The ache in his head and the stiffness in his body told him that he hadn’t dreamed his travails in the Ute zone. In flashes, he remembered parts of his escape from the battle. The alley and the ever-louder sirens. The fugitive glimpses of a hunched figure in a serape. The muck and filth of a trash heap. Strong hands dragging him. An old surplus Hummer stacked with boxes and cans. Shadows, darkness, and light shot through with voices, gunshots, and chanting. Wind and cold, then wind and warmth.