Late morning. Blazing sun. A long stretch of West Texas highway with nothing but mirages and regret.

The Chevy tour van, affectionately named “Fangwagon,” was doing its best impression of a dying animal. The whole crew was inside—seven bodies and enough gear to rebuild a music store if it exploded.

Thane sat behind the wheel, one clawed hand adjusting the rearview mirror, the other tapping rhythmically on the wheel as if sheer force of will would keep the engine from quitting. Gabriel, in the passenger seat, was chugging a gas station iced coffee like it was going to give him wings. Spoiler: it didn’t.

In the back, Maya sat crisscross on a flight case, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Rico was dozing with his face against the window, Jonah had his earbuds in, and Mark sat silent, glaring at the rattling A/C vent like it owed him money.

Then—THUNK-KRCHHHH.

The van gave a lurch. The dashboard flickered. Thane’s ears snapped upright.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he growled, easing off the gas.

Gabriel looked over. “Did we hit something or just lose a piece of the van?”

“Do you smell smoke?” Maya asked sharply from the back.

“No, but I can smell our career dying,” Mark deadpanned.

The van shuddered again, then coasted silently for a second too long.

Thane pulled to the shoulder. “That was the serpentine belt, I’d bet anything on it.”

Everyone piled out, the dry heat slamming into them like a hairdryer to the face. Thane popped the hood, and a thin wisp of smoke curled up into the air like it had somewhere better to be.

Gabriel leaned in beside him. “So… we walk now?”

“We’re not walking anywhere,” Thane muttered, inspecting the mess. “I can fix this, but I need a belt. And duct tape. And about six fewer people asking me questions.”

Mark pulled out his phone. “No signal.”

Maya pulled out hers. “Same. Welcome to ‘We All Die in Texas,’ starring: Us.”

Jonah sighed. “I knew we should’ve taken the scenic route. Scenic routes have Walmarts.”

Rico pulled a lukewarm soda out of the cooler and cracked it open with a hiss. “Guess we’re camping. Anyone bring marshmallows?”

Thane stood up, wiping grease onto his jeans. “Alright. This is fixable. I’ve got a patch kit, and if I can jerry-rig the belt with zip ties, we can limp to the next town.”

Gabriel looked skeptical. “How many zip ties?”

“Enough to qualify as an engineering degree,” Thane replied.

Mark stared at the van. “I’m not dying in this van. If this is how I go out, I demand a better soundtrack than ‘loose fanbelt in A minor.’”

“Rico,” Thane snapped, “check the back bin. Should be a repair roll and extra fluid.”

“On it.”

“Jonah, Maya—watch the road. Just in case anyone comes by who isn’t planning to murder us.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “And me?”

“You,” Thane sighed, “stand there and look pretty.”

Gabriel saluted with his coffee cup. “Mission accepted.”