Seven days on foot had stripped away whatever softness remained in any of them.
Silver led the way through the ruined suburb, python coiled still and silent against his arm, eyes scanning every shadow with the same relentless vigilance that had kept the three of them alive since the mudslide swallowed their vehicle. Behind him, Dahlia moved with a limp she'd stopped complaining about days ago, and Victor brought up the rear, head tilted slightly in the particular way that had become habitual — listening to something none of the rest of them could hear.
"Two ahead," Victor said quietly. "Maybe thirty yards. Behind that collapsed fence."
Silver didn't ask how he knew. He'd stopped questioning it three days ago, after the fourth time Victor's warnings had proven correct before any of them had seen or heard a single thing.
"You're sure it's two," Dahlia said, already reaching for the length of pipe she'd claimed as a weapon after their proper gear had gone under the mud with the SUV.
