I am led inside a darkened long boat to look at a car for sale. It is a 3/4 size 1930s sedan with a sleeping compartment in the rear—all black and chrome. The guy wants $100 or $200K. The car is also amphibious, owing to its large, grey running boards. The guy will demonstrate, but the fog on the beach is still too heavy.
"They're not letting anyone in yet." Soon, everyone leaves for the battle.
Jack Sparrow explains: "I actually try not to kill too many people, and trust God to keep me safe." I tarry, looking for my gloves.
I start to run up the river bank, realizing I am late. I picture myself helping with the wounded and the ammo on the long boat, as I have done before. But the long boat has already returned, nearly deserted.
I climb aboard and hear the cries: "They sucked our blood everywhere!"
I now hear war whoops, like coyotes, from up the river. N, dressed in black, walks somberly past me.
"Scairdy?" she asks, then quotes: "'Even his little will be taken away from him.'"