174

After a quarter mile of rough hiking, you step out on the highway to see if you can spot any signs or some indication of how much further you need to travel. Only highway is visible in both directions, long and black and desolate. Clouds roll across the sun, shading the area in a sudden wave of darkness, like the lights falling in a movie theater. You press on down the road.

You are terribly thirsty, and a headache swells in the back of your skull and neck. Your skin is cool as the end-of-summer breeze licks your now sweaty body. The only comfort is the quiet of the forest.

You follow the long curve of the road—more highway as far as you can see. But roughly fifty feet away, a convertible jeep is parked on the shoulder, its front wrapped around a massive oak tree. Steam rises from the hood. A figure lies on the ground near the driver's side, face down wearing Army fatigues.

You approach the scene carefully. The clouds roll by, allowing the sun to illuminate the area in an orange glow. A heavy breeze rocks the tops of the trees. As you reach the jeep, you are bathed in sweat. The motor is still running, and the cover is down so you can see inside. A metal briefcase with an insignia labeled on its side sits in the passenger seat. Otherwise, the jeep is empty. The soldier is still, and you notice a pistol on his belt.