It was a good thing there was a seatbelt, otherwise he probably would have gotten thrown through the window by now. Why couldn’t these people make decent roads? He wasn’t a bad driver, or at least he didn’t think so, but it seemed that he was bound and determined to hit every pothole in the road, and there were a good many of those. The windows were rolled down and his sleeves were rolled up, but sweat still dripped down his face. Ari would have had the air conditioner on, but by the looks of it, all such luxuries had been inoperable in this vehicle since the early 1990’s. Whether it was yet another testament to the lack of wealth within the country, or to the cheapness of Ajax’s suppliers he didn’t know.

Now the truck was slowing down on top of everything else. Frowning, he looked at the myriad of gages. He was out of gas. “Come on, come on,” he murmured to the vehicle. Biting his lip, he eased off the accelerator, hoping that the fumes he was running on would last a bit longer if he slowed down. Suddenly the engine went altogether silent and the old ford ground to a stop. Cursing, he slapped his palm on the steering wheel and vainly tried to restart the car. With a deep sigh, he gave up and stepped out of the car.

Ajax was typically fairly good about predicting possible problems, and they were known to keep a little spare gas in the bed. Clinging to what little hope that gave him, he circled around back and lowered the tailgate. Nothing. Cursing louder and slightly more fluently, he slammed the tailgate back up and spun around. “Wonderful! Of all the trucks they refuel, they managed to skip this one,” he muttered to himself. “How the heck I’m I going to find gas in this forsaken country?” He rubbed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. This was not helping the situation. He had to do something. He had to think.

At last, he turned and went back to the driver’s seat. After taking the key out of the ignition and slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he closed the door. Chances were this truck wouldn’t be in the same condition when he returned, considering the hostilities in the area, but there was no sense in rolling out the welcome mat by leaving the key. The rifle was merely common sense. What imbecile would want to get caught in a war zone without a good weapon on them? He wouldn’t trust his life to the .45 in his belt in a situation like this.

Fully armed as he now was, he looked down the road both ways before finally picking a direction and heading out. There were farmers this way, he knew. Maybe one of them had a couple gallons of gas on them, and maybe the livestock flew, but one could hope. Figuring it was hardly safe to stay on the road, he edged off it a bit into the tall grass and kept low. It may have been twenty minutes before he finally found some sign of life, and what he found didn’t inspire all that much hope. Some local was out plowing his field…with horses. Why couldn’t the man have used a tractor for pity’s sake! Ah, but good ol’ Ari’s luck was thin at times, and this seemed to be one of them. Still, there was no harm in asking. Keeping his rifle slung over his shoulder, he walked up and waved so as not to alarm the man. “Hey there, my good man!” he called out. “I seem to have run out of gas and I was hoping you could help me, huh?” He put on one of his more kindly expressions then, and did his best to ignore the fact that he was quite obviously a soldier.