The deputy paused as he gripped the handle on the great steel door. "Sorry, Fellas," he mumbled, then with a heave he pulled the door shut. It rang loudly as the latches caught. From outside came the creak of the rails as the train began to pull away. The last Ericson heard was three long bellowing blasts of the train's horn. Nice of them go say goodbye, he thought. But now how were they supposed to get out of this pen? And what was with the deputy? His words had sounded almost sincere.

It had been a long and torturously boring train ride from the dropoff point in St. Louis into the Dragonlands. That was the name people gave to the vast region, almost a third of the country, that had been blasted to hell in the war against Havoc Emberwing and his mate. Millions had died, many of them in the bellies of the dragons as they rampaged from city to city. Again and again the beasts would arrive amidst sirens and panic, and would leave behind smoking, silent ruins. News cameras caught every gory detail until the film crews themselves became victims. After enough posthumous Pulitzer prizes were awarded even the reporters stopped hanging around, and the only information that was to be had was from fear-crazed refugees whose stories were often confused and wildly exaggerated. Or maybe they weren't -- that was the truly frightening part.

Thousands of square miles of cities, towns, villages, and people were pounded flat or burned to ashes in what seemed to be the dragons' war of extermination, until finally the refugees stopped coming and a deathly quiet fell. Military leaders with worn and pallid faces wearily announced that the invaders had at last been killed, felled by the combined might of the country's entire arsenal along with some generous aid from foreign governments. The cheer that went up from every throat in the untouched regions of the country shook the heavens themselves. There was dancing in the streets for a week afterward as sobbing refugees prepared to return to what was left of their homes.

They were never allowed. The president himself delivered the painful announcement that the Dragonlands could not be inhabited. An array of poisons from nuclear fallout to some bizarre toxins from the dragons' blood itself had spread throughout the region, from the coast all the way to the enormous razor-wire fence that stretched for thousands of miles to mark the boundaries of the Dragonlands. "But take heart," the old man had said. "The military's foremost scientists are working to remediate the land. It is a slow and painstaking process and will take much time, but gradually we will reclaim the land that was so brutally taken from us."

The Resettlement Act that was passed shortly thereafter called for conscripted labor to be sent deep into the Dragonlands to assist with decontamination procedures and with new construction. "Conscripted labor," of course, meant emptying out the jails, and that is how Ericson found himself on the train.

The coach felt like a coffin built for two hundred. Its windows had been painted over so that the only light came from the fluorescent bulbs overhead, half of which were dark or flickering maddeningly. Convicts had been crowded in so tightly that it was hard to breathe, and the stink from the single toilet at the end of the car made the atmosphere stifling. Some of the men tried to keep in high spirits. "Yo, Man!" one man close to Ericson kept shouting. "We're gonna have it easy! Few months of digging, few months of building, and we're free men with our own houses and yards and shit!"

"Yeah, right," someone else would holler. "And where' we gonna get the bitches at?"

"You be my bitch, man!"

"Fuck you!"

It got old fast. Ericson stayed silent and kept his face turned toward the blacked-out window. A scratch in the paint on the window's exterior allowed him a hair-thin glimpse of the outside world, a secret he kept hidden from the other convicts for fear that they would mob his seat for a look. He saw the grim faces of the military guards at the checkpoint that was the only gateway into the Dragonlands. They shook their heads a lot. He saw flattened forests and broad plains scattered with ashes and blackened timbers where towns had been. If the cackling hyenas a few seats away could see this it would shut them up right away, he thought.

For two days the train slithered through the ravaged landscape, until at last a concrete wall obscured the view from Ericson's peephole. The train began to slow down and the convicts grew restless and excited. "We're here, man, we're here!" the loudmouth nearby shouted.

"You still gonna be my bitch?"

"Shut up!"

With a squeal and a shudder the train finally lurched to a halt. A loudspeaker from somewhere outside crackled and echoed. "Prisoners, stand away from the doors." A moment later the end of the car was illuminated by sunlight, and convicts began to trickle out to shouts of "Single file!" from without and "Quit pushing!" from within.

