If you just left each other alone, nobody would be dead. You’re killing yourselves by fighting.”
“You’re fucking crazy!” Party Poison exploded. “You’re sitting here in the middle of a fucking war zone, acting like you’re on holiday at some sick sort of beach! Get off your ass and pick a side, help somebody!”
“I picked a side; my side.” Lucy replied lazily. “My side sits here, refusing to fight. If no one fights, no one dies. I just exist… peacefully.”
“What are you going to do when you run out of food and water?” Party Poison gestured at the cooler. “Will you be a Killjoy and rob the Dracs, or will you be a Drac and go to the city?”
“I will exist as long as I can. I won’t be black or white.” Lucy replied.
“So you’re with us?” Party Poison demanded, but Lucy shook her head.
“No. I’m just not part of your black and white world. Just because I’m not with you, doesn’t mean I’m against you.” She explained, then sighed heavily. “I’m just here. We’re all just here.”
With a wordless snarl of disgust, Party Poison turned away, stalking back to the car, Fun Ghoul glancing over his shoulder as he followed quickly.
“That fucking bitch is just getting a free ride through this fucking war.” Poison snarled once the engine was roaring. It screamed louder as he turned violently, fishtailing for a moment before straightening out and getting back onto the faintly rutted dirt track that would get them back on Route Guano. “She’s just like those stupid Citizens, except she knows that she’s in denial.”
Ghoul stayed silent for the duration of the car ride, letting Poison rant until he finally ran out of steam, all the while thinking that the woman had presented a good point; if nobody fought, nobody died.

“It was so weird, like, I can’t even explain it.” Fun Ghoul was trying to explain Lucy to Jet Star, the Kobra Kid, and Missile Kid. “She was like… like a stoner. A hippie, actually. All anti-war and “just exist,” and “what’s the point?”” The short man shook his head. “She’s a Dead Head.”
“And she’s just… sitting there?” Jet Star asked, furrowing his brow. “How long’s she been there?”
“I dunno. I don’t know how she got there, or why she picked that spot, or when she got there, but she’s just… hanging out!” Fun Ghoul shrugged in exasperation, glancing back and forth between the two men, inadvertently ignoring the little girl standing between them. “Poison’s sulking about it, he tried to pick a fight with her and get her to pick a side, and he lost.” Fun Ghoul smirked, chuckling slightly, as the other two men nodded and smiled.
“I think we need to meet this Lucy.” Kobra Kid said.

“See? There’s her umbrella!” Fun Ghoul pointed excitedly out the window, both Kobra and Jet Star squinting through their sunglasses to better see the small scene they were approaching. Jet Star pulled the old car to a gentle stop, Kobra unbuckling beside him, but Fun Ghoul was already out of the car, practically skipping towards the woman’s chair. “Luuuucccyyyyyyyy!” He sang happily, only to stop short when he faced the front of the chair. “Lucy?”
Jet Star and the Kobra Kid exchanged knowing looks, then moved forward carefully, hands on their guns, though they didn’t draw them. The chair and umbrella were exactly as Fun Ghoul had described, pieced-together, weather-beaten pieces of shit, but there was no hippie in sight. The cooler still sat where it had played ottoman for Lucy, but there was no sign of the woman herself.
“No footprints, no tire treads, no scorches, no nothing.” Kobra said softly, scanning the area. “Ghoul, are you sure you saw somebody?”
“Poison saw her, too!” Fun Ghoul protested, looking anxiously from his friends to the empty chair. “I know she was here! We talked to her!”
“Ghoul, maybe you two were just out in the sun too long-” Jet Star began carefully, only to be cut off.
“She was here!” Fun Ghoul nearly shouted. “I’m not crazy! How else would I have known about the chair and the umbrella?”
“Frank, you probably saw this stuff and made her up to go with it. You and Poison could have shared the hallucination, folie à deux, after being in the sun for so long.” Kobra sighed, shaking his head as his hand dropped from his gun. Trading a nod with Jet Star, the two trudged back to the car, thinking how typical it was that they had fallen for one of their friend’s pranks yet again.
“But she was here.” Fun Ghoul said softly, staring at the chair, finally turning to dispiritedly follow his friends back into the Trans Am.

