Gasoline Blood

In a corner of the hold toward the nose of the plane was a clumsily-welded metal chair, which Joey sat in. He reached to one side and pulled up what looked like a high-pressure hose, one end of which was attached to a connection in the floor. The other end in Joey's hand did not look like that of a normal hose. Instead of threads and a fastener, it had a gleaming metal needle, not unlike that of a syringe.

Gary looked at this with a blank face. “Joey, what the fück is this?”

Joey didn't say anything. He simply rolled up the sleeve of his badly scorched leather jacket and jabbed the needle directly into his arm.

There was the sound of pressure being released. The hose stiffened slightly, and fluid could be heard splashing into a tank somewhere below their feet. A slight smell of petroleum entered the air.

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