Once Rock got the hang of it he was steering down the plains and hills of Iowa like he was going through an obstacle course. The only drawback was the constant booming and chugging of the alcohol engine that took up the entire rear of the car, the small tin chimney poking through the roof and spitting out a constant stream of thin gray smoke. The weather remained fairly cloudy which was just as well as far as Rockson was concerned. There would be Red spy drones in this part of the country and he didn’t feel like walking anymore. If a drone dropped down close enough it would pick up the engine and metal parts of their vehicle and close in for closer examination and then . . . But they’d just have to chance it. Through the thick cloud cover they could occasionally hear the far-off whine of one of the unmanned video-equipped spy rockets—but they would never see it.
Over the next three days they covered a good six hundred miles along the fairly flat salt seas and pebble-strewn dead lands that stood between them and Century City.