“Can we be done yet?” Poison groaned good-naturedly as Jet Star drove the Trans Am. They’d been patrolling for hours without any signs of life- not even a cactus to break the monotony of the desert. Jet Star shook his head mutely, still scanning the horizon in the hopes of a little excitement. “Hey, Jet, we’ve got something.” Poison perked up, shifting closer to the grimy window, which he wiped at with his sleeve. He was dying to wash his car, but it just wasn’t possible with their limited water supply.
Both men groaned when they got close enough to realize that they had arrived at the chair and umbrella once again. Fun Ghoul had been talking about nothing but Lucy for the past week, and both men were sick of the idea. Party Poison had never liked the girl in the first place, and Jet Star had learned to hate what he regarded as the figment of his friends’ imaginations.
Jet Star narrowed his good eye as a movement by the chair caught his attention, prompting him to kill the engine and stealthily slide out onto the dust, gun drawn. Grumbling to himself, Poison followed suit, cocking his gun and hoping for the chance to unload it in Lucy’s skull; if she wasn’t with the Killjoys, she was with Better Living, as far as Poison was concerned.
“You’re real?” Jet Star asked disbelievingly as he stared at Lucy. She was exactly as she had been described, the only difference being that her nail polish was now yellow, and nowhere near as faded as the green had been, though it was already chipping like mad.
“Of course I’m real. Are You?” Lucy replied, and Jet Star immediately assumed that the woman had checked out of reality.
“Yeah.” Jet Star replied, prompting Poison to glare at him for talking to the enemy. “Who are you again?”
“I’m Lucy. Who are you?”
“Jet Star. I’m a Killjoy.” He answered, standing tall.
“You’re all the same. Come back when you have an interesting answer.” Lucy waved him off lazily, the most movement she’d displayed yet.
“How do you mean?” Jet Star demanded, thinking the life of a vigilante soldier was very interesting, even if you spoke to five a day.
“You’re all so insincere.” Lucy may or may not have been looking at him, it was too hard to tell through her mirrored aviators.
“Killjoys are nothing but sincere.” Party Poison finally butted in. “We care about individuals, being unique, expression-”
“And yet you wear masks, hide your names, and live anonymously, just like the Battery Citizens and Better Living Employees.” Lucy interrupted lazily. “You wouldn’t give the time of day to someone, much less your name, unless there was something in it for you.”
“What’s in it for us?” Party Poison demanded. “What’s so great about living like this?” He gestured at the empty, barren desert, fuming.
“You earn respect from your peers and fear from your enemies. You enjoy the feeling of being outlaws and the accompanying sense of false freedom.” Lucy answered carelessly. “You hide until it’s satisfactory, not safe.”
Party Poison opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of water, but he had no reply, simply glaring at the woman, who was still reclining in her chair.
“Maybe, but at least we’re not denying that a war is going on.” Jet Star said, his voice low.
“What war?” Demanded Lucy. “I see two clashing perspectives organizing ambushes and terrorist attacks against each other in a childish, needless feud. The world is large enough that you don’t even have to see each other, yet youchoose to fight, to not allow the other to exist. Killjoys are like Better Living in that if you do not join, you will die. Better Living does not need to be eradicated, and the Killjoys do not have to assimilate; you don’t have to interact at all. You choose to fight this war, and in doing so, you choose both to kill and to die.”
Jet Star was silenced by Lucy’s short rant, unsure of how to respond. He’d always known that Killjoys were hypocrites, but he’d never had to face up to it before. No one had ever called out the Killjoys on how similar they were to their enemy. Maybe Lucy was in denial about the existence of a war, but he was denying what he was.
Party Poison, on the other hand, kicked sand in Lucy’s direction. “You’re delusional. We’re the good guys, they’re the bad guys, and as far as I can tell, you’re one of them.” He raised his gun, taking aim at the woman relaxing in her chair, but Jet Star forced his arm back down, shaking his head.
“Poison, don’t.” He sighed, eyeing Lucy carefully. Just because they didn’t agree with her didn’t mean they could kill her. “We can just walk away.” He nodded to the Trans Am, holding Poison’s glare with his own level gaze until the red-haired man turned towards the car. Jet Star cast a final glance at Lucy before following his friend, wondering what was stopping everyone from walking away from the war.

