[Things weren't no different, whether they were back in his grandma's house with one of those visits all crammed in on the couch and the air real thick and uncomfortable or they had come across each other in Vegas, or here where the dead were up and walking. Jake could have said that, right up front, but Graham knew about the dead enough to kill them dead and some kind of company that was still living was appealing right off, no matter who it was.
He watched Graham throw stuff into the truck like he didn't even have to ask. And it was life and it was death, so maybe he didn't but Jake resented that he didn't have any choice at all to go with him whether he liked it or not, and he didn't care that he resented something he couldn't do a thing about. Graham's bag sat on the dusty seat like it had gotten itself comfortable, and he looked over those guns, real quiet.
Any maybe hoping about home was too much to ask, but his stomach plummeted, turning head over tail on the way down to his toes, and he just nodded, quiet. But a hotel had a door on home, and he looked at Graham direct as he climbed back on into the driver's seat, and put his hand on the gear.]