At the end of the little mile-long road leading away from the house, almost hidden by trees, was another, smaller house.  She hadn't given it much notice when they'd driven down the road before, too absorbed in other matters.  That must be the "neighbor".  And she wondered if that could be her ticket into town.  Better than running all the way there--a feat she was sure she wasn't capable of for ten miles in a row.
        Apparently the neighbor had been doing something outside, suddenly paying attention to the escaping girl and calling to her before she could take off past him.  "Hey now!" he got her attention with a friendly sort of shout.  "What's got you so riled?"
        She took a quick look at him--dark skin, short hair, neatly kempt, work shirt, old jeans, mid-thirties... generally not too much of a danger in her experience, nor anyone she'd met before.  Think quick, Ally.  "Nick's aunt just fell in the bathtub and the Bronco's not working so I have to find someone to get me into town so I can get a ride from someone else." Oh god that was stupid.
        He raised an eyebrow at that explanation.  "Oh, you mean that mute fella down the road?"
        Okay.  "Uh... something like--yes.  That's the one."
        Yet for some reason he seemed... less than certain.  "Mmm hmm."
        There was no time to convince him.  "I've really got to get going.  His aunt might be... dead."  She would make the worst actress in the world.
        He walked closer, looking even less convinced.  "From a fall?"
        "She could be."  And, granted, she believed what she was saying.
        "He doesn't have an aunt.  Or any family."
        Shit.  She should have just kept running.  "He just found her."
        "She doesn't exist."  He countered, crossing his arms with a slight but growing look of amusement.
        "Obviously she does, or he wouldn't have had to rush off after her, Mr. Wizard."
        He finally relented, chuckling.  "Does this have anything to do with the human experiments at the Hotel Looney in the big city?"
        Her legs just about fell from underneath her.  Luckily she caught herself, or that fallen aunt scenario could have taken a more personal turn.
        He waved off her reaction easily.  "Yeah, I know.  I'm affectionately referred to as a 'conspiracy theorist'.  Only I don't follow fake conspiracies."  He beckoned her over, not bothering to wait for her to obey before he started off down the driveway and to his garage.
        Well... hell.  She couldn't be any less safe with him than she may have been if she'd stayed at the house... right?  Following at a relatively good darting distance (just in case), she decided to quell that annoyingly constant curiosity of hers.  "How rude is a thing like that?"
        There was one question he wasn't expecting.  "Like what?"
        "To look up everything on your well-meaning mute neighbor."  She watched closely as he leaned over, giving the handle on the bottom of the old-fashioned garage door a good tug, sending it to the top and all the way open.
        "It was the smile."  He admitted, dusting his hands off.
        Well, yes.  She supposed that may have been an astoundingly obvious trigger for a conspiracy theory.  "You didn't just think he was some freak?"
        "Nah.  That's too easy."  He grinned, advancing toward what looked to be a vehicle inside, covered entirely with a large opaque green tarp.
        She was almost glad he wasn't looking back to bear witness to her expression.  "I see."
        There wasn't a need to look, with it so apparent in her voice.  "I've actually been trying to lead them away from the trail."
        Hm.  "Why all the help?"
        "He's got a vegetable garden."  The guy stated, though that were the meaning of life.
        Made as much sense as any, she supposed.  More than most of what had occurred within the past few weeks.  She shook her head of what nonsense she could, trying to focus back on the moment.  "So... now what?  Can you drop me off in town or something?"
        He seemed a bit distracted, going through a number of coffee cans that seemed to contain clinking metal objects.  "He's probably pretty likely to be going through town on his way to... wherever.  Those are the only roads that lead to anywhere past here."
        "That's the idea."  She intended to follow at whatever distance she could get... in a stolen car if necessary.
        That much came across pretty easily.  He looked up from whatever the hell he was doing, casting a nearly laughing gaze.  "Is that really the smartest thing you can do?  You don't have any idea where he's going to.  Or what he'll do when he gets there."
        Simplifying matters, she shrugged.  "At least I've got to know."
