The honeycomb sun had crest the horizon. There was promise of another unusually hot sultry day. The atmosphere was taut, unyielding.
This time I felt a bit more protected in this huge tank. The tinted windows gave us a sense of protection. And the renowned symbol, the knowing eye, on the plates, I felt hopeful that we’d pass for Illuminist, slipping past their dirty noses. Of course, this was all in theory.
The Cajun insisted on driving. I wasn’t up for the challenge to argue, so I didn’t put up a fight. In fact, I actually felt relieved when he took over the wheel. He knew the town better than I did and he’d had experience, during his tour in Afghanistan, driving heavy-duty tankers similar to the Hummer.
The wheels churned in my ear as my heart joined, pounding my chest when we entered
