The truck traveled west out of Scraptown, jumping off the dirt road just a few miles out, onto the remains of Interstate 20. There the scattered husks of abandoned vehicles rusted to either side of the highway, having long since been cleared out of the way. And, of course, looted in the process. Down to even individual bolts and strips of metal in many cases.

To anyone observing them pass by, it would have been an intimidating sight. The hauler was large, loud and sported plenty of spiky bits here and there, entirely to give it an intimidating presence. The heavy armor everywhere making it all the more something one would best steer clear of. And the obvious machine gun mounted on top, itself very well armored, sealed the deal.

The whole thing promised a messy end to anything dumb enough to get in its way.

The flatbed it hauled, though. That would have made anyone looking on covetous. It was a mobile smorgasbord, promising wealth beyond measure. Almost enough to make one seriously consider taking on the truck hauling it.

If one were desperate enough. Or crazy enough.

Inside the truck, seated in the rear compartment, Trip spoke loudly over the drone of the engine, indicating various points on the map to the mysterious woman from 'France' who sat beside him.

"Alright." He yelled. "We're about ten miles or so outside Augusta, so our rear's covered. No one goes there or even gets too close if they can help it. There's a lake and a lot of wetlands to the north, so we're covered there, too."

He moved his finger along the line indicating the road they were on, westward on the map.

"Along this stretch, that's probably where we're going to run into trouble." He yelled. "Raiders like to camp out on roads like this, leading in and out of trade towns. For obvious reasons. It's a good bet we'll run up on a gang of 'em and they'll be looking for exactly what we've got here. A big truck with a lot of cargo."

Trip turned his attention to her, to be sure she was paying attention. And looked her right in the eye, to be sure she took him seriously.

"Now, when that happens, Clover will be on the gun up top." He said. "She'll focus on any vehicles on the road, if it's a pursuit. If we're looking at a roadblock, she'll provide suppressing fire and Romeo'll probably just ram through it, if it looks like he can. Whether we have to stand and fight, or get into a running battle on the road, Clover will do most of the damage either way."

"Your job is right there and there." He said, pointing at the slit on the door near her. The only thing remaining of what was once a window, now sealed in plate steel. And another on the rear of the compartment, overlooking the flatbed outside.

"You shoot anything you see out there." He said. "Doesn't matter that much if you hit it. You probably won't if we're moving. The point is to give them something more important to worry about than catching up to us or getting up on the truck with us. That's suppressing fire. Now, do you think you're little stun gun can handle that?"

"It can." She assured. "I can provide accurate fire up to one hundred meters."

Trip squinted. "You sure about that? I can't see any kind of stun gun…"

"It is a very advanced weapon." She insisted.

He wasn't happy with that but…she'd been pretty stubborn about using anything else, so there wasn't much point in arguing that again.

"Alright, if you say so. But it had better, because if it comes to that then lives will be on the line here."

She didn't say anything to that, though. So he was kind of forced to leave it alone. But he frowned at her some more. Just to be sure she got the message he wasn't exactly happy.

"Okay. So if we get through all that, then we'll go on down I-20, almost to Atlanta." He said, returning to the map. "Maybe about thirty miles short before we can take the road up past Rust. That's a nice little trade town, but we're not stopping there. Romeo says they've cleared the road all the way up toward New England territory, since they like to trade with them so much. We'll use that to swing us around…here."

He pointed on the map, to a spot close to where she'd indicated her plane had crashed.

"From there we just hike over." He said. "Probably take a couple of days at least to salvage the site, depending on what's there. We'll use the four-wheeler and a little trailer I'll put together when we get there. The main concern there will be…"

"Excuse me." She said, over the roar of the engine. "The route you describe poses considerable delay. Is it necessary to approach the site in such a circuitous manner?"

"Best we can do. Not too many roads are clear and we need the truck to haul anything out of there."

"Can we not make camp at a greater distance and use the four-wheeled cycle to access the site from another point? One closer to our current position?"

"Yeah, no problem." He frowned. "Riding through ten or twenty miles of hills and forest on a four-wheeler sounds like a lot of fun. That's a good idea."

She stared back at him for a moment, searching him.

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Look, we need to get the truck as close as possible to the site." He said. "If we can get within sight of it, that would be fantastic. But regardless, we want Clover covering us on the sixty as much as she can. Because the second we crank up the four-wheeler, everything and everyone in a twenty mile radius is gonna know about it."

"The vehicle is especially loud?"

"Not as much as the truck but it runs at a higher pitch. It tends to carry. A lot. And there's not much I can do about that."

"Then you expect further conflict to result. While we are in the process of salvaging the wreckage."

"Yeah, maybe. But if anyone comes looking for trouble, they'll probably have to come up the road. And Romeo will be sitting there with the truck, so they'll have to get past Clover before they can get to us."

She nodded. "I see."

"Understand I'm just dealing with worst case scenarios here. Maybe it'll all be fine and nothing will happen. Just want to be prepared in case it does."

"I understand. That is wise and I agree."

"Okay." He said. "So what can you tell me about what we're going to find at the site?"

She searched him again, as if unsure what he was asking.

"I mean, are there going to be a lot of bodies? Fuel spilled and soaked into the ground? I'm thinking about possible hazards when we get there. I've got gear to cover all that but I'll need to know to bring it with us."

She hesitated, but…

"Four bodies. But I cremated the remains before I left."

"You mean you burned them?"

"Yes. Of course."

