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Well, I'm runnin’ down the road tryin’ to loosen my load
I got seven men on my mind

There's nothing wrong with a little improvisation. Not to Grace, anyway, since the radio in the police cruiser she'd taken seems to be on the fritz. She's already destroyed ‘Hard to Handle.’ Flicking cigarette ash out her window, she smirks at the long stretch of open road and kicks it up to 95. The engine hums along.

Four that want to own me
Two that want to save me
One says he's a friend of mine.

She's driving south on Interstate 35, toward Kansas City and Wichita. She hasn't run across anyone since Charlie, back in that weird town. There have, however, been some interesting craters in the road that she felt compelled to check out. Grace doesn't know what's going on, but she’s certain of two things: it makes sense to head for Oklahoma City, and this is somehow all Earl’s fault.

Take it eaaaaaaaaaaasy...

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"There's not a lot of call for truckers without an economy to support them," Dinah points out. "And people like to stick to communities these days, for safety.

"Have you just arrived?"

It's an honest question, not sarcasm. Dinah's capable of sarcasm, but she's generally just too good natured to pull it off.

Okay, things just got a whole lot weirder.

"I was in Oklahoma City," she hedges. "There were tornadoes. Second one was coming right at us. Next thing I knew, I was pushing tin in some small town, Missouri."

A glance at the side of the police cruiser.

"Belmont, Missouri."

Grace steps on her cigarette, her boot grinding it into the dust.

"My friends and I'd just dropped off a fifteen year old girl in the Balkans to face the most deadly assassin in the world," Dinah says. "Next thing I know I'm fighting orcs in Australia."

She's smirking now. It's possible she's maybe won a competition.

"Orcs. Big, ugly drooling things. I took my nephew to see that movie."

Grace decides to play along. Hands in her back pockets -- the jacket moves, exposing her badge -- she strides forward.

"You aren't by any chance really in a jail cell somewhere, awaiting execution?"

Believe it or not, she has a very good reason for the question.

"I went on my own," Dinah admits, in a sort of 'look, I know it sounds crazy' way. "I just like the eye candy."

For the question, she shakes her head, though takes it seriously. "No, I'm one of the good guys. Honest."

She hasn't been arrested by any government in years.

"Mmmmm. Definite eye candy," Grace agrees. "Even the skinny elf."

The hands come out to simulate pointy ears, and she grins. The jury is still out on whether or not the woman in fishnets is dealing with a full deck, but at least she's got personality.

"Grace Hanadarko, Oklahoma City PD."

No comment on the good guys.

Dinah pauses to consider the attractiveness of Orlando Bloom, and comes out on the side of Sean Bean. Again.

"I prefer my men a bit more rugged," she confides, grinning at Grace's ear-mime.

"Dinah Lance, a.k.a the Black Canary. Most recently with the Justice League of America. And a smaller operation my friend Zinda wants to call the Birds of Prey."

A knowing nod. "Helps if they can keep up."

Cute as he is, Grace gets the feeling she would run the elf-actor into the ground in less than 24 hours. She needs a man with stamina, like Ham. Or Butch. Or that guy she picked up in a bar last week.

Black Canary?

"Interesting codename. Justice League of America... Feds or freelance?" she asks, brow wrinkled. Something about it sounds familiar.

(Again -- her nephew.)

Oh, Dinah could probably run them all into the ground in 24 hours. That's the fun.

"Freelance," she explains, not in the least surprised Grace hasn't heard of it. "Privately funded, but we operated within the law."

The legalities of costumed heroing are complex, but people like them.

"Yeah. Good guys," says Grace, with a gesture to Dinah.

She turns her head, narrows her eyes at the horizon. There are all sorts of questions on her mind; being a police detective with major crimes means knowing what to ask first.

"Are there other people like us?" Whatever that means. "You know, who came here?"

Because things are starting to sink in, and this is turning into one hell of a problem.

"Hundreds," Dinah tells her, without needing the clarification. "Not all as friendly as others. But Kansas seems to be safe and people are convening there."

Hundreds.

"Kansas."

For no discernible reason, Grace glares at the sky.

"Well, shit. I need a drink."

She pulls open the back door of the cruiser and snags a bottle of Jack from the floorboard. A long drink later, she offers the bottle to Dinah.

Dinah holds up a gloved hand to decline it at first. Then,

"Oh, what the hell?"

She takes the bottle and takes a much more modest sized drink. "Thanks."

"Thank the Belmont, Missouri Bar and Grill," Grace snorts.

She cleaned them out; a small bar could operate for a few hours with what's in the back seat.

"Post apocalyptic USA. Damn."

Disbelief still registers on her face, but there's a certain amount of resignation, too. It fits what she's seen.

Dinah's impressed. Grace could probably sell most of this for several times what the bar owner paid for it.

"Post apocalyptic world," she adds. "Not the best vacation spot."

The part of Grace that wants to ask what happened is quickly overruled by the part of her that really doesn't want to know. Wherever -- whenever -- they are, however they got here, it happened. The situation is what it is.

She doesn't expect to be here long. Earl isn't that sadistic.

"But I bet the real estate's cheap," Grace mumbles, running her thumb over the mouth of the bottle and looking south. "You been down to Oklahoma City?"

"Flown over it a couple of times," Dinah says. "Didn't see much sign of life."

That's not what she wants to hear.

"Then I'm going to assume this is an alternate dimension where my family and friends don't live in the Sooner state," says Grace, almost like it's a joke, before taking another drink.

The alternative... She's not going to think about the alternative.

"I'm still gonna go."

"I don't blame you," Dinah says. And she doesn't. She's got her family here, and she's investigated her roots. She's had closure.

"You want someone to come with?"

Grace looks from the motorbike back to Dinah, then nods.

"Sure. Any more alone time and I wouldn't want to be the next person I tracked down. I might go all 'Heeere's Johnny!' on his ass." She snorts and closes the bottle. "Kansas, huh?"

It's skeptical.

"It makes no more sense to me," Dinah assures her. "Guess not even the monsters see much point in it?"

"Monsters?"

Both eyebrows shoot up, and she appears to be pushing at her cheek with her tongue.

"Shit, I always knew Bigfoot was real."

"I'm pretty sure I've fought him," Dinah says thoughtfully. "On my own world. Here it's all dragons and orcs and walking plants."

Walking plants.

Grace briefly wonders if you can smoke them.

"Crazy. Guess it's a good thing I stole backup rounds. You want to ride with or will the Swamp Thing make off with your bike while we're gone?"

She's sick of her own singing.

Dinah glances at her bike, obviously torn.

Then, after a beat, she shrugs.

"When Lady Blackhawk gets back online I'll tell her to pick it up," she informs Grace, and vaults over the hood to ride shotgun.

"Where in Ok City are we heading for?"