“Well, where is she?” Kobra asked, looking at the empty setup, Jet Star scanning the dust. The two had gone to find Lucy, who had vanished once again. “Am I not allowed to meet her or something?” He kicked the chair in frustration, but it only shuddered in place, giving nothing away about its absentee occupant.
“I wonder where she went.” Jet Star mused, disregarding Kobra’s question. “She doesn’t seem like the type to just up and leave.”
“She’s pretending she’s not on holiday in a war zone, I think her mind works a bit differently than ours.” Kobra rolled his eyes. “If she even exists. You idiots may have progressed to folie à trois.”
“Kobra, we’re not hallucinating the same chick at the same random times.” Jet Star admonished, knowing his friend was just blowing off steam and didn’t really mean what he was saying. “I just don’t know where she went.” He said again, staring hard at the horizon. There were no marks in the dust around the chair, no signs of life by the cooler, which proved empty when inspected.
“The better question is, why did she leave?” Kobra said, and Jet looked at him.
“There was no fight.” The taller man frowned slightly at the implication. “She wouldn’t have gone off with someone, she’s made it clear she doesn’t like either side. She said she wanted no part in this.”
“She may not have left by choice.” Kobra Kid’s voice was soft, though not because he cared about the girl, he just didn’t want to upset his friend. “Better Living gets ruthless; they take prisoners without asking questions.”
“Yeah, and they kill without asking, too.” Jet Star scowled, looking away. “We’d see something. A sign. A hint. Something.”
“Well,” Kobra sighed after a brief silence. “There’s nothing here now.” He watched his friend nod dispiritedly, then lead the way back to the car.

“How’s Lucy?” Fun Ghoul asked as soon as they walked through the door. He bounced around them like a cross between some ecstatic dog and a very happy child.
“Gone again.” Jet Star shrugged, and Ghoul’s face fell. Kobra rolled his eyes, knowing that the short man, with his crooked Frankenstein mask, would take the news much harder than was healthy.
“She’ll be back though, right?” Ghoul asked, looking between the two men as Party Poison walked into the room, realized who they were talking about, and scowled darkly. “She came back last time.”
“She probably went with the Dracs to be a Civilian, just so she wouldn’t have to fight.” Party Poison spat venomously, and Fun Ghoul looked scandalized.
“Fuck off, Gerard.” Ghoul glared, shocking Party Poison for a moment. The red-haired man glowered, then stalked out of the room. Missile Kid came inside the door as it swung shut, knowing better than to bother her angry friend.
“Why do you care so much?” Jet Star sighed, knowing that now everyone would have to avoid Party Poison until he cooled off. “She’s just some random hippie on the dust.”
“She’s different.” Fun Ghoul said, shrugging nonchalantly as Missile Kid cocked her head slightly to one side, listening intently. “She’s got a point, too.” He sauntered off to his room, leaving Jet and Kobra both somewhat enlightened and entirely confused.

