Dragon City by James Axler Page A

that also they might find genuine signs of life amid the boarded-up buildings. But they didn’t. Instead, it felt like they were walking through a photograph, a picture of one of those great American cities just before the nukes had dropped, when people had boarded up their homes and shops in the hopes of surviving the unimaginable devastation to come.
    The five-strong Cerberus team walked loosely abreast, spreading out across the road to make for multiple targets should a sniper appear from the shadows and to bolster their chances of survival against a single tossed grenade. They continued past a stripped-down SandCat sitting on blocks, its chassis holed with multiple bullet scars. There was no sign of its occupants.
    Before long, twilight had turned to night, the skyline meeting the sand that surrounded the weird city in the shape of a dragon. Grant checked his wrist chron—it was 9:33 on a balmy July night. He and his companions were becoming increasingly aware that they were walking through a ghost town as they continued to make their way west. Mahood’s cousin had promised to wait for them until 10:00 p.m. local time, Grant knew, but since he had witnessed the destruction of the chopper he may very well be having second thoughts. Grant tamped down his irritation, feeling no guilt at the man’s death, only sorrow and anger. A Magistrate had no time for guilt, Grant recalled, his training protecting him from such useless and destructive emotions.
    They kept moving, hoping to find a place that wasn’t boarded up. Rosalia’s dog whimpered now and again, and she hushed it; the animal didn’t seem to have much interest in exploring the city. Instead it seemed scared.
    “Feels strange,” Domi murmured as they continued down the empty street.
    Grant turned to her, his eyes roving the weird, boarded-up structures behind her. “Yeah,” he agreed. He couldn’t help wishing they had Kane with them. With his uncanny ability to sniff out trouble, his partner’s so-called point-man sense sure could help them out right now.
    The street they were walking along narrowed, and abruptly they had reached a cul-de-sac, where the towering buildings on either side leaned inward so as to almost form an arch, their highest points touching. A wall sat across the end of the narrow road, blocking the way and reaching up to Grant’s shoulders. Grant stared at it, turned back for a moment to make sure they weren’t being watched then brought himself close and peered over the wall. Beyond lay another street, really nothing more than the other half of the one they were on, the wall apparently blocking it for no other reason than to be contrary, or like some kind of valve.
    “Back or over?” Grant mouthed, his lips moving in silence.
    Grant peered behind him once more, eyeballing the street. Domi waited at his shoulder while Kishiro and Kudo hung back, adopting safe positions in the shadows to either side of the street, unarmed but with their hands resting ready at their sheathed swords.
    Rosalia was hanging farther back along with her dog, treading on light feet as she peered closely at the boarded windows and doors around them. She stopped for a moment, peering into the dark gap between two pale boards that seemed to have been painted—was it paint?—a creamy white, her exotic brown eyes searching inside for signs of life. Beside her, the dog whimpered sorrowfully as it peered at the boarded door. Rosalia glared at the dog, hushing it with a single look. Grant watched from the distance as Rosalia pressed her ear against the boards.
    Other than Grant’s own team, the street itself was ghostly empty. More than just empty—it was silent, eerily so beneath the silver light of the thin moon. Weeds grew between the cracks in the cobblestones, life, as ever, finding a way. The buildings themselves looked aged, ancient, leaning toward one another.
    Was this place built by human hands? Grant wondered as a nightmarish feeling began to tickle