“How giant is giant? Ya can’t shoot at a real skeeter, they’re teeny.”

She may have seen some drunken kids try at festivals and concerts that always seemed to crop up in the worst of the heat. It tended to be more amusing than the usual band on goings and free offerings.

She stays quiet a long time as they sit there. She fiddles with the edge of her vest, still as bright and dirty as the day she’d arrived. “Sounds like what we got at home. ‘cept they don’t replace people, they just change the person. And ya can’t help ‘em escape. Once they got someone under the mask, they’re just gone. Nothin’ but death’s gonna save ‘em.”

She pulls the paper back over to herself, hand out for the pen. She doesn’t look at him.

“Have ya been able to save a lot?”