“Where were you last time?” Jet Star asked, approaching the chair. He’d gone out on patrol with Missile Kid, who was waiting patiently in the car.
“Last time?” Lucy asked. “Time is continuous.”
“Last time we came by.” Jet Star clarified, irritation already sparking in his mind. “You weren’t here.”
“I was around.” Lucy replied carelessly. “I don’t keep track of when I’m where. I’m just here.”
“That makes no sense.” Jet Star rolled his eyes. “Where do you go when you’re not here? This spot, with your chair and shit.”
“For supplies.” Lucy answered. “Need to keep my mind fed.” She kicked open the cooler, revealing a small collection of books, all with blank covers and spines.
“Where did you get these?” Jet Star breathed, stepping closer to inspect the books; there was something scratched on one of them, but he couldn’t make it out-
Lucy kicked the cooler shut, abruptly halting Jet Star’s advance. “Out and about. Open your mind.”
“I’m a fucking Killjoy, my mind is open.” Jet Star glared, crossing his arms as he scowled down at Lucy, who didn’t seem bothered in the least. It both irked and unnerved Jet Star that his glare, which could make even Scarecrows cower, had no effect on the small woman sitting in front of him.
“You are a force bent on eradicating an opposing force.” Lucy retorted, the lenses of her aviators glinting as she shifted slightly. “As is Better Living. Neither of you will submit or walk away undefeated. You continue to fight each other’s war, killing yourselves in the process. Open your mind to a solution other than war. Swallow your pride.”
“Mikey’s right, we are fucking hallucinating.” Jet Star growled, turning away in frustration. “This is all in my head.”
“It may be.” Lucy conceded. “But that doesn’t mean this isn’t real.”
Jet Star groaned in frustration, throwing his helmet down. “Are you happy now? I have a face. I have a name. Am I not anonymous anymore? Am I not like them?” He demanded.
“We’re all the same, in the end.” Lucy sighed, eliciting an angry, wordless shout from Jet Star.
“How are you different, then? What makes you so fucking special?” He yelled, wanting a real answer for once, something simple, something honest and understandable.
“I’m not.”

xXx

Kobra Kid woke up early and left the base quietly, trying not to rouse anyone else. He bypassed the Trans Am, choosing instead the small dirt bike Fun Ghoul had managed to repair. It wasn’t entirely finished, but it ran, and it was safe to ride. The engine turned over without a fight, and Kobra gunned the bike as he finally hit Guano.
He found the chair without a problem as the sun just finished rising, slowing hesitantly at a good distance, far enough away that by the time he reached the small paradise he was barely moving. The umbrella, cooler, and chair looked exactly as they had last time he had been there, with only one exception; there was a woman reclining in the chair, her feet propped up on the dented cooler.
“You’re Lucy.” Kobra said softly, getting off his bike and removing his helmet. He felt odd with his face exposed, not even wearing his usual Ray Bans, but he blinked away the sensation.
“I am.” Lucy nodded slightly, her head inclined in a polite greeting. “Who are you?”
“Mikey.” He answered bravely, though he squirmed internally at giving the information up after being anonymous for so long. “Why here?” he looked around at her little setup, which seemed to have dropped out of the sky. There were no landmarks nearby, no supply routes or other people, from either side. There weren’t even signs of her coming or going, with or without her things.
“It fits.” Lucy said softly. “There’s nothing left, and there’s nothing here.”
“We’ve got the war.” Kobra argued gently.
“The war will leave us all broken, if it leaves anyone at all.” Lucy sighed, then turned toward Mikey. “What are you fighting for, anyway?”
“Freedom.” Mikey replied immediately. “We want to live however we want.”
“What are you doing now?” Lucy asked, and Mikey stared at her, glad she didn’t expect an answer from him. He blinked, realizing that, even if they took Better Living down, he and his friends would never move into the city, into the place that had been a trap for so long. They would continue as they were. The world had already been rebuilt after the fires, dividing into the Cities and the Zones, and they had always chosen the lawless, dangerous Zones. All the Killjoys had.
“What are you fighting for?” Lucy repeated softly, and Mikey shook his head, mouth slightly open as he tried to organize his thoughts.
“We’re not.” He finally murmured, stupefied.
“None of us are.” Lucy agreed, sitting back in her chair and turning to look out across the dust, the poisonously orange sun reflected in her scratched aviators.

When Mikey went back to the Diner, everyone else caught on to the fact that he was dazed. They never thought to connect it to the odd woman out on the dust, simply attributing his lack of focus to a concussion from dusting Dracs.

