About 45 minutes of walking north leads Miguel to a spot where the railway has collapsed to the street below. Daylight is beginning to fade as the sun has started to sink behind the horizon. The temperature has dropped noticeably. Aside from a few distant gunshots, all is quiet.

Miguel leans over the edge and peers down into the darkened haze of toxic dust. Knowing that night-time is a free-for-all of snipers, he refrains from using the flashlight he'd acquired earlier, as it would make him a plausible target. Instead, he relies on pure instinct. Hanging the [i]Louisville Slugger[/i] from his back, he sits down on the edge and lets his legs dangle 50 feet above the street below as he analyzes the situation. There is a length of steel track that extends out over the edge for about 15 feet before curving downward into the murky darkness. Miguel could shimmy along this and see if it's possible to reach street level, but he would run the risk of either falling or coming to a dead end - still too high up to drop from. Then there's the catwalk up underneath the railway, but the only safe way to reach it would be to backtrack almost two miles to an access point. He carefully works out his options as he looks around, searching for an alternative route. Then, his eyes fall upon the apartment buildings to his right. Miguel gets up from the edge and quietly walks over to the side of the railway.