the survivors straggle outside. camera surveys new faces:
the four chrislams have devised a way to pray: backs together, each faces a different compass point.
pistol in hand, johns runs into a big closeup, eyes sweeping. nothing on the horizon. but something lies on the ground nearby. it's riddick's mouth-bit.
johns stands atop the crash ship, scanning with a scope. he fixates on.
paris has taken over as look-out atop the ship. he deals with the heat by erecting a "misting" umbrella: he fills a reservoir with liquor, dials up a regulator. umbrella spars shoot bursts of cooling alcohol vapor. paris luxuriates in it.
war-pick in hand, paris eases to ground-level. he checks the perimeter, looks inside the ship. nobody. is he being fucked with? again? he hopes?
shazza sprints across hard-pack, heading for.
chain looped over one shoulder, fry heads back to the grave site. johns, imam, shazza, and audrey keep pace as.
the sand-cat reaches the crash ship. bodies leap off. paris steals a look at.
shazza wheels the sand-cat around, getting clearance between it and the ship.