Spider hadn't even noticed he'd had gone, had he? S.T. drummed his fingers on the doorframe and sneered. "Move it, Mister I Can Only Hijack Flying Cars." He vaulted the door without waiting to see if Spider could react in time (he did), and landed directly in the gooey zombiejuice contrail Spider had left on the white leather. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. He'd gotten back in the old van after a gig wet and slimy on more occasions than he could tally, but it didn't make it appealing. And rotting fish beat rotten human in the scent department even when creepy fuckers hadn't installed odor amps in his head.
Whatever. At this point, he probably owed Bart royalties on that phrase, but it still bore saying. What the fuck ever. He eased the seat back, reached down between his legs, and started yanking. At the wires. Then he stripped them with his teeth, spat any resulting toxins over the window, and grinned. "Watch and learn."
Before he started connecting wires, he did a belated sniff test for gasoline fumes. None managed to penetrate the miasma of putrescine and cadaverine. Besides, it was probably too late. He grabbed the severed head of the cigarette pack and used it to twist -- the plastic would do as an insulator. The seatbelt alarm chirped. S.T. ignored it. A second twist and the engine growled its way into the menagerie.
"Bingo." He glanced at the dash. All systems go. "And we've got most of a tank. We can get halfway to nowhere." The seatbelt alarm was still beeping. He fastened his seatbelt. It didn't stop. Must have a pressure sensor, since a second symbols was still illuminated. "Strap yourself in and let's put the pedal to the metal."
He threw the gearshift in reverse and started backing out of the space.
no subject
Spider hadn't even noticed he'd had gone, had he? S.T. drummed his fingers on the doorframe and sneered. "Move it, Mister I Can Only Hijack Flying Cars." He vaulted the door without waiting to see if Spider could react in time (he did), and landed directly in the gooey zombiejuice contrail Spider had left on the white leather. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. He'd gotten back in the old van after a gig wet and slimy on more occasions than he could tally, but it didn't make it appealing. And rotting fish beat rotten human in the scent department even when creepy fuckers hadn't installed odor amps in his head.
Whatever. At this point, he probably owed Bart royalties on that phrase, but it still bore saying. What the fuck ever. He eased the seat back, reached down between his legs, and started yanking. At the wires. Then he stripped them with his teeth, spat any resulting toxins over the window, and grinned. "Watch and learn."
Before he started connecting wires, he did a belated sniff test for gasoline fumes. None managed to penetrate the miasma of putrescine and cadaverine. Besides, it was probably too late. He grabbed the severed head of the cigarette pack and used it to twist -- the plastic would do as an insulator. The seatbelt alarm chirped. S.T. ignored it. A second twist and the engine growled its way into the menagerie.
"Bingo." He glanced at the dash. All systems go. "And we've got most of a tank. We can get halfway to nowhere." The seatbelt alarm was still beeping. He fastened his seatbelt. It didn't stop. Must have a pressure sensor, since a second symbols was still illuminated. "Strap yourself in and let's put the pedal to the metal."
He threw the gearshift in reverse and started backing out of the space.