Oh. Crap.

"Was there a lot of smoke?" He asked, wincing.

She didn't answer right away.

"Look, if you burned them there would have been smoke. You said there wasn't any fire from the crash itself…"

"There was very little smoke."

"What kind of wood did you use? These are pine forests. Pine smoke doesn't dissipate too quick…"

"I did not use wood."

Say what?

"How did you…? You didn't use fuel from the plane, did you?"

"No. And it is not relevant. There was little smoke and no danger that I marked my position inadvertently to anyone observing."

"How'd you burn them then?"

"I used an incinerator."

"What kind?"

"A hand-held incinerator." She said, simply.

Trip squinted at her.

"What kind?" He asked again.

She frowned at him. "A French model."

He huffed. Because that wasn't funny.

"Okay, is there a reason you're trying not to answer me here?"

"Yes."

Trip ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated.

"Look…"

"There was little smoke and no one was alerted to the crash site. Nothing beyond that is relevant here."

"Of course it's relevant! If there…"

"It is not relevant. You are simply being curious. And I would prefer not to answer."

Trip stopped arguing and thought that over. Because he'd already learned getting upset and demanding didn't work with her. She just buttoned up more.

You had to reason with this woman. So…

"Kinda hard to do this if you're keeping secrets all over the place."

"An unfortunate necessity."

He paused again. And thought through that one for a while, considering her.

He really was just being curious, now that he thought about it. And whatever she'd used probably wasn't that important. But the fact that she kept it and didn't want to share it was still an issue here…

"Is it?" He asked. "A necessity, I mean? Because…let me remind you…you broke into my house this morning. And you shot me and Clover with that stun gun of yours. But now here we are, about to drive through who knows what trouble, to help you out."

T'Pol's eyes shifted a bit. So he knew he'd struck a nerve at least.

"And, yeah, we're expecting a cut of the salvage, sure. But I think this would go a whole lot smoother if we all trusted each other just a little bit, don't you? I'm sure there are secrets you have to keep, and that's fine…but I'm sure there are lots you don't have to keep. Am I right?"

It was her turn to think things over now. So once she had, she took a breath, pretty obviously not wanting to say what she was about to.

"My stun gun." She said. "It possesses variable settings. One of which cycles a nadion particle beam to an intensity high enough to disintegrate organic matter."

It took him a second to catch up to that.

Then he gawked a bit.

"Wha…are…that little thing?" He exclaimed.

"Yes."

"You'd need a plasma emitter as big as this truck to generate nadion particles in the first place! Never mind burning anything with 'em!"

T'Pol nearly jerked in surprise. Obviously having assumed he wouldn't understand the particulars of what she'd said.

"I…was unaware you were familiar…"

"There's no way that thing can fire a nadion particle beam." He insisted. "Let me see it."

"Absolutely not." She frowned.

"You're not about to convince me you've got a nadion generator in your damned pocket, Tupol." He warned.

"It is 'T'Pol'." She said, attempting desperately to distract him for a moment. "A contracted proper noun…"

"Fine. T'Pol." He snapped. "Now let me see the damned thing."

She stiffened up again. And her eyes went cold.

"Respectfully, no. I will not."

So things got tense. Real quick.

And they stared hard at one another for a few seconds. Each trying hard to figure a way to get a handle on the other…

From above, slightly muffled and nearly drowned out by the engine, Clover broke in.

"Trip?" She said.

He kept glaring at T'Pol. Because if she really did have a nadion generator…

Well, she didn't. She just couldn't. That was impossible. But why she'd lie so outrageously about it…that was what he needed to know here…

"Trip!"

"Busy here, Clover." He said, still glaring. "What is it?"

"Got troubles."

That pulled his attention away instantly. And he jerked his head toward the turret up front, where Clover's legs were the only thing visible.

"Whatcha got?"

"Raiders, we think." Clover called down. "She missed them. Back there on the road."

He darted forward to peer up at Clover in the turret. She was turned around, aiming the gun back behind them.

"How many, how far?"

"Maybe a hundred miles. Two of them. Car and a bike."

A hundred…? Oh, right. So who knows how far back.

Dammit, Clover…

"Keep 'em covered." He said, dropping back to the seat to grab his rifle. Taking position at the gun port on his side, he peer through to get a look himself. A car and a bike, just like she'd said. Coming up fast about a mile back.

"Dig around in that case, on the floorboard." He said, not taking his eyes from the port. "My side. Give me a pair of binoculars."

T'Pol moved quick enough, rummaging around behind him while took his attention from the road just long enough to check his weapon. And thumb off the safety.

When she handed him the binoculars, he took a closer look at their pursuers…

Forward pivot mounted machine gun, on the passenger side on that car. So there was a gunner there. Light armor all around, but they didn't know how to protect the radiator very well. Just a thin metal sheet with thick slits cut out of it to allow some air flow. Tires weren't protected at all, but the car rode low to compensate.

Bike was standard. Gun mounted on the front, probably a submachine gun or something. Just for harassment, not anything even pretending to be accurate.

But the car…it had eight inch, thick iron blades sticking out to the sides from the front bumper.

Tire killers.

Trip lowered the binoculars and squinted a bit, considering things. They'd catch up in about thirty seconds at the rate they were moving…

He frowned. "You know, it'd sure be nice if you really did have a nadion particle beam weapon in your pocket."

"Why?" She asked, from the other side of the truck.

"Because we got trouble, alright."