Joan takes her time adjusting the seat and the mirrors. It's petty revenge, but it's all she can afford at the moment. When she finally moves the car along, it runs more smoothly than she expected. It must have been abandoned more recently than she thought.

"You're pointing a gun at me. It's personal," she says, mostly for the sake of her own pride. She knows it's stupid-- you should lay aside your pride and just try to survive when you've got a potentially murderous stranger in your car-- but she's held onto her sense of self too long to let it go when everyone else is dead. Her father couldn't take it from her. Merle Dixon can't either. "The only way it's not personal is if I'm dead. That's how things are, now."