"Titus," she calls out over her shoulder, and he looks up, squinting against the bright morning light. "Get yourself some color for your clothes. All that black's going to get you killed out here."

"Gotcha," he sketches a half-salute as she pulls her goggles down and ties the bandanna over her mouth.

"See you 'round," she waves, and revs her bike. As she pulls away, dust rising in a cloud behind her, Titus certainly hopes she's right.