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lead in each shift, and I’ll assign two others to support and observe.”
    There were glances back and forth, then Barker, Spencer and Trinidad raised their hands.
    That was a relief. “Okay, Spencer first, Barker second, Trinidad third. That covers six hours, which is likely most of today. We’ll rotate again if needed. Caswell and Dalton, you’re up first. I’ll take second with Alexander. Ortiz and Devereaux third. Oglesby is backup. Police everything, double check with your buddy and someone else, and let’s roll. Dalton and Trinidad, do you know how to make a direction blaze?”
    "Yes, sir," Dalton replied.
    "Please do that while we load."
    "Got it.
    He decided to drive lead himself. It was effectively combat, and the lives of these nine depended on him doing everything right.
    Inside he felt utterly cold and terrified. What if? What if? What if? He couldn’t answer, so he was trying not to think of the questions. But he felt insecure even starting the vehicle. What if it stalled? Got stuck? What if three minutes after they left the area, whatever had caused the jump came back and they weren’t there for it? But they couldn’t sit on the side of a hill forever, hoping.
    After ten seconds of cranking, the engine responded, and troops started climbing aboard. He should probably double check the cleanup, but he didn’t want to get out of the vehicle now. Every bad emotion was hitting him at once—laziness, hopelessness, anger, despair. Nausea hit him again as his guts clenched.
    Out front, he saw Spencer, Caswell and Dalton. Alexander and Ortiz were aboard with him. He noted Alexander was up on the gun. He assumed she knew what she was doing. Barker, Trinidad and Devereaux were aboard Charlie Nine. Oglesby gave him a thumbsup and climbed in.
    “I’m last, sir. I count ten.”
    “I counted ten, too, and we’ll be moving at a walking pace. Let’s roll.”
    He revved the engine in lieu of a horn. Spencer turned to look at him, and he stuck a thumb out the window. Spencer nodded, waved back, and started walking.

    Martin Spencer shivered. It wasn’t cold, though even moderate temperatures got chilly if you were out in them all day, and anyway, they’d been in scorching heat until three days ago. But, as much as he liked being alone, he did not like being this far from the rest. He had an ongoing panic that the vehicles were going to disappear and leave him here with two soldiers, neither of whom he thought were that good.
    He slogged through tall grass and low scrub, like prairie set on an angle. It dragged at his boots and pants, and he left a very obvious trail. It was tough, slow going, though it would be easy for the trucks, as long as they stayed upright.
    The LT wasn’t handling things well. What he should do was roll at speed, with a good eye ahead, get to the river fast, and keep them all in close proximity. Their water and food were limited, and if this took a week, they were going to be in sad shape. The fatigue alone was killing him.
    He decided that he’d take some melatonin that evening. He needed the sleep. Though he’d rather wake up from a nightmare than be stuck in one.
    He should probably stop chugging Ripits, too. Though he probably had to. There didn’t seem to be any left. He’d chewed the coffee powder from the MREs. He’d caffeined and adrenalined himself sick.
    He kept his head swiveling. No doubt it looked to the LT that he was very earnest in his task. In reality, he wanted to keep a good eye on Caswell to the left, who was edging in closer, and Dalton to the right, who seemed to be keeping position. Dalton was also muttering to himself. The kid was probably praying. Spencer didn’t blame him. If it helped, good. He almost wished he could.
    He did keep an eye open ahead, but the ground was rolling hillside, with no terrain the vehicles couldn’t handle. He pointed at trees as he passed. Ahead was another rock outcropping. He clambered up and stood there to point it out, until