[Johnny hated the idea of relying on someone else to get around, but he didn't have a chair or his trusty horse to get him from point A to point B. He'd have to settle for the stranger in front of him. He hooks an arm over the guy's shoulder and the skin-to-skin ratio is a little uncomfortable, but he's not about to complain when imminent doom is the other option.
Johnny follows his gaze up to the crumbling ceiling and aims his pointer-finger toward it, firing off a few Nail bullets that, though small, at least seem to persuade the sand to disperse and fall more heavily a few feet to their right instead of directly on them.]
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Johnny follows his gaze up to the crumbling ceiling and aims his pointer-finger toward it, firing off a few Nail bullets that, though small, at least seem to persuade the sand to disperse and fall more heavily a few feet to their right instead of directly on them.]
Shit. We gotta move.