1966 Olds 88 - Affordable luxury in Mordor.

Morning came in the form of a grey and sullen mist that clung to the grass, and dampened their cloaks, chilling them mercilessly. It was morning, after a fashion, Stan supposed, though like none he had ever endured at home. Home was far behind them now. best not to think about it. In that hateful mist, it was some relief from the sightless black of the night, in this forsaken land, so close to The Tower. Stan drew his cloak tighter and roused Doreen.

She jumped at his touch, as if waking from an unpleasant dream, though which was worse to her, he couldn't guess: waking or dreaming. They rose and stared about them, judging the distance to Barad-dur, where they would find the fires and destroy The Ring, which would free her from her estranged husband and allow them to be together.

"What about a bit of breakfast?" Stan offered. We have some Ritz crackers left, which aren't bad in a pinch. "I reckon we could make do on those for a few more days." Doreen wordlessly accepted the humble meal with empty eyes. "Nearly there", he encouraged, despite the worry in his heart. How they would manage the return trip, he didn't know. He turned away as she ate, stowing the rest of the food in his pack, so she wouldn't see that he chose not to eat. She would need her strength to bear the burden. Her left hand hung at her side, the weight of it drawing her down, beneath the hateful stare of The Eye.

Through the early part of the day, they moved through stinking fens that sucked at their feet. Midges fought with flies at the water's surface. How even they could live in this poisonous place Stan could not guess. He distracted Doreen during this time with the song of The Tomato Tree, the one that used to make her laugh. He didn't turn to see whether she did now. He didn't need to. He just kept walking and listening for her footsteps behind him.

He was finishing the last verse of The Tomato Tree as they came around a huge stone, marked by a withered stump at it's base. There, the ground became altogether flatter and stonier, a mercy in this place. Then he saw the Oldsmobile, drawing up short, with the song stopped in the heavy air. Even Doreen raised her eyes to look. "What is it, Stan? A rider?"

"It's... it's an Oldsmobile, Miss Doreen! One of the stylish new-for-sixty-sixes! It was parked in the shade of the cliff, protected from the approaching noon sun that would burn so hotly. It was as if the owner knew he would be gone for some time, and wanted the seats to be cool when he returned. Caution and wonder fought in him as he forced himself to move closer.

"Whose is it?" Doreen asked, confused. "It's ours now.", Stan said. "I'll be some orcs parked here to go on patrol. They could be back any time."

They looked through the windows at the soft bench-style seats, and the standard seat belts. They couldn't believe this much luxury could be had in the popular-price field. Stan reached in an flipped the sun visor down. Apparently the orcs didn't expect anyone to find it, as the keys jingled down onto the seat. "Miss Doreen, we're not pedestrians any more. We're driving to Barad-dur!" He couldn't believe the pep from the Rocket V-8 motor. And the 123-inch wheelbase made easy work of the rocky ground of Mordor. This was  a forced march he could get to like!

He hoped they had valet parking at the crack of doom.

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