"Yeah," she says, rolling her eyes in the rear view mirror, "and the second I touch it, you shoot me. Mother Theresa'd be proud as shit."

She moves the car to the center of the road, avoiding a gaggle of undead lunatics clawing at the sound of their talkative motor. This hunk of junk will get them a few miles strong, to Fairyland or Woodbury or wherever, but it'd need more care to get much farther. Joan had been intending to put in the effort, before the ghost of jury duty past had shown up.

"Oh, so you're not giving the tour?" Her smile is a little hard around the edges. "But you're so friendly."