Ericson shuffled through the coach, following the current of men as it flowed along the aisle and through the side door. A canvas awning had been draped over the platform, preventing Ericson from viewing his surroundings as he marched through a stone archway and into a huge cinderblock room. "Room" was hardly fitting. It was more of a pen, four tall cinderblock walls surrounding an area bigger than a football field. The only exit seemed to be the one that led to the train platform. The voice on the loudspeaker urged the men onward. "Please move to the center of the compound. There will be a brief delay, and then you will be given your work assignments. Please stand clear of the door as you exit the train."

The convicts obeyed, drifting into the enclosure and forming small groups where they grumbled and muttered among themselves. The loudmouth from the train shouted at the voice on the speaker that he was going to kick its ass. Slowly the stream of humanity from the lone doorway trickled off, and at last the final passenger entered the compound, followed by a sheriff's deputy and two soldiers armed with automatic weapons. The soldiers were solemn and rigid; the deputy looked sick, as though he'd been in the sun too long.

"Sorry, Fellas."

The words echoed over and over in Ericson's head, as much as the ringing of the steel door as it was pulled shut and secured. It was not that he had never had a word of sympathy from a guard before; it was something in the way these were spoken, and something in the man's eyes when he'd uttered them.

The train's final whistles and the rumble of its wheels faded into silence, leaving only the mutterings of the prisoners in their little groups. Ericson stayed to himself. He had never been sociable with the other prisoners and did not intend to start now. A few of them were laughing, and the loudmouth was going on incessantly about the wonderful life he was certain lay just on the other side of those walls. Nobody else seemed to think that something was wrong. There was no sound from beyond the walls, no vehicles approaching, no sounds of construction.

A shadow fell suddenly over him. Ericson raised his head in time to see something vast and dark sweep by overhead. Too fast for the eye to register its shape, it left only a startling impression of enormous size, of swirling red and black, before it rushed past and out of sight.

Seconds later a gale wind exploded into the room. Ericson was blinded by swirling dust as the blast crashed into him, knocking him and the other convicts off of their feet. As quickly as it had struck the shock wave subsided, leaving the men staggering and dumbfounded. The loudmouthed prisoner had fallen next to Ericson and started babbling as he spat out dust. "What the...what the Jesus Mary Motherfuck was that?"

"I don't know. Airplane, maybe? I couldn't make out..."

He was interrupted by a deafening crash. The earth rocked violently, throwing many of the men off their feet once more. Dust trickled down from the surrounding walls as they shook.

"God damn!"

"What the Jesus Mary...?"

All at once the group fell silent. Wordlessly they stared at one another, each man beginning to feel the same rising dread. Something was definitely very, very wrong. Eyes widened all around and jerked from side to side like those of trapped animals. There was another crash and the walls shook a second time. The men shouted all together in alarm and then just as quickly fell silent once more. Ericson felt as though something were clawing at the inside of his gut, trying to get out.

Again the earth shook, the air itself nearly splitting apart with the shock. Again a shadow swept over the enclosure. Ericson looked up, and his hoarse scream rose and mingled with those of every other man present.

It loomed over them like a skyscraper. Red scales, black hide, arms like mammoth trees that ended in gigantic, murderous talons. Far, far above it all swayed a grinning visage, evil incarnate peering down at them with lordly contempt.

One of the men mustered enough voice to give the terror a name. "Havoc!" It rang in Ericson's ears even over the din of panic all around him. He stood petrified as the other prisoners scrambled madly around him. Some were sobbing. Others were frantically clawing at the stone wall in a pitiful attempt to tear their way to freedom. The loudmouth fell gibbering to the ground and curled himself tightly in a fetal position.

The dragon sneered, the scorn in his hellish gaze an almost palpable force. He watched from on high and rumbled in amusement at the terrified anthill below him. A mighty foot rose and swept forward over the top of the wall. Ericson stared upward as its vast underside filled the sky. Time came to a halt. Lifetimes passed while the huge foot hung motionless in the air. Ericson could do nothing but wait for it to fall and stamp him into oblivion.