“Mikey, we’re on patrol.” Jet Star said, poking his head into Mikey’s room two days later. He’d seemed to come out of his daze a bit, but he still wasn’t all the way there.
Mikey blinked, then looked away from the spot he’d been staring at on the ceiling to look at his friend. “I don’t really feel good.” Mikey said slowly, knowing ray would call him on the lie.
“Yeah, meet me in the car.” The tall man shrugged, tossing Mikey his red gun.
Ray said nothing as the pair drove in silence across the desert. He knew Mikey would say something when he was ready to explain himself, and he was willing to wait him out.
“Ray, what if we’re fighting for no reason?” Mikey finally asked. “I mean, everyone in the Cities knew what they were choosing, that’s why so many of us picked the Zones. Why can’t we let them live in the Cities and they let us live in the Zones? Why are we fighting?”
“Because they want us gone.” Ray replied, confident in his answer.
“We steal from them, terrorize the Citizens, and kill their guards. I wouldn’t be happy, either.” Mikey retorted quietly, and Ray blinked.
“Gerard’s gonna kill us.” Ray finally said, the car’s course across the dust shifting almost imperceptibly.
“Hi Lucy.” Ray said as he shut hiss door, Mikey already stretching as he stood on the dust.
“Hello.” Lucy said, not turning to look at the two men as she stared blankly at the horizon.
“Why are we here?” Ray asked, and Lucy turned to look at him.
“How do you mean?” She said in her usual mellow, unrushed cadence. “Here, under my umbrella? In a desert? In a war? In a world?” She turned back to the horizon, her voice getting softer with each word. “I wish I knew.”
“Take a guess?” Ray suggested shrewdly, hesitating before following Mikey to sit in the sand next to the woman’s chair.
“You’re here for answers. I’m here to pretend to have them. We’re here because we choose to be. Sometimes, because we have to be. In the end, though, we chose this.” Lucy half-shrugged as if the answers didn’t matter, like the mysteries didn’t beg examination.
“We didn’t ask Better Living to take over.” Ray argued, wishing Mikey would speak up, not realizing his friend was no longer on his side. “We didn’t ask them to tell us to join or die.”
“No, you didn’t. You chose to fight them, to offer your own join or die to the same people they were recruiting. You both chose to force people to take sides. You both chose to start a war.”
“We don’t kill someone just for not agreeing with us!” Ray protested. “We didn’t kill you!”
“Citizens have died by Killjoy hands, just as Killjoys have died by the hands of the City. The only reason I was not killed on sight by a Killjoy was because I agreed in that Better Living is an enemy. The only reason Better Living allows my continued existence is because I likewise denounced the Killjoys.” Lucy’s reply seemed to silence Ray for a long moment as he tried to organize his thoughts.
“Who are you?” Lucy asked airily, in the manner of a grandmother asking a question simply so the child would remember the answer.
“…I’m Ray.” He answered, letting himself lean back against the side of Lucy’s chair, his hand falling from where it rested on top of his discarded helmet. He blinked, somewhat stupefied, and Mikey smiled.

For the next two weeks, Ray and Mikey went back to Lucy’s chair every day. She was there a little more than half the time, occasionally disappearing to where, the guys didn’t know, and they didn’t ask. They simply took the time they had with her, quizzing her on all things philosophical and debating with her. No matter the issue or where they initially stood on it, the men eventually found themselves agreeing with Lucy’s point of view.
Fun Ghoul sometimes went with them, though he never offered his name to Lucy, and tended to stay in the car, watching warily for Dracs. He had been alarmed when he found out that the pair left their guns in the car when they spoke to Lucy, and accompanied them as protection when he could, though the pair usually managed to quietly sneak away on their own.
Party Poison did everything in his power to stop his friends and brother from visiting the strange girl on the dust. He felt she was dangerous, not having an alliance to either side, and he didn’t want the only people he cared about anywhere near her. He fought constantly with Mikey, argued with Ray, and even shouted at Fun Ghoul once or twice over Lucy, though he couldn’t stop them from going. With the constant fights, Lucy was always on his mind. Party Poison started wondering more and more about the girl, hating himself for taking an interest, something he kept secret from the other Killjoys.

