While the shop was just a few blocks from Oscar's house, the church proved to be across town and further than either cripple really cared to roll. But driving in Ares' truck was out of the question, by the looks of the roads, so the armed pioneers set out "on foot" to cross the tundra that was once their vibrant hometown of Palm City, Florida.
"You know where you're going," Ares said to Oscar, "so you take the lead. I'll stay close on your six with a weather eye."
Oscar hadn't the heart to tell his friend he didn't really know any better than him where he was going. He knew the general area, had seen the massive, stone construct a hundred times in passing, but never bothered to slow down or memorize the address. Still, it was just a matter of getting downtown and then looking up. Thank God for steeples.
The two pushed themselves along, glancing and flinching (even Ares) at every foreign movement. Their thin tires whispered along the white pavement, fear and tension (the perfect pair) gliding quietly through the city. It would take, Oscar guessed, at least an hour of smooth sailing to reach downtown. And while it seemed to be in shambles, the streets were surprisingly tame for the mood. He wondered if the nightmares would show up. Ares didn't wonder if, but simply when.