I couldn’t remember exactly where the fuel stash was, and it was getting dark. Fast. I needed to be far enough off the main roads that my headlights didn’t bounce, or Stanford woulda been on my ass; taking his property, his fuel, his… Yeah, things became personal when the man who was Liberator of the Oppressed, became the oppressor. No one would’ve seen that coming.

I pulled off the main road at about 19:30 hours, and started following the gravel and dirt road at the first fork. One way led to the fuel stash, the other back to the main road. I lit up one more pre-rolled, as good luck that I’d made the right choice. It was quiet. I rolled to a stop. That smell – dust and stale cigarettes and Sierra Mint. I close my eyes to see her.

A branch cracked nearby. Then another. My heart started racing. Stay fucking present, I screamed at myself. Another crack. Someone or something was just behind me — I didn’t even look, just punched it, threw up gravel and dirt everywhere. Guess I lost the element of surprise. Got to go at it head on, now. I’m gettin’ nowhere without that fuel.