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begin to close again. That way they can leap frog each other and continue the chase .
    Greg, knowing he’ll need his wits with the coming day, trades places with a soldier. With instructions to wake him should the situation change, he gets as comfortable as possible and closes his eyes. He is soon fast asleep.
    Carrying its crew of very tired people, the Stryker continues its journey south. Any apprehensions they have about the dangers are lost in the blur of exhaustion, especially among those who were rescued. They’ve been through a lot…and it shows.
    Through the night, the Stryker maintains its flight toward Santa Fe, passing through the small townships of Villa Grove, Moffat, Hooper, Alamosa, and others that flash by in the blink of an eye, barely noticed before they fade from view. The tall peaks edging the long valley are darker shades against the night sky. The seemingly abandoned small towns, the twinkling stars above, and the faint lights sporadically visible behind are the only company as they race under the velvet of the nighttime sky.
    The eastern sky above the peaks lightens with the impending arrival of the dawn, gradually turning a lighter shade of blue, outlining the dark shapes of the mountain tops. Somewhere in their run through the night, they passed the sign welcoming them to New Mexico.
    Greg feels his shoulder being shaken and, as if from a distance, he hears someone calling him. He opens his eyes as consciousness slowly rises from the depths of his exhausted sleep. Across from him, on the opposite bench seat, soldiers and those rescued rest their heads on each other, trying to sleep while constantly being jostled from the motion of the Stryker.
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m awake. What is it?” Greg asks, gazing blurry-eyed at the soldier who awakened him.
    “Sir, we’re approaching a large city. It’s nearly dawn,” the soldier responds.
    “How’s our fuel?” Greg asks, rubbing his hand across his face in an attempt to banish the fatigue.
    “We’re getting low, just under a third of a tank.”
    “Anything on our pursuit?”
    “They’re still behind us, sir. We haven’t gained or lost any distance from them.”
    “Okay, good job. Get some rest,” Greg says, rising.
    He wakes the driver and has him replace the soldier currently manning the position. Clambering over and around a tangle of legs, Greg resumes his position in the commander’s station. Looking at the map, he orients himself to their location and what they are facing ahead.
    Sunlight illuminates the very tops of the mountaintops to the west as the team enters the beginnings of a once-inhabited town. It may still be populated, but whether that is by any remnants of humankind, night runners, or a combination thereof is unknown. The map shows several towns built next to each other. They surround the confluence of several streams, the waters having originated from the surrounding elevations.
    Pursuit isn’t too far behind. Greg has few choices. They’ll need fuel within the next one hundred miles, and this may be the last chance prior to Santa Fe. If they don’t refuel now, they’ll be running on fumes by the time they reach the large metropolis, at which point, any choices will be taken away from them.
    They are on the outskirts of a city large enough that they could possibly lose their pursuers within the myriad of streets. The last time didn’t work out very well, but there’s a better chance within the larger urban sprawl. If the armor behind passes them by, Greg can wait until they’re out of sight and flee to the north. To do that, he’ll have to make sure they all pass and aren’t operating in a leap-frog fashion as they refuel…and that they don’t have airborne surveillance.
    The third option is to continue driving south in the hopes that they outrun those behind. He’s not comfortable continuing a chase of this manner in addition to running low on fuel.
    Pondering the choices, Greg knows that the immediate