A dark deserted highway, inside the cab. We pan out on a shot of a young Sigourney Weaver in her little panties, and see “Hutch” looking impassive. Blue Oyster Cult. There is a calico cat laying with its eyes closed on the dashboard, above which we see a panorama of stars rising in the East.
The music plays and Hutch is quiet, listening to the hum of the rig.
We see a burst of perhaps fireworks from off to the side of the road, accompanied by a low cracking sound. Hutch glances over, frowns. There are no lights on this part of the road.
Hutch picks up his CB handset and flips on the console. There is strange static and wavey noises. He frowns again.
HUTCH: Breaker four niner ten-four good buddy smoke ’em if you got em…
No one responds to his poor joke, because it’s not that funny.
The truck rolls on into the night, and we pan up to see distant patches of city lights, with smoke rolling up into the sky and flashes of light.
Ginger opens her eyes and squints quizzically.
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