After fueling up, they hit the road again, driving out of the city. Dor didn’t agree with that decision but wasn’t in any place to question it. According to the rumors, once they left the city limits they wouldn’t be able to return. Leaving Colinbach was a one way trip, or so they say.

Still, he’d inconvenienced Uncle Ron enough for one day. Dor suppressed a chuckle. That’s sure putting it mildly. The decision to keep his monster came at the expense of everyone’s safety. Mister Jenken’s wolves were after her, and as long as she was with them, the wolves would attack his family as well. Knowing Dad supported that risky decision gave Dor an ounce of relief, but Dad’s support also came with a burden.

I really don’t know what I’m doing. Dad can’t find out just how lost I am.

Eta sat next to him, lost in her own world like normal. At least she was no longer comatose. He saw some activity going on under the blanket. Cross-stitch? How’d she bring her bag with her?

“What are you doing under there?” Dor asked.

A hide canvas slipped through the comforter, her latest creation. Ha! It really is cross-stitch. It seemed her arts and crafts bag never left her side. Just a little old lady buried under there, huh? Dor recognized most of the yarn colors she used for this picture. He’d bought them for her yesterday back at Minnie’s Haberdashery. Though, it didn’t feel like just yesterday. So much had happened between then and now it felt closer to a week ago.

“You know, that is a terrible picture,” he critiqued and meant it, too.

Stitched into the hide, she used every color under the rainbow, or rather, every color in her bag to depict a neon puppy scratching at an oversized door. Unlike her previous creations, this one didn’t have an ounce of coherent shading. Red, yellow, purple—there was no differentiation between the shading and the highlights.

‘Then the world dyed a marvelous shade of red.’ He remembered her saying. Did she mean literally?

“Let me see your bag,” he said.

A trail of yarn followed as she stuck the bag out her blanket. Dor reached in and grabbed a ball of ‘Summer Sweet Teal’ and waved it in front of her black eye peeking out. “What color is this?” He asked.

“Sunset Red,” she replied.

Dor would have settled for ‘green’ or even ‘blue’, but ‘Sunset Red’ couldn’t be more off-base. He tried again, this time with a ball of ‘Honeycomb Yellow’.

“Auburn Mist” she called that one.

Auburn? That’s red right? He wasn’t sure, so he tried again and held up ‘Easy Midnight Blue’.

“Moringa Starlight,” she said.

Come on, that's not even a color. “What’s a Moringa?” Dor asked.

“It has little round leaves and grows like a weed.”

“So it’s a plant?”

“Yes.”

“And what color are plants?” Dor asked.

“Oh my, that is a big question. Sometimes they are Harryhat Red. Other times, they’re Cerise or even Deep Cerise. Actually, now that you mention it, I’ve seen lilacs bloom completely Crimson. Can you believe that?”

Hearing her voice, Uncle Ron whipped around and dropped his jaw. Eta was a monster disguised as a young beauty who spoke like an old lady. It surprised Dor at first, too.

“And those are all shades of red, right?” Dor asked.

She nodded. It clicked. His monster was colorblind. Dor shook his head and began sorting through her bag, tying like-kinded colors into coherent pairings. If her world had dyed monochrome red, he could at least help her shade it correctly. Collapsed Carmel goes with Pistachio…I think. Acorn Bloom and Cinnamon Roll ain’t bad together. He ignored Uncle Ron’s gaze and sorted through her crafts bag.

Alpaca Blue? Who names these things? That goes with…ah, fuck if I know.

“Stick it with the Cadmium Yella,” Uncle Ron said.

It was Dor’s turn to drop his jaw.

“The hue ain’t quite right, but Cadmium Yella and Cerulean Blue go pretty good together,” Uncle Ron explained.

Does he mean ‘Summertime Spark’ or ‘Burning Haystack’? They’re both pretty ‘cadmium yellow’ looking to me. Dor went with Burning Haystack.

“Dammit boy!” Uncle Ron cried. “That look like any Cadmium Yella you ever seen before?”

Dor didn’t know. He’d never seen Cadmium Yellow before. Uncle Ron reached back and snatched the Summertime Spark out of the bag and tied it to the Alpaca Blue, then threw the bundle at the monster hiding under the blanket. She didn’t react. It simply bounced off her and landed on the seat. Guess he’s still pissed. Then the big guy spun around with a hmph.

Dor didn’t question how his Uncle Ron knew about Cadmium Yellow and all that. He just accepted the man’s advice and finished pairing up the yarn. Colorblind or not, she can’t screw up her colors if there’s only two options to choose from. “Stick to those pairings and you won’t end up with a lousy picture again,” he said. “You don’t see color right. Everybody else sees it one way and you see it another.”

She didn’t panic at his revelation, only giggled. “My, now that is an inconvenience,” she replied and scooped the sorted bag back under the covers.

Truth be told, Dor had no idea if everyone really saw their colors the same way, but at least everyone could differentiate between them better than his colorblind monster. At least she’s good at keeping herself occupied. Her covers rippled with activity. He wondered how she could even see under there well enough to stitch a picture but didn’t care enough to ask. That was the least of his worries.

And she’s good for a distraction. Even Uncle Ron jumped in.

The buildings began to shrink the further they drove away from downtown. The black curtain of darkness hadn’t found them again, so he hoped they were safe from the dogs for now. They drove into a bright morning sun through spotty traffic. It almost felt like a family car trip. If only Dad and Uncle Ron were reminiscing about the good ol’ days up front, and the monster in back was replaced with Lulu, then it really would be a family trip.

Dad and Uncle Ron really spoiled the two youngest.

