On a remote road, far in the southern outskirts of the city, a huge truck hauling a large container rumbled down the narrow stretch of asphalt.
The road snaked its way through rugged mountains and hills, with jagged cliffs and rocky outcroppings flanking it on either side.
The truck wasn't alone. A few old, rusted SUVs and several motorcycles escorted it, their engines roaring as they kept pace.
As the convoy approached a toll booth in the distance, one of the SUVs broke formation and drove ahead, pulling to a stop at the barrier. The rest of the vehicles came to a halt behind it, their passengers coming out—men armed with old, battered rifles and shotguns, dressed in tattered, dirty clothes that looked as though they hadn't been washed in days.