        Good enough.  He'd known she'd been living there for a while... not due to spying, of course.  But he did like to... check up on things now and then.  Knowing such, he assumed she was welcome there.  So... hell.  He turned from the many cans and held a hand out.  "Name's Renton Murray.  But I prefer Rex."
        Neither one seemed... like the name for a man.  She shook his hand, anyway.  "What the hell kind of a name is Renton?"
        "I asked my mother the same thing."  He admitted, getting back to picking things out of cans that she couldn't quite make out.
        As if life wasn't interesting enough.  "What'd she say?"
        He sighed his answer with utmost shame.  "She saw it written on a subway wall and liked it."
        Perhaps it was a subject better left ignored.  "Rex it is, then.  I'm Ally."
        At last he pocketed whatever it was he had been gathering in his hand, turning to a small tool box on a work bench.  From that he produced, with no move made to hide it, a very solid looking Glock.  Before the girl had a chance to either run the hell away or attempt to remove it from his hands, he offered his version of a decent explanation.  "I was a Marine."
        Oh, Jesus.  Somehow the thought of him defending the country was far less than reassuring.  She wasn't entirely certain why... but she just got a feeling.
        "Not like that."  He found a great deal of amusement in her expression.  "At least, not entirely.  It was special forces... only a lot more classified."
        "No comment."  She decided upon.
        He grinned, looking back at the gun and checking the parts quickly.  Satisfied, he placed it back in the tool box... then took the whole thing and turned it toward her with the lid open, exposing not only a couple of smaller automatics, but a decent nest of neatly packed ammo.  When no move was made on her part, he prodded with, "Well?"
        Okay.  There were a million things she was pretty sure she should have been doing in that situation; but standing there having a conversation was not one of them.  Regardless... "Well what?"
        "Aren't you coming?"
        Hey, there was an interesting question.  Especially when presented with a tool box full of dangerous shit by a stranger into conspiracies.  "You think we should do this together?"  Whatever the hell "this" was.  She didn't know and was starting to want less and less to find out right away.
        "You'll be a lot safer with me than you would be here."  He indicated the box with his eyes.  "And look, toys."
        That got a slight glare--but was dismissed easily as having been a joke.  "Why would you bother having me tag along?"
        "Company."  He shrugged.  "And, you were his friend.  So I take it you're probably 'good people'."
        Good enough.  Not like she had anywhere else to go, really.  After all of her recent experiences, this was actually starting to seem normal.  "So I should take one of these suckers or what?"
        Nice to see the readiness.  "Can you fire one?"
        "Can't be that hard."
        He carefully closed the lid and latched it.  "Now is not the time to learn.  But you'll get your chance later."
        Yay.  "And our chariot?" she indicated whatever was under the tarp with a tilt of her head.
        "What an excellent way to put it."  He seemed utterly delighted.  Enough so to grasp the front of the tarp with both hands and give a sweeping thrash and tug, pulling it off of the... car that resided underneath.
        She found only silence was appropriate.  A car it was... perhaps... in a former life.  It sure as hell wasn't a chariot, though...  The Bronco could put it to shame in a number of ways.  What laid out in the open (better covered by something), was what looked to be a Frankenstein's monster of dumped and forgotten parts not even an impound lot would care about, welded together and somehow made even more blocky and unseemly with these... huge casings on either side of the engine block, above the wheels and large enough to be blocking the ability to open the doors.  It was... a demented Back to the Future DeLorean gone absolutely, horribly, unacceptably wrong... only riding slightly higher off the ground.  "Custom?"
        He welled with pride.  "Well, it had to be.  Gotta case the specialized engine... and of course the homing missile bay and machine guns."
        This... had to be a dream... right?  "Your car... is equipped... with homing missiles... and machine guns."
        His chest was about to explode with the cherished love he had for his pet project.  "Oh hell yes."
        She shook her head for a long, long time.  But then... no.  There was no "normal" any longer.  It was all just...  "Let's roll, Jeeves."