The landing is kind of terrible, the aftermath a mess of jostling—oh, the great bang and clatter of falling down to earth. That is familiar. Nux's fast friend trumpets weirdly in victory—then Nux does, too. The ride is frightening, bewildering, but their joy is suffusive and it bubbles up and out of Cole in blurted laughter. He hasn't done much laughing that he can remember. Maybe none.

"It just came out," he says, squirming back into a reasonable position, recovering his hat before it can fall off entirely. Between the two of them, it's gangly legs and arms everywhere in here. "What a nice feeling."

But then—juice? Juice! He can do that. Maybe. The search, based in the passenger seat's immediate vicinity, lasts about four seconds. "I don't see any." They are almost certainly not talking about the same thing. Also, his voice is now vibrating as the tires encounter an abundance of little rocks and scrubby brown clumps littering the path ahead... but there's no time to marvel at that, he's on task. Bumping around in his seat, Cole leans forward, hands planted on frame and console to steady himself, and looks out at the landscape yawning before them. His eyes focus on no place in particular.

Without any warning but the movement itself, one skinny arm thrusts its way into Nux's field of vision, and one pale finger touches the windshield in front of him. "Should we look there?" There, to the left: a dark smudge in the near distance. It's difficult to see, especially at speed, and at this hour (is it twilight, let's say it's twilight), but it's there. There are many distant smudges around here, yes, but this one is different.