59

As you dust yourselves off, you look around. You haven’t the faintest idea where you are, nor how long you’ve been driving, and when you ask Natasha, she shrugs and points out that she was focusing on something else at the time.

The dry dirt road under your feet sends up little puffs of beige as you turn, looking at the panoramic view of nothing at all. There are fields to your left, fields to your right, fields behind you, and, in front of you, fields.

            Great.

“I guess we’d better start walking,” says Bruce, and you remember that he’s spent a good portion of his life doing this, just walking around in the middle of nowhere trying not to be captured. You can’t really think of anything to say to that, so you just nod, and the three of you fall into step beside one another, heading down the road.