"Where're we supposed to deliver these parts again?" Malcolm asked as he checked the driver's machine gun box.
"Inland Highway 1 Radio Tower." Answered Midra. "They did warn us of bandits just before so I suggest we be a wee bit more careful around there aye?"
"Let 'em come. None of them stand a chance against us. We'll just bash 'em til they go home sooking to their nans." Migs playfully retorted.
As the engines purred and the buildings of Dog Town slowly shrunk, the crew made themselves comfortable for the dusty trip ahead.
In all directions was sandy plains and barren wasteland. The old highway they were on still had a couple of power poles still standing. Lots of wrecks both from the old world and recent vehicles laid half-buried in the sand along the highway.
The skies were always inviting. A great vast blue ceiling with only a couple of stranded clouds. Despite the environment, it was still a bit cold from the morning, but that would change quite quickly in the wastelands.
After about three hours, the temperature had risen dramatically. It was about thirty-eight degrees celsius outside with the interior feeling even more blazing. It was a risk to even touch the walls of the Ferret. Less you get seared by the metal structure.
"Fack me it's hot. Hey John, how the hell are you still in that coat of yours?" Complained Migs.
"He's a mysterious man Migs. He's probably using his magical yellowy stuff." Ehma jokingly replied.
Malcom turned to his right to see the driver, Jonathan, soaked in sweat. He chuckled to himself,
"Hehe, Lodruns and their integrity."