Fresno, Killifornia. Years after the Big Burn. Holy Diver's sharksuited goons stalk the borders of the Fresno Carnival, where the juggalos have held out against the apocalypse for years. Holy Diver needs fresh meat for his army- and everyone else can cram into a hollowed-out bus and be fired into the Pacific, courtesy of the Interstate Rail Gun. But Holt Huggins never could live like the kindly, axe-wielding clowns who took him in. He had lived too long under Holy Diver's regime, been made into something hard and suspicious under the shifting shadows of the Every Potato Slicer, filling brown bags with deep-fried whatever to feed Diver's troops. He could do the good folk of the Fresno Carnival one last kindness. As he put Killifornia in the rearview, he'd do as much damage to that wet old despot's goons as one man in a Winnebago could.