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With seconds to spare, you steer your roadster away from the brink of disaster. Your rear tyres spin along the edge of the gully, kicking up great clouds of stones and dust before they grip and propel you back onto the freeway.
In your mirror you see the convoy coming under small-arms fire, but it is light and sporadic and it claims no victims. Soon you are all safely out of the battle zone and racing away from the Slaughter Mountain run towards Sierra Blanca.
