Giovanni Cartucci Part 6

Sometime around dawn Maverick crawls out from underneath the car and limps out of sight. I follow his lead, surprisingly limber and disgustingly indifferent. I think it is the emptiness of the landscape. Looking Maverick eye to eye for the first time since the incident, his bottom lip trembles and his eyes are squinted. "We should cremate them," he says. I nod. And we stand there, 5 feet apart, him at the bumper of the car and myself leaning on the handle of the back door. And now presently he goes into the car and takes out a matchbox. The flame is hauntingly beautiful. What is wrong with me? Maverick hesitates and then tosses it into the open window. The fire spreads slowly, but soon all left is a ghostly frame of steel.