The Silvers gradually approached the damaged car. Michael did as he was told and drove into the oncoming lane before his car was on the side of the road. None of the assailants, to Michael's luck, got into the road. They only cast an angry glance in the direction of the Silver's. So Michael could drive safely past without getting into trouble. It was at this point that the cars came together. In the driver's seat of the other car was a man in his 40s. He was immobilized: his head was hanging down, his arms were down. The windshield of the older sedan was shattered. In the back seat was a boy about ten years old, no more. He sat with his legs up on the seat and his arms wrapped around them. He cast a pleading glance in the direction of the Silver's passing car, then rested his head in his lap.

George: “Michael, there's a baby in there! There's a baby inside the cabin! Pull over!”

Michael moved to the right side of the road and abruptly stopped the car about 150 feet from the victims. George opened the glove compartment, put the Logistician in there and pulled out a gun.

Michael: “Where did you get the…”

– Fred gave it to him. Michael: “Stay where you are and keep your head down. I'll be back. Lock the doors after I get out! If the outcasts attack, chase them away. – George interrupted his son. He got out of the car, standing in a fighting stance and aiming his weapon at the attackers, starting to slowly approach them. Michael didn't have time to say a word. All he had to do was obey and do as his father told him. After all, his intervention would be of little use. So the boy stayed in the car, locked the doors and half-turned to watch what was happening.

– Come on, let's get out of here! Leave the poor people alone! Get at least 100 meters away from the car! – George ordered the group, waving his pistol at them. The outcasts turned to him and lined up in a single line, tapping their palms defiantly with metal cylinders. There was only a small space between them. George fired a warning shot into the ground. Instantly the sound of gunfire rippled across the desert and the bullet sank into the soft ground not far from the attackers.

George: “Quick, I said! I'm not kidding!”

Michael turned back, staring out the windshield in front of him. He began to analyze, “How come the car's windshield was shattered and the driver killed if the attackers were only armed with metal sticks? The car could have easily knocked them down and by and large not gotten a single scratch, even at a speed of 40-50 km/h. So we missed something. Something we didn't see. Some danger!”

Another shot rang out, then a second and a third in succession. Michael turned around again. George had collapsed to the ground. Fresh blood oozed from his wounds. Michael's hands shook. He frantically rushed to the glove compartment to pull out the Logistician and check how far away the ambulance and police patrols George had called were. The map showed that the area was not served by any population centers and there was no signal. There was nowhere to go for help.

– What do we do? Think, think…” Michael asked himself, clenching his fingers into fists and wrapping them around his head. He was very frightened.

The line of three men parted, and a fourth man appeared. He was different from the others. It was obvious that he was their leader. His face was covered by a protective black mask with metal tubes in the middle, and he wore an old-style protective body armor over his bare body, as heavy as chain mail. On his legs were black knit pants and boots, and on his hands were leather gloves with spikes on the knuckles. The thug held two large-caliber pistols, which he pointed toward George.