"It ever bother you that the Good Lord sweats the small stuff? You could spend your whole life tryin' to atone for some bad shit you done when you was fifteen, but come Judgment Day your ass could still get throwed in the pit 'cause you forgot to wash the damn dishes one time. [...] There should be, like, runner-up heaven for sorry-ass motherfuckers like me who never quite shook off the bad, y'know? But there ain't no runner-up heaven, and there never will be. You know why? 'Cause God's an American, that's why."
You never read happy stories set in West Virginia, do you? No merrily skipping through the woodlands before heading home to a nice little cottage. It's always dying mining towns, drugs, brutality, broken dreams. But at least early on, this does it well enough to make me regain a little faith in publisher TKO, after reading a few really shaky efforts they put out by creators from whom I'd usually expect better. It's not perfect, not by a long shot – things start to go a bit knock-off Stephen King once the terrible thing that's been sealed in the dark beneath the town gets out, and as with King, the tension of the devil's initial charming mode is far more exciting than the release once it goes all sturm und drang and the Macguffin comes into play. I could definitely have stood a longer middle act, and a shorter finale. Even before that, there are glitches: a page designed to spiral around a sinkhole is a cool idea, but needs to guide the eye more intuitively if it's not to end up confusing; and having had the things since childhood myself, I'm really not convinced finding your kid's ended up with a Ventolin inhaler while you've been away is sufficiently distressing news to justify punching the side of the panel out. But the creative team all manage to make sure there's still life in amongst the despair, doing justice to a grim situation without turning it into one-note misery porn. Nil Vendrell and Giulia Brusco's art gives us a town that's battered but not quite beaten down, even if few of the inhabitants have much to look forward to beyond becoming coal themselves in a few million years. And Alex Paknadel's script knows that even people at the bottom of the heap can still have a bit of verve to their dialogue: consider "I cussed her out for it a million times, but she'd share a needle with a muskrat if it asked her nice", or "This stupid mutt's breath still smells like a fry-cook's taint". It's not pretty, but nor is it a chore to read. Meanwhile, the representative of the company that's chewed the town up and is now preparing to drop it without a second thought doesn't bat an eyelid as she blames "the eco-jihadists in Washington", even while she's opening up fresh fields in Azerbaijan, and a church's billboard bears only the pointer "Job 20:26" – which a quick check reveals as reading "Complete darkness is held in reserve for his treasures, and unfanned fire will devour him."