Trevor stared at the maps of Kansas, Missouri, and Wichita. Markers represented friendly units as well as enemy positions.

“We have time, sir,” Casey said in a cautious tone.

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

On the map he saw markers indicating The Order’s legions, but felt greater concern over what he could not see. This sense of paranoia had grown acute in the four days since Voggoth outwitted him at the battle near Wetmore.

Trevor removed his baseball cap. Dirty hair fell over his ears. Outside, the roar of jet engines announced another flight trying to escape.

“We haven’t been moving fast enough, but they haven’t caught us, either.”

“They’ve had to do some farming,” said Fink. “Recon spotted a half-dozen fields just across the Colorado border.”

“A half-dozen? That’s nothing, you know that. Voggoth has got something up his sleeve.”

“Maybe he knows where we’re going. Maybe he wants to wait and set up shop closer to where the real battle is going to happen. You know, the Mississippi.”

The thought had occurred to Trevor.

“Maybe, yeah. But why let us make it to the barricades? He could hurt us bad right now, but he’s holding off. We’re too busy running to fight, and he still has enough firepower to kick us harder in the ass than he’s been doing. But he hasn’t. Just nitpicks. Bombing runs and a few shock troops here and there. It’s as if he wants us to make it to the Mississippi. Like he’s…”

Casey followed, “Like he’s stalling for time before finishing us off.”

Trevor nodded but his eyes remained on the map.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. That’s what scares me.”

One of Trevor’s K9 bodyguards sitting by the door growled and stood. Everyone at the table turned and eyed the dog.