O'Dessa

O'Dessa!

Wake up!

Ugh.

It's time to get to work.

Zero Plaz-Plazma... Plaz-Plazma.

- Zero Plazma. - Shit.

Okay.

Here's one I've been messing around with.

Don't tell Mama.

Thank you, Earth, for this bounty.

Amen.

Check them pumps?

Dry as a bone.

I don't know why we don't just do something about it.

Move on. Try someplace new.

The land's been sucked dry, ain't got nothing left to give.

The world has gone mad out there.

A kinda crazy you can't fathom.

People are desperate.

Ain't safe for a 19-year-old gal with stars in her eyes.

Stop trying to spook me, Mama.

It don't work no more.

I'm telling you the truth.

We're dirt farmers.

Ain't nothing to be ashamed about that.

We're survivors.

Oh, your daddy's people were something different.

They told themselves some cosmic story

that their music was gonna change the world.

Ramblin' ain't reality.

How you feelin', Ma?

Like I could wrestle a bear.

I know you're gonna ramble like your daddy.

You're gonna do what you're gonna do.

But please remember

there ain't nothing more powerful in this life than love.

Mama?

Don't go.

The Willa.

This be your guitar,

and you best protect it with your damn life.

You're the last in a long line, girl.

Seven generations.

The closing of a circle.

Pecker or not, you're the Seventh Son.

You look beautiful, Mama.

All right.

Come on. Do it again.

[fire igniting, people at camp cheering]

That never get old, do it?

Uh, excuse me.

Um, pardon the disturbance.

It's, um...

It's awful cold.

Well, welcome, friend.

Warm yourself by the fire, little lamb.

Thank you, mister.

Uh, no. It's Father.

Father Walter.

As you see, I work for the man upstairs.

Hmm. Pleasure. Name's O'Dessa.

Give this little fella

a little bit of that milk of human kindness.

Drink up, drink up.

That Molotov will put a little bit of heaven in your head

and hellfire in your belly.

- -

Now, wait a minute.

I know that guitar.

I used to bum around with a crazy fella.

We had some good rambling adventures.

Vergil?

Yeah, Vergil Galloway.

King of the Ramblers.

[people at camp chuckle] Yes, he was.

That's my daddy.

Well, I will be damned.

- No, that can't be. - Yes, sir.

Tha-That would make us practically related.

Ramblin' is a dying breed in a dying world.

Mm-hmm.

You know, in the a.m., we're hopping a freight all the way to Satylite City.

Satylite City, where all of the pipelines end.

It is a depraved and sinful place.

But God's work, it never ends.

But right now, raise your glasses.

- Everybody on your feet... - Ooh, come on, Walter!

...as we celebrate your first and our last run of the ramblin' life.

And may Vergil smile down on you

as we pass you the troubadour's torch!

May the road rise with you, O'Dessa!

Choo choo!

Whoo!

Yeah!

Whoo!

Life will carve that song into your soul

like ol' Galloway carved this guitar from that Willa Tree.

The heavens have spoken.

From this tree's burning body, you will carve a guitar...

And so the Earth Spirit told ol' Galloway,

"Only the song of the Seventh Son on this here guitar

will have a chance to save this dying world."

And O'Dessa, you got that song inside you.

It's your destiny.

Willa?

Shit!

Shit! No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Shit!

No.

Hey! Hey!

Where the hell are you going?

- That's mine! Get back here! -

Our ramblin' rube has roused from her slumber!

Stupid bitch!

- Elijah, run! - It's ours now.

Get off me, runt!