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Mindy pulled them to a stop, looking into the backseat, gratified to find a heavy winter jacket keeping company a collection of empty fast-food containers and a ticketing pad. She pulled it up and over herself, then saw Lucia pushing aside the broken door, stomping across the desert ground like she would walk around the world before turning back. She got to the fence, clawed her fingers into the mesh, and tore it open. Not good enough. She ripped swathes of it away, pitching them onto the ground. She punched at the chainlink, but it was like hitting air. It tore too easily. Screaming in frustration, she turned back around and stole back to the car. “You want a new car?” she asked Mindy. “Then you don’t need this one!” “Lucia, you have to calm—“ Lucia hammered the cab of the cruiser down into the seats. Her bare hands were like a pair of sledgehammers. Metal ripped and snapped, glass crashed, tires blew and spat out hubcaps. Mindy stepped back like she would from a fire that was throwing off too many sparks. Lucia was pounding the squad car into the ground, folding it in half with all the blows she was pouring into its middle. An errant blow turned on the siren for a shrieking whoop, then that gurgled electronically and died at the end of her fist. Finally she hit the gas tank. It didn’t explode. It just spewed oil like the Exxon Valdez, spurting onto her dress and tarring her face. She backed away, letting out another scream. The last one had been a roar. This was just steam escaping.

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