It's a faux salute that Charlie returns before disappearing back into the treeline - for a sturdy man, he's awfully good at disappearing when it suits him.
He makes his way through the underbrush, neatly cutting around the perimeter of the plantation so he can get closer to the truck. There's a wide swath of open territory between the trees and the truck that he hopes isn't studded with landmines or some other bloody death trap, but to hell with it - as the light starts to fade, he shakes free of the foliage and makes his way quickly for the truck.
No landmines, no pitfalls. Lucky that. His back his the grill of the truck, using it for cover as he peers around the bumper to get a look around the immediate area. No bloody fuel tanks, meaning they're probably elsewhere on the farm. He digs round in his pockets, pauses when his fingers close on a scrap of cloth. He peels it free - Chloe's handkerchief, balled up and forgotten some months ago. He winds it out, measuring its length and-- and quickly jams it back into his pocket, dismissing the idea out of hand.
Instead he moves around to the door, trying it and then popping it open when he finds it unlocked. There's some measure of garbage rattling around in the bottom of the cab, and some digging finds an old towel that he quickly shreds.
Stuffing that down the fuel pipe of the truck is easy and it catches fire well enough as well. When he's sure it's taken, Charlie lights out like there'd a dog at his heels, swearing absently at the tang of gasoline on his fingers. He's a good few yards off when the spark reaches the gas tank and the truck goes up like a match.
never has this icon been more appropriate
He makes his way through the underbrush, neatly cutting around the perimeter of the plantation so he can get closer to the truck. There's a wide swath of open territory between the trees and the truck that he hopes isn't studded with landmines or some other bloody death trap, but to hell with it - as the light starts to fade, he shakes free of the foliage and makes his way quickly for the truck.
No landmines, no pitfalls. Lucky that. His back his the grill of the truck, using it for cover as he peers around the bumper to get a look around the immediate area. No bloody fuel tanks, meaning they're probably elsewhere on the farm. He digs round in his pockets, pauses when his fingers close on a scrap of cloth. He peels it free - Chloe's handkerchief, balled up and forgotten some months ago. He winds it out, measuring its length and-- and quickly jams it back into his pocket, dismissing the idea out of hand.
Instead he moves around to the door, trying it and then popping it open when he finds it unlocked. There's some measure of garbage rattling around in the bottom of the cab, and some digging finds an old towel that he quickly shreds.
Stuffing that down the fuel pipe of the truck is easy and it catches fire well enough as well. When he's sure it's taken, Charlie lights out like there'd a dog at his heels, swearing absently at the tang of gasoline on his fingers. He's a good few yards off when the spark reaches the gas tank and the truck goes up like a match.