The car slowed and Dad pulled off to the shoulder. A green sign flapped against gusts of wind that seemingly came out of nowhere. ‘Leaving Colinbach. Come Back and Visit Us Real Soon!’ The gusts rocked the car on its worn out springs as they parked right in front of the city limits. Ahead of them, a fog of red dust blew across the road, beyond that, the red desert sands of middle-of-nowhere Utah. Colinbach stood as an oasis against the barren desert outside—one wide swath of tarmac leading in, one wide tarmac leading out.

Dad pulled the handbrake and killed the engine. Gusts whistled over the car’s body, and red sand peppered the steel. For a moment, they only soaked in those two sounds. Then Dad spoke. “You still wanna go after Skids?”

Uncle Ron didn’t skip a beat. “Absolutely.”

“You know,” Dad began. “You know, after seeing them…well, them ‘whatever-they-were’ and meeting that gal in the back along with all the rest of it, I put a bit more stock in the rumors. We may not be able to get back in.”

Uncle Ron picked at the beginnings of some chin stubble. “Even if we did go around breaking into people’s homes like that boy in the backseat suggested, even if he’s right and we find us a computer game and tell it ‘yes’, even then I’d still want to leave town first.”

Dad patted Uncle Ron on the shoulder. “We could head back and get your van, ya know? Them ‘whatever-they-weres’ are probably long gone now. Hell, we could even jack us someone's car. Ain’t enough law in this town to stop us.”

“You tellin’ me you wanna split here? One goes one way and the rest go another?”

“It’s just one way of doing things,” Dad said. “Might work out better.”

Uncle Ron knocked Dad’s hand away and glared, shaking to keep himself under control. “Ima tell ya what we’re gonna do, Manny,” he said. “We’re gonna go get my boy with all three—”

He paused and turned that glare to Eta sitting in the back. Dor could have sworn the man was about ready to explode, beet red as his face was. “We’re gonna go get my boy,” Uncle Ron continued. “The four of us, then we’re gonna go find my son. I know right where my boy’s at. I ain’t got a clue where my little girl is. I ain’t giving up my boy for the chance to find my little girl. And I tell ya, we for damn sure aren’t splitting up. And that’s that.”

A flicker of a smile twitched on Dad’s face. “Alright,” he said and started the car again.

They pulled onto the road and drove straight through those gusts of wind. Sand pelted the steel, but only for a few seconds. Just as quick as that, the wind died down and flat desert plains stretched out in front of them. Right then, Dor knew they were out of town for real. He looked out the back window. A translucent wall of blowing sand separated them from the city. Looking further, he saw that wall swirled clear in either direction, likely some kind of a border around Colinbach. One way out, no way back in. He only hoped that wasn’t true.

Even more likely, that wall was another one of God in the ceiling’s tricks. The two up front didn’t think too hard into it, so neither did Dor. It's just another trick, like the dark curtain and the ceiling.

They didn't drive more than a quarter-mile up the road before crates began to appear. “Them’s airdrop crates,” Uncle Ron explained, squinting out the front window at them.

Rows of wooden shipping crates lined the desert up ahead. Thousands and thousands of them all butted together in hundreds of tight rows. Despite being so far away, he could tell each one was big, fat, and square, likely wider than the road itself. A shipping yard here in the desert?

Dad slowed as they drove closer. A group of men silhouetted in the distance. As dad closed the gap, the situation became clear. Those men were blocking the road, each one armed with a rifle of some sort. The National Guard? With nowhere else to go, Dad rolled down his window and approached the checkpoint.

A fat man dripping in a combination of grease and sweat walked over. From head to toe, army surplus gear covered his plump body while chubby fingers squeezed around an AK-style rifle. Fortunately, the rifle was pointed at the ground. They slowed to a halt and the fat man came to the window. Behind him, a dozen more men of varying shapes and sizes stood in mismatched fatigues and held assorted rifles. Is that a hunting rifle?

“How goes it?” the fat man greeted.

“Headed out of town for a bit,” Dad answered.

Uncle Ron stuck his head across. “The hells all this? Those boys ain’t no official military. You want our money? That it? All we carry is cards, so tough luck to ya.”

Dor didn’t think mouthing off to an armed militia nut was a good idea, but he damn sure wasn’t going to correct Uncle Ron on it.

“Money doesn’t have a use out here,” the fat man replied. “This is just an advisory stop to let you know the rules for when you get back. We’ve had some trouble in the past.”

“You didn’t answer me, what the hell’s all this?” Uncle Ron asked.

“Ah, well I’d tell you, but most folks don’t believe me. They’d rather waste precious fuel driving in circles than take my advice. As I said, I’m not here to stop you from trying to drive away. I’m just here to inform you of the rules for when you return.”

Uncle Ron dug out a photo from his wallet and handed it to the man. “We ain’t most people and I don’t care about none of that or whatever you boys got going on. I’m just here to find my son. You seen this kid?”

“You mind?” The fat man asked, reaching for the photograph.

“Don’t you lose it.”

The fat man grabbed the photo and walked over to the group behind him. They passed the picture around until finally one guy nodded his head and mouthed some kind of reply.

The fat man returned and handed the picture back to Uncle Ron. “You’re in luck,” he said. “Tomcat knows him.” He pointed to a short, stocky man. “Heavy Slim, he called him. You park your car up ahead, and I’ll get Tomcat to show you to your son's bunkhouse. Really, that works out well for me. That’ll give you and your family a place to stay until your crate arrives. Public bunkhouses are not an ideal environment.”

Uncle Ron studied the man up and down, unsure of what to make of it. “Just who are you lot?” He asked. “I know you ain’t no military. I know military fatigues and yours ain’t it.”

The fat man spread his chubby cheeks into a smile. More like an asshole.

“No, there isn’t a military out here,” he said. “As for us—” He leaned in close. “—we’re preppers.”