Paul jolted awake. He couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep with his chin on his chest during such an important trip. His eyes made quick glances into his periphery. Fortunately, he was sitting in the right front passenger seat of the lumbering, aged van. No one had noticed Paul had nodded off.

Paul gently clutched the right arm of James, the van’s driver. Paul didn’t want to risk distracting James as he navigated the crumbling road, pot-marked with craters from artillery fire.

“Are you good for the rest of the way?” Paul said, trying to look into James’ eyes, but at the same time not letting his gaze leave the road.

“I’ll be fine,” James said with a half smile, as if he was surprised Paul would even ask. “So how many TKs do you think we’ll run across?”

“None, if all goes according to plan,” Paul returned.

“So, what, like a couple dozen, then?” James fired back, eyes reflecting the rain splattering the windshield.

Paul did not answer; too much to think on before they reached the Citadel. Not long now.