The confirmation that we were being hunted by the Vipers, a highly organized and hostile faction, forced Valerie to make a drastic tactical decision. Resting was a necessity, but remaining stationary was a death sentence. The solution: to travel exclusively at night, relying on the darkness for concealment and reserving the daytime for covert recovery and rest. The journey toward the Citadel now became a punishing, nocturnal ordeal.
As soon as the sun set, the Humboldt Column moved out, our pace deliberately slow and meticulous. We utilized night vision goggles salvaged from the truck's cargo, but even with this advantage, movement was difficult. Every crackle of dry brush, every loose rock underfoot, sounded deafening in the profound silence of the night. Kael was the primary pathfinder, his long experience in the field invaluable, while Lexi and I took positions flanking the truck, constantly scanning for any distant lights or movement. The atmosphere was one of strained, continuous vigilance.
Lexi, ever focused on the details of survival, used the quiet hours of travel to conduct a mental inventory. Her experience as the primary quartermaster for our small group gave her a keen eye for resource flow, and she quickly spotted a critical flaw in the Column's logistics. During a brief halt where we had to manually push the truck through a stretch of thick sand, she pulled me aside, her voice low and urgent.
"We have enough food and medical supplies for the remaining distance, even with the losses to the Vipers," she began, adjusting her pack straps. "But the fuel consumption rate is wrong, James. The truck is burning through biodiesel faster than Sam's logs account for. We're carrying maximum weight, and we've been using the winch frequently. If we maintain this consumption, we'll run completely dry three days before we hit the Citadel's likely comms range."
This realization was terrifying. If the truck stopped, carrying the wounded Zara and the bulk of their essential supplies, the entire column would be immobilized and exposed in Viper territory. This wasn't a tactical oversight; it was a pure mathematical flaw. I immediately relayed her finding to Valerie.
Valerie listened intently, her initial skepticism fading as Lexi presented the hard numbers, detailing the loss calculation based on terrain difficulty and recent winch usage. "Sam is counting by volume, not accounting for the engine's current stress ratio," Lexi explained simply. Valerie nodded, her gaze reflecting newfound respect. "She's right. The engine is old, and the armor adds hundreds of pounds."
The solution required an immediate, difficult action. Valerie ordered a halt, and Lexi directed the group to offload non-essential, heavy items: spare sheets of plating, unnecessary tools, and even some non-critical structural components of the truck's reinforcement. Sam initially protested, citing the "order" of his inventory, but Lexi firmly overruled him, backed by Valerie's decisive command. "We travel lighter, we burn less fuel, and we move faster. Weight reduction is now our fuel reserve," Valerie declared, cementing Lexi's essential status in the logistics chain.
Later that night, as we walked side-by-side, our hands occasionally brushing in the consuming darkness, Lexi spoke softly. "The Vipers force us to rely on our discipline and our intellect, James. We can't fight them conventionally."
"We're adapting," I replied, my voice filled with pride for her sharp thinking. I squeezed her hand in the dark. "You just bought us the mileage we needed. That was a lifeline." The profound connection between us, forged in the terror of the past few days, felt like the only certainty in the unpredictable gloom. The road ahead was long, fraught with the danger of the Vipers and the exhaustion of constant night movement, but with Lexi's intellect guiding our logistics and our combined skills providing security, the hope of reaching the Citadel remained a tangible, burning focus.