“What if we just left them alone?” Mikey asked, looking at Ray when a black car appeared in the rearview. Ray glanced away from the road for an instant, knowing the point of patrol was to eradicate all Dracs in the area, but said nothing.
The car caught up to them, pulling alongside, and the Dracs inside looked prepared, waiting for the Killjoys’ customary first shot, but it never came. After half a mile, the Dracs started looking at each other in uneasy confusion, then pulled ahead of the Killjoys’ car, continuing on their way.
“Holy shit.” Ray breathed, his white knuckles relaxing their death grip on the steering wheel.
“She was right.” Mikey blinked, his hand falling from the butt of his ray gun, where it had unconsciously rested. “She was right.” He repeated quietly, slumping back in his seat. There was a beat of silence, then the two men looked at each other, and Ray shifted the Trans Am off Guano, pulling a U turn and heading back the way they had come.
“Lucy, you’ll never guess what just happened!” Mikey exploded, jumping out of the Trans Am almost before it had stopped. Ray had pulled up behind the chair, so Mikey had to bolt around to the opposite side to see Lucy, who was dwarfed by the Adirondack.
“What’s that smell?” Ray asked quietly, his own ecstasy fading as he shut the car door. It was familiar, the smell of burnt flesh was something he used to deal with every time Frank barbequed in the old world. The sweet, singed-hair smell tainting it, however, made it completely different.
“No.” Mikey said softly, shaking his head as he stared down into the chair. “No.”
Ray swallowed hard, knowing what he would find, and joined Mikey in front of the chair.
Lucy sat in her usual spot, sunglasses on, in a faded Grateful Dead t shirt and worn-out bell bottoms. The glass that always sat on the arm of her chair had fallen onto the dust, a modest crack spider webbing into an intricate design, the water having spilled and leaked away.
Lucy’s head rested to one side, as if she were asleep. She could have been, had soot not been staining the chair above her head. Light burns traced up her cheeks, and the singed hair smell came from the back of her head.
Whoever shot her had shoved the barrel of their gun right into her mouth before pulling the trigger.
“No.” Mikey repeated in horror. “She never… the Dracs wouldn’t touch her. They didn’t touch us. They couldn’t have…”
“I don’t think it was Dracs.” Ray said slowly, inspecting the damage. Dracs usually weren’t too picky about where they shot a ‘Joy, and the whole barrel-in-the-mouth routine was a bit flamboyant for a bleached soldier. His eyes traced down Lucy’s body from the sooty mark above her head, noting that her cooler had been tipped on its side and raided. It must have happened after she died, because one of her feet still rested on the side of the cooler that now faced skyward. “I think one of us did this.”
“Can’t have been.” Mikey said weakly. “We’re the good guys.”
“Lucy didn’t think so.” Ray reminded him softly, still staring at Lucy as Mikey glanced at him.
“I think Lucy was right.” Mikey finally sighed, his shoulders drooping. There was a long silence before he spoke up again. “Well,” He hesitated, as if looking for the right words. “What now?”
“We send her off properly.” Ray shrugged, then started forward. He moved the cooler to stand upright again, the lid falling shut, and placed Lucy’s feet back on it. Mikey picked up her broken glass, amazed that it still held together, and set it on the arm of her chair. He looked up to find Ray cleaning off the lenses of her aviators before putting them back on and straightening them carefully.
“Ready?” Ray asked as the two stepped back, surveying their handiwork.
“No.” Mikey answered glumly. “But go ahead.”
Ray stepped forward, pulling a lighter out of his pocket, and held the tiny flame to the bottom corner of Lucy’s chair. It took no more than a minute for the tiny flame to catch, licking eagerly up the dried-out, over-painted wood, and then the fire flared up.
“Should we say anything?” Ray asked uncomfortably, feeling that the impromptu funeral pyre might be less than anyone – let alone Lucy – deserved.
“Nah. I think she’d tell us not to waste our breath, or something.” Mikey cocked his head slightly to one side, as if listening to something very far away. “I think she’d say something about words losing meaning out loud.”
“Sounds like her.” Ray agreed, nodding, watching as the tips of the flames licked at the canopy of the umbrella, a hole already singing through. The smoldering edges started to glow, then minute flames bloomed and blossomed across the faded canvas.
The two watched the fire in silence for a long time before turning away, heading back to the car with the blaze still flaring brightly behind them.
“D’you think her name was really Lucy?”