Carver keeps his eyes closed, shivering. He's so goddamn cold. Everything hurts. And he can hear the hurt in Pope, too. The tension in his voice.

"My, mhmm, my grandma's truck," Carver murmurs. "She'd get drunk and lose the keys, so she taught me how to hotwire it..."

The words trail off. His head slumps against the window. He thinks, a little distantly, that he might pass out soon. That the adrenaline can't take him any further.