style="font-size:15px;"> George: “Making a delivery to a customer.”
Policeman: “What kind of goods?”
George: “It's an auto.”
The policeman looked out of the window and looked at the car, formally inspecting the car.
Policeman: “Your papers.”
Michael held out his personal cards to him. The police officer scanned them, then handed them back to the boy.
Policeman: “You can go now.”
George: “Thank you officer, have a good day.”
The barrier turned green and went up. The path was open and the car moved on, following the designated route. After a while, having traveled about 150 km, the transporters stopped in a large village at the gas station through which their route passed. Both got out of the car while the gas station attendant filled the tank with fuel.
– Well, are you ready? – George put his hand on Michael's shoulder.
Michael: “Sure!”
George: “Then get behind the wheel. You drive from here. Just don't drive too fast! You know my rules.”
Michael nodded, then opened the door and got into the driver's seat. George settled into the front passenger seat and leaned back, taking the Logiste in his hands.
George: “All right, let's go, no need to linger at the transfer points. We're wasting time. After the parking lot, turn immediately to the right. Gerri has changed the route as there will be a traffic jam ahead. Probably some kind of accident.”
Michael adjusted the seat, started the car, shifted gears, and they headed in a new direction.
George: “It's a dirt road that runs parallel to the main highway. According to the map, we should get onto the main highway just after the jam.”
The quality of the road was terrible. It was strewn with small stones and shallow potholes. The weather was sunny and dry, which made it easy to navigate due to good visibility and no impassable mud. On the right side of the road was a vast desert without a single plant, and on the left side of the road could be seen the nearest residential buildings belonging to the village from which the carriers had left. Rain was a luxury for this region. Michael moved slowly, afraid of damaging the wheels and suspension of the car. The bypass was only eight kilometers long, and it was rarely used, so there was not much time to wait. Given the poor quality of the roadway, the low popularity of its use was understandable.
A passenger car appeared ahead, standing on the side of the road. It was surrounded by a group of three men. They were dressed in tattered and torn clothes and armed with metal cylinders about 50-70 centimeters long. The group behaved aggressively and occasionally hit the body of the car with their weapons.
– Outcasts! – George hissed through his teeth and leaned forward, trying to see what was going on.
George: “Michael, whatever happens, don't stop. If they get in the road, push them. Go around them on the opposite side of the road.”
The Silvers gradually approached the damaged car. Michael did as he was told and drove into the oncoming lane before his car was on the side of the road. None of the assailants, to Michael's luck, got into the road. They only cast an angry glance in the direction of the Silver's. So Michael could drive safely past without getting into trouble. It was at this point that the cars came together. In the driver's seat of the other car was a man in his 40s. He was immobilized: his head was hanging down, his arms were down. The windshield of the older sedan was shattered. In the back seat was a boy about ten years old, no more. He sat with his legs up on the seat and his arms wrapped around them. He cast a pleading glance in the direction of the Silver's passing car, then rested his head in his lap.
George: “Michael, there's a baby in there! There's a baby inside the cabin! Pull over!”
Michael moved to the right side of the road and abruptly stopped the car about 150 feet from the victims. George opened the glove compartment, put the Logistician in there and pulled out a gun.
Michael: “Where did you get the…”
– Fred gave it to him. Michael: “Stay where you are and keep your head down. I'll be back. Lock the doors after I get out! If the outcasts attack, chase them away. – George interrupted his son. He got out of the car, standing in a fighting stance and aiming his weapon at the attackers, starting to slowly approach them. Michael didn't have time to say a word. All he had to do was obey and do as his father told him. After all, his intervention would be of little use. So the boy stayed in the car, locked the doors and half-turned to watch what was happening.
– Come on, let's get out of here! Leave the poor people alone! Get at least 100 meters away from the car! – George ordered the group, waving his pistol at them. The outcasts turned to him and lined up in a single line, tapping their palms defiantly with metal cylinders. There was only a small space between them. George fired a warning shot into the ground. Instantly the sound of gunfire rippled across the desert and the bullet sank into the soft ground not far from the attackers.
George: “Quick, I said! I'm not kidding!”
Michael turned back, staring out the windshield in front of him. He began to analyze, “How come the car's windshield was shattered and the driver killed if the attackers were only armed with metal sticks? The car could have easily knocked them down and by and large not gotten a single scratch, even at a speed of 40-50 km/h. So we missed something. Something we didn't see. Some danger!”
Another shot rang out, then a second and a third in succession. Michael turned around again. George had collapsed to the ground. Fresh blood oozed from his wounds. Michael's hands shook. He frantically rushed to the glove compartment to pull out the Logistician and check how far away the ambulance and police patrols George had called were. The map showed that the area was not served by any population centers and there was no signal. There was nowhere to go for help.
– What do we do? Think, think…” Michael asked himself, clenching his fingers into fists and wrapping them around his head. He was very frightened.
The line of three men parted, and a fourth man appeared. He was different from the others. It was obvious that he was their leader. His face was covered by a protective black mask with metal tubes in the middle, and he wore an old-style protective body armor over his bare body, as heavy as chain mail. On his legs were black knit pants and boots, and on his hands were leather gloves with spikes on the knuckles. The thug held two large-caliber pistols, which he pointed toward George.
– And you thought you and I were going to fight on sticks. You thought you were going to be a hero, and look where it got you,” the leader of the group leaned toward George, breathing heavily through his metal tubes. He grabbed the gun that had fallen out of Michael's father's hands and threw it toward his group. Some of the men picked it up.
The masked man continued: “You're not a mercenary and never have been. You don't know how such matters are handled. What was all that heroism for? You don't know how to analyze the critical situation around you. And look where it's gotten you: you've hurt yourself and put your… son… in danger… I guess. What did you expect? For the police to come? Ha! I'm gonna disappoint you. This is the suburbs, baby! And the cops don't come here. It's not their territory. So there's no one to help you.”
George didn't move. His eyes were still open, and he was breathing heavily, trying to stay conscious. The masked
