The weather has gotten far, far worse. They were all soaked. Instantly. And yet they stood under the buzzing light of the front door to the obelisk.

  The winds growled and blew with fury, they maintained an informal circle as they mentally prepared to depart.

  Gary yells over the wind, and even still his voice is faint. “ALL RIGHT! HAVE YOU ALL DECIDED WHO YOU'RE GOING WITH?!”

  Instead of talking, they move. John and Crosby, along with Jimbo grouped together. Gilbert sat in his wheelchair in the doorway entrance, unable to go outside safely in his wheelchair state. And so, Gary moved next to him. “THAT ISN’T GOING TO WORK!” Gary yells. “JOHN, JIMBO, YOU'RE BOTH DRIVERS. YOU CAN'T BE TOGETHER THIS TRIP.”

  “WHAT! OH, ALRIGHT, THAT'S FINE.” Jimbo yelled over the rain, joining Gary and Gilbert. “DO YOU WANT TO TAKE THE CAR OR THE SUV?!” Gary yelled to John.

  “WE'LL TAKE THE CAR SINCE IT IS SMALLER! WE'LL STORE THE GUNS IN THE BACK WHILE YOU CARRY THE EXTRA GAS!”

  John replied, not sure if Gary heard him because he takes a moment.

  “YEAH! THAT WORKS!” Gary yells back, waving for them to come inside. They do and he closes the door, cutting out the deafening wind to more tolerable levels.

  “Alright, we've got that sorted. The guns are right there next to the door, me and Jimbo will grab the gas. Wait for us to start our car, then follow us.”

  “Nah, we can go first.” Crosby says. “We have a map to the location so we don't need to follow.”

  “Yes you do.” Gary replies quite firmly.

  “Because if we get stuck going somewhere, you two definitely will. And we can tow you out easily if you get stuck behind us.”

  “Toe us out?” Crosby asked cluelessly. “Well at least invite us to dinner first.” John laughs his ass off, while Crosby said it so genuinely that Gary realized he wasn't joking.

  “No, towing! Agh, it doesn't matter! Just wait for us and then follow.”

  “Yes sir.” Crosby replies, moving to grab some of the rifles. There are four total along with two pistols. He looks to John who is still giggling. “Come on jackass, come help.”

  “Right, yeah, got it.” John replies, a stupid smile on his face as he takes the pistols. The two get it all loaded in one trip. John takes the driver's seat while Crosby sits as the passenger, just like on the way here.

  The rain is too loud to be relaxing at this point. It almost sounds harsh enough to put dents in the roof.

  The two have to speak over it as they discuss the impending mission.

  “John, I had a look at those guns. They're really fucking old man.”

  “Oh really? What gave it away, the fact they're half made of wood or that they don't have any lights?” John teases over the rain.

  “Oh, is that what that brown shit is called?” Crosby asked.

  “Yes, it's called wood, it used to come from trees.”

  John answers, seeing the other car's crew loading their car up. The cogs in Crosby's head grind as he replies.

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  “Fuck me… what, did it used to grow on trees or someth— wait a minute… that's where that saying comes from!”

  “Oh! A-ka-chunk!” John mocks, which Crosby feels he has to justify.

  “Oh give me a break man! I haven't slept since we got here.”

  John looks at him as the others go back inside for more gas.

  “Well, you can sleep like a baby on the way there. You're gonna have to be alert since we have no idea what we're in for.”

  “Sleep like a baby?” Crosby asks. “Have you ever seen a baby John? They sleep like ssssshit! Always crying and whining and shitting themselves!”

  John genuinely starts to get a little annoyed. “Oh my God man, do you disagree with everything I say on purpose?!”

  Crosby ignores his question, taking some pleasure in being annoying. “Hey man. Look. Don't use the Lord's name in vain. It's offensive.”

  “Well fucking harden up, it's been fine this long.” John retorts.

  Crosby reclined his chair to lie down flatter; closing his eyes and yawning. “Wow. Someone has got their panties in a twist. Do you know what panties are, John?”

  “Yes I do. Crosby. Just shut the fuck up.” Crosby yawns again. “Oh… gladly Mr sir. I'm gonna dream of some shut-eye.”

  John was about to comment on the nonsense that was that sentence, but he didn't. No way he is wasting this opportunity for some peace and silence. Or at least, as silent as it can be from torrential downpour.

  The rain is overbearing. Too much. It makes it harder to think. John tries to get his bearings before they have to head off. He considers his emotions and his annoyance. Maybe peace is what he is fighting for?

  No, that doesn't make sense. Peace is the opposite of fighting.

  The thought is cut short as John sees Gary, Jimbo, and this time also Gilbert. The two carry the robo-legged man out of his wheelchair and into the SUV. “Go time.” John whispers under his breath.

  He starts the car, igniting its six-cylinder engine to life like a purr. The front lights shoot on, illuminating the exterior of the obelisk in front of them.

  It is not long before the SUV turns on two. As it gets moving, John shoves the Versa into gear and lets the clutch out slowly.

  He makes a tight right turn to follow the ass of the SUV, putting his light down from full beam so as to not blind them. They make a left turn, in the opposite direction of before.

  The torrent, though still substantial, becomes more bearable as John goes through the motions of commanding the vehicle. It's no MeKSUT, but it doesn't have to be. He doesn't want it to be. It's its own appeal.

  Before long, the escort exits the other side of Hastings into the barren wastes of rural Nebraska. John wants to put some music on, but it is too loud outside, and he can't afford to wake up Crosby. Both out of curiosity and necessity.

  The journey is slow behind the SUV. He makes some distance between them to observe more of the scenery, even if it's dim.

  The time flies, twenty minutes passing before it even felt like five. Then, after almost an hour, the rain starts to calm down to more regular levels. The landscapes become more jagged and hilly. The air, colder. The atmosphere, more teal. John figures that they have now reached Colorado.

  As the windy roads pauses, making way to a great, glowing superhighway; his suspicions are confirmed.

  “Highway 70.” An old rusted sign reads. And thus, so too must their destination be close. A place almost as washed as Hastings.

  A place called the Surplus Weapons Warehouse, Fort Collins, Colorado. As Gary described it, it held army surplus equipment that was decommissioned in the 2050s. He isn't sure why Jimbo knows about it, but considering Gary’s army pants, graying hair and mannerisms; he bets that Gary sure does. It doesn't matter either way. Apparently it used to be an airport too somehow?

  Who knows. John finds himself on autopilot behind them, lost in his thoughts in his head. It is really pleasant— to be devoid of stimulus and distractions. It is a serenity he enjoys for the rest of the journey.

  The calm before the storm, just after a storm, within a world of permanent, weeping skies. It’s amazing how short this ride has felt so far, as he commands this vehicle. This appliance given true life beyond its years. They’re already in Colorado and it hasn’t even felt like thirty minutes have gone by. You know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun. And John, for once, is not only enjoying something.

  He has something genuine to look towards. Surely. Right?