Mrs. Carmichael looks down at how Skylar is not letting go of the meat package. "Yes, he was," Mrs. Carmichael says uncomfortably. Skylar nods. Yeah, because when you extort people using ground horsemeat as an incentive, you can believe that everything they say comes from the heart. Skylar finally releases her grip on the package and sadly tells Mrs. Carmichael that it's a quarter-pound. Mrs. Carmichael looks shiftily back at Frodale and thanks Skylar. Frodale glares, probably thinking that Skylar is going to have to have that sort of residual sympathy beaten out of her.
Mary washes jars at her bar and yells "We're closed!" as her door opens. But it's Mom, who is there to return the antiseptic jar and make nice. Mary offers a fresh batch of the antiseptic, which Mom gratefully accepts. They have a slightly stilted conversation, during which we learn that Mary makes her own vodka. According to Mom, Gray has announced that if Dad isn't back from New Bern by dawn, he's going after them himself. They both agree it's going to be a long night, but Mom turns down Mary's offer to wait it out together in the bar. Still, they both promise to alert one another if they hear anything.
Somewhere between Jericho and New Bern, the Jerichoians abandon their truck and cover it with brush. They've run out of gas and have to walk the rest of the way. Pale, clammy, and in pain, Maggie leans against a tree. Hawkins looks down at her with concern as Dad checks her out. Pulling Jake aside, Hawkins expresses doubts about bringing Maggie with them; she'll slow them down. Hawkins is so evil. Eric and Jake won't hear of it -- she's coming. Hawkins shrugs and takes a sip from his flask. Eric gives Hawkins back his knife and asks how his shoulder is. "Hurts like hell," Hawkins admits. Dad boosts Maggie over his shoulder and hoists her up. I've always wanted to be so injured after a fight-for-your-life experience that some nice, strong, grandfatherly figure (with very padded shoulders) has to carry me home that way while I bleed delicately all over his tweed jacket. Hawkins asks how Eric is doing. "I'm still walking," Eric smiles. "Yes, you are," Hawkins assures him warmly. Aw, happy, bloody shot-up family! Hawkins passes his flask to Jake, who announces, "This is real whisky." Because he knows. Because he's Jake. "Mmm-hmm," Hawkins agrees. "This is actual whisky," Jake says again, chortling. Hawkins kept a stash for emergencies. "Yeah, I'll bet you did," Jake teases. And only Hawkins and Jake know how deep that goes. See how torture, bombs, and a shootout can bring an entire town together? It's the American dream. Jake passes the flask to his brother and says something Family Channel about no meteor shower, but still, the sky is pretty. Eric thanks Jake for coming to get him. "Smell that?" Jake asks, after a moment. "First wheat's going in," Dad agrees. It used to be Jake's favorite time of year. I'm guessing Jake's current favorite time of year is when he doesn't get shot. Dad tells them to hush and to listen to the wind. Is it willowing? Wuthering? Blowing answers? What? "Still moving after everything we did," Dad says. "And with everything that's coming," Jake sighs portentously. Hawkins, tired of all this heartland talk, urges them to keep moving. We pan up to look at the stars.