The road had been empty for hours before the first shape appeared on the horizon.
It was a church steeple…or what used to be one. The paint had peeled off years ago, leaving pale ribs of wood against a gray sky. Around it sprawled a town whose name barely clung to the rusted highway sign: Three Days Grace.
Zubair slowed the Hummer as they rolled past the shattered welcome arch. Dust kicked up behind them, curling in the heat.
He glanced at the side mirror out of habit, saw Lachlan grinning faintly, and Elias' worried face. Alexei was simply staring out the window, as impassive as ever.
The place had once been a mining town.
Rows of brick storefronts, cracked pavement, a rail line that cut the main street clean in half. Now it was silent except for the idle groan of metal signs in the wind.
He could tell at a glance that someone had been using it, though. Fresh tire marks. Clean drag lines. Order in the debris — never a good sign.
