The vehicle had changed. Mud, garbage, and dirty clothes were ground into its floor and walls. Bits of old food. The wilted flower of the toxic triceratops foot. The remains of Turtle's old mistakes.

And yet Andrea stood in the vehicle's doorway, tangled hair dripping onto her baggy black garment, gaping like the grubbiest of provincial laborers.

"God it feels good to be back." Andrea shook her head and her eyes went hard. "Strap yourselves in. We're taking ...