Jojo knew Hannibal knew he was being called Hannibal. Hannibal didn't have to know where Jojo's eyes were looking for Hannibal to know he was Hannibal. Hannibal lead the way. Man and dog followed immediately, knowing that the kid in front was the de facto leader (was the phone a symbol of power, much like Prospero's magical garments?) and that survival likely meant following that phone. Maxxy bounded around, doing whatever dogs did in forests, and sniffed around the other lucky campers. None were much too excited to be here, and the thought of an extended vacation in where-ever-the-fuck-we-areville put everyone else in an even more dire mood. "Does anyone know how to use a tree as a compass? Correct me if I'm wrong, but the moss grows on the North, right? And since our cozy little burning inferno is situated in this part of California, I vote to move away. Preferably north, to Canada," Jojo said, not necessarily to anyone, just to clarify his whirlwind thoughts. 

Another 3 or 4 minutes later, the woods thinned a little to reveal a small clearing, with a nearby stream. Perfect for a camping spot, if Jojo were a boy scout. But he wasn't. Frankly, he didn't care, so he dropped his load on the thick mossy floor and went for a drink in the stream. It was lukewarm from the California heat, but soothing on his scorched throat nonetheless. All of his injuries were beginning to finally hit him now that his head had cleared and the adrenaline had ceased. A pounding headache like a parade drum, legs cut to shit from the flying debris in the explosion, dried blood from the ears. If only he had a toy gun and a beach, he could've been an extra in the D-Day landings scene from Saving Private Ryan. Maxxy lapped up the sweet relief and finally seated herself with her head on Jojo's lap. "What a day, gurl. What. A. Day," he said, absent minded. Jojo checked over Maxxy's body for any serious wounds, but found only light bruising and small cuts, all of which had healed near enough. "You're a lucky S.O.B, you know that?" he asked, kissing her head. Jojo grabbed a few sticks and lifted himself up, feeling the thick, viscous blood slowly fill his legs and they felt like lead, anchoring him to the very spot. The feeling wasn't going away, so he shut it out and grabbed some dry sticks to drop next to Leon's stack. "Here kiddo, make fire. Let's do it like the cavemen did." Just because it was a truly shit period, doesn't mean he could just stop being sarcastic, could it?

Awkwardly leveraging himself down, he noticed his tent had been set up. A thank you would be in order in a moment, but right now was just a moment for... for... what? Recollection? Mourning? The truth was, he didn't feel anything. Sure, he loved his mother and father, but he wasn't entirely sure, and no-one would ever be. Pretending they went on a surprise night-away and decided to leave Jojo to fend for himself was much easier to comprehend than an over-sized barbecue. 

"Where's the food? This might be a bit quick, but I'm already tired of all your nasty-ass faces, I just want some chow, then I'm going to bed," Jojo said. Sitting around staring at a fire like a bunch of monkeys in jeans wasn't going to advance the situation any further than jumping into the school fire. According to the rucksack, there were x amount of beans, x amount of canned tomatoes, x amount of tinned tuna, and x amount of some unmarked tin. He sure as hell wasn't going to count. Jojo took an unmarked tin and peeled it back. "Corn beef. Thank God it wasn't apricots," he commented gleefully, spooning half into his mouth and half onto the ground where Maxxy devoured it like Cerberus on a human soul. "Delicious, I may say so myself. I'm gonna go catch some zed's now, so if anyone wants me -" Red Fox and Carrie received a wink "- I'll be in there," he said, leaving the cheery little campfire. Half-expecting them to burst out in 'She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain' at his departure, but if anything the silence got heavier and thicker and soon it swallowed the group like the sea and an over-board crew-member.

Jojo sat in the corner of his tent with Maxxy. She snuggled into his collarbone and rested there. And suddenly the full realisation of everything hit him like a tank shell. His parents were dead. Not getting kinky at a Motel 8, but holding hands together as burnt skeletons in amidst the bones of everyone who's name he ever knew. Tears welled like levees in a hurricane, but nothing lasts for long, and especially not levees in a hurricane. He wept and cried, sobbed and raged. Maxxy would lick away every tear which rolled onto his chin, and as Jojo hiccuped his way into stupor, Maxxy cradled the boys head in her paws and nested his head in her neck.