It was still dark when the car came to a stop. Surrounded by a ferocious terrain that was foreign to all of us, and with little clue where exactly we needed to go to find our accused nemeses, it was a mutual agreement that we would wait until daybreak until we began our search.

Which was fucking suicidal. Entering uncharted territory with nothing more than our noses for guidance, a name, Axe Custer, for distinction, and a tall-tale as our sales pitch . . . well, even as Clarke made little work on catching some Z's, propping his seat back and out like a light as soon as his peepers...