“Where’re we going?” Robby asked. Velvet risked a look at her. She looked—dead. Pale, sick, sweating. It was the fucking clothes, and she couldn’t stop to get them off. Not yet.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Velvet answered. “West. I’ll know when we get there.”

She blasted through a red light and came out on the far side of Interstate 35, hung a left on Industrial. Not a great neighborhood, but deserted. She liked it. She’d just go under I-30 toward the open-all-night adult video place and—

The Camaro died. Just like that. Sputtered and choked and hacked and died on her. It coasted to a stop and slid a little sideways. She pounded on the steering wheel and screamed.

It was out of gas. Trust her to steal a car on empty.

“Velvet?” Robby sounded worse than she looked. “Hot. Help.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Velvet grabbed the nail scissors and got out, ran to Robby’s side and dragged her out. She left the Camaro sitting in the street, both doors open, and half-carried, half-guided Robby to the side.

Robby pointed right in front of them, at a chain link fence, a collection of round squatty huts, skeletal machines, and piles of rock and sand.

“There?” Velvet squinted at the rusty sign. “Highway Department. Why the hell not?”

The gates were open, and the lights were on in one of the huts, but it was locked. She banged on the door, kicked it in frustration when nobody answered.

“They’re all out icing the roads. Shit. Shit! Here, let’s work on this.” She wiggled the nail scissors back under Robby’s sleeve again and began to cut. It was slow work, and her fingers cramped with cold and pressure. Robby’s shivering got worse. “How you doing, kid? You with me?”

“Y-y-yes. F-f-f-eel better.” She didn’t look better, she looked frostbitten. Velvet cut through the last inch of Spandex on the sleeve and got Robby’s arm free.

It was covered with a raw-looking red rash. She transferred the scissors to the other sleeve and started sawing.

There were still a few cars moving—one was coming slowly down Industrial. Velvet watched the approaching lights nervously as she cut. She freed Robby’s left arm, grabbed the bodysuit in front and back, and rolled it down.

Robby’s skin was flushed red all over, like a terrible sunburn. She’d worn a pair of panties, no bra. Velvet wadded up the Spandex and tossed it in a trash barrel, stripped off her coat, and wrapped it around Robby’s shivering bare shoulders. Nothing she could do about the handcuffs yet.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay now. You’re okay.”

Robby sank down on the ground, still shivering.

“Thought I was dying,” she said. Velvet sat down next to her and huddled close for warmth.