Surrounded by whirling, angry sand and wind, the girl woke up in an unknown car. Her mouth tasted like sea salt, and her vision was blurry. This was not her bed nor her room, and she started to moan in agony, another nightmare. Suddenly, a long hand reached out for her and softly pushed her shoulders. Besides the roaring sand, another sound pierced her ears.

"Missy? Are you alright?"

She looked to her right. A slender, olive-skinned man sat in the seat next to her. Disheveled hair and a week-old beard, dressed in a smelly t-shirt, he looked just like her father.

"Dad?"

The man frowned, the glass windows around him being nothing but a shifting mess of black and brown.

"No missy, you're still in here with me. Car-man. Remember?"

And now she finally did, as if the driver had flipped some switch in her head. It felt like she had awoken from a coma.

"How? H-how long have I been sleeping?"

Car-man frowned deeper, leaning closer to the front window as he fiddled with some buttons on the dashboard.

"A whole day by God! Thought you weren't going to wake up."

Under his breath, he cursed.

"What the fuck?"

The car started to slow down, and she peered through the window to see what caused this.

"Why don't you just drive around them?"

The road ahead was partially blocked by two firetrucks. Diagonally parked at the side of the road, one lane was still free.

"Because I saw something move."

Showing his surprisingly clean teeth to the storm, car-man grabbed his colt with one hand.

"An ambush perhaps. Fucking inbred desert-junkie scum.."

He continued driving forwards. Her own hands could only hold on to the door at her side. The long gun she used to kill that woman was broken, busted up by sand and sun. She left it to rot when the driving stranger took her in.

"Come and get it fuckers. Come and get it.."

A new and stronger gust of wind made the canoe on the roof shudder, they were now next to the firetrucks, was it really a gust of wind?

"Come.."

She peeked outside, nothing but sand. She looked down at the road, asphalt less affected by the storm. A pair of deep-blue eyes stared back at her amidst a puddle of black goop. Horrible eyes, empty eyes, human eyes. She screamed at the top of her lungs, yet firmly kept her hand on the door. Her body seemed to collapse, yet whatever was out there would not come inside, not on her watch.

"What?!"

The car jolted. Either the man had pressed the brake, or something else stopped the car.

"Someone under the car! Underneath! I saw-"

Before her sentence could be finished, the engine moaned and her head smacked against the back seat. Car-man accelerated, gripping the wheel with one hand and the clutch with the other. Somehow managing to shift gears and hold the revolver at the same time.

"Come and get it! Fuckers!"

Still focused on her side of the vehicle, the small survivor did not know that her companion was about to battle shadows with steel. Another jolt went through the car, way heavier and more abrupt. Her head was flung towards the dashboard this time, and the world faded once more. An explosion of brown and black, with two blue eyes in the middle of it all. She told herself she would die, which was the seventh lie, for her body was prepared.

The burning star that was the sun had swallowed the winds whole, and the peaceful yet burning desert returned. He was close now, according to the map, the desert would soon turn into a more humid area. He would make it, he would reach the waves.

Morgan let out an animal-like moan as he stared at his little companion once more. A bottle of lukewarm whiskey managed to clean the salty taste left in his mouth, yet it did not clear his vision. She was laying on her back. Morgan had pulled the handle to fully lower the seat, a bed big enough for a child like her. Yet she was no child, not anymore. During the three days after the accident she had undergone some changes. Morgan had wrapped her forehead in bandages, blood leaked out after she hit her head. He had fed her, and attempted at given her the few medicine present. Nothing helped, her breathing became slower and her eyes never opened, yet she did not die. Now he stared at a moving blanket, covering her body but not her head. Those bandages had turned filthy, tainted with black blood. It seemed like they were glued to her face, stronger than Morgan had ever wrapped them. Removing them was an action he could not perform. The veins in her neck turned black as well, like tar rushed through them. Whatever happened underneath the blanket was not good, something was growing. It were the cones, and Morgan knew he had them as well. Yet he refused to end her or his life. The waves would bring salvation, blue waves to fight the yellow ones.

"Keep fighting little one."

Keeping his eyes locked on the empty road, Morgan gulped down another swig of whiskey. It had no effect, merely warming his mouth and temporarily washing away the sea-salt. If only Robert could see him now, wherever he was now. His past hunting partner made Morgan realize how lonely he had been, and that it was important for this girl to make it to the sea. She needed salvation, otherwise she would turn in whatever he hit back during the storm. On the hood of his car was a large dent, and a splatter of now fading black ooze. He had ran over the bastard as if it was a crossing raccoon, fucking disease. The last bit of liquid courage was swallowed, and he mumbled.

"It ain't right, babe no."

They passed a sign, in the background Morgan could see dry trees and weed sprouting along the road.

"It ain't right, lord no."

The desert had been left behind, and while the hunter looked into the mirror to see the sands disappear, he noticed his pupils had turned deep-blue.

"It aint right, fuck no."

The beginning of the end.

This was the eight lie, for it was the beginning of something new.