The river cut through the land like something that didn't care what lived or died on either side. Wide enough that the other side could barely be seen and so dark that it was impossible to know what hid in its waters.
Given the fact that the water was moving fast enough to carry whole trees along its current without a pause, Elias doubted that crossing by any means other than the bridge would be next to impossible.
He rode shotgun in the lead truck with the window cracked and the rifle flat across his knees, safety on, muzzle down, finger nowhere near the trigger.
Gravel spit from the tires, dust hung low, and the engine noise bounced off the concrete footings long before they saw the span of the water.
"Two hundred out," he said, mostly for Zubair. There was no urgency in the tone, he was simply stating a fact.
Zubair grunted once and let the truck roll in steady.