To his astonishment the gigantic foot continued to swing by, the vicious talons vanishing behind the opposite wall and crashing unseen to the ground outside. Havoc now stood astride the enclosure, his hind legs rising like two dark mountains over the terror-stricken men within. He paused, and then slowly he crouched. His great bulk rushed down toward the men as though the sky itself were falling, a sky of blood-red surrounded by the blackest night. Ericson found himself throwing his arms up, as if he could hold off the immense mass that was descending upon him.

Havoc knelt over the corral and chuckled cruelly. For the men inside the sky had vanished. Their world now was the massive thighs that rose on either side, the great crimson spheres that hung overhead between them, and far beyond that the dragon's ominous gaze.

For a long time Havoc did not move while the men continued to scurry beneath him. Ericson understood the meaning of the gesture. The dragon was flaunting his power over them, dwarfing them to insignificance in the shadow of his immense malehood. The men were bugs to him -- no, less than bugs, and Havoc wanted them to be well aware of the fact before he....

Ericson found himself whispering prayers that he had forgotten years ago.

The hoarse cries of his fellow convicts began to fade somewhat as the dragon sat motionless, but rose shrilly when Havoc rocked back, allowing the sunlight to return to half the enclosure for an instant until the shadow of his descending hand blotted it out once more. The men darted away, Ericson along with them. The massive claws came down into their midst, hovered momentarily, and then settled upon the lone figure that still lay curled up and babbling on the ground. Ericson could only watch in horror as one huge talon nudged at the man, rolling him to his back, and then sank deep into his belly with a wet tearing sound. The man let out an ear-splitting shriek and kicked wildly as he was hauled into the air, impaled upon the terrible claw. The distance muffled his cries as Havoc brought him to his muzzle and studied him, smiling coldly as the little body danced and jerked. The dragon let his victim suffer for what seemed like hours until his screaming faded, and then licked the man off of his claw and swallowed him whole.

The remaining convicts had stared at this sickening display in shocked silence, but panic gripped them as the great hand descended again into their midst. Men tore at one another as they fought to gain a foothold on the wall. Ericson found himself battling for his life lest he be ripped apart by his fear-crazed companions. Another convict leaped onto his back and tried to vault over the wall, using Ericson as a springboard. Ericson threw him off, only to have another attempt the same trick. He dropped to all fours and rolled and spun to face his assailant. The man's eyes were wide and bulging with terror, and with a wild yell he leaped for Ericson, who crouched and prepared to meet the charge. In that instant two huge black fingers appeared and surrounded the man, squeezing him tightly and hauling him into the sky. Ericson turned away and did not watch, but he could hear as the man's screams were abruptly lost amidst a terrible gulping sound.

The crowd rushed from one side of the corral to the other as one by one the convicts were picked off. Havoc chose them with care, sometimes plucking a man from the pack only to drop him moments later in favor of another. Countless bodies were now writhing in his stomach, a sensation that was providing the dragon with a gruesome and extremely visible pleasure. He seized yet another victim, but rather than devouring him he cupped his other hand and dropped the man into it, his claws curling inward to form a cage. The convicts kept up their frantic attempts to avoid being caught as the dragon's hand came down once more. Havoc toyed with them, chasing them briefly with his fingers before snatching up another victim and adding it to his growing collection.

In desperation the terrified men began to turn on one another, two of them seizing a third and hurling him toward the grasping fingers, offerings which the dragon accepted with amusement. Soon there were no more than twenty men remaining, a mere fraction of the number who had boarded the train. Ericson stood among them, battered and bloodied but alive. The men were glowering, their gazes darting from one face to another and then up to the looming dragon. Each knew that to survive a minute longer he would have to be stronger and faster than the others, and each was willing to commit even the most unspeakable barbarity if only to ensure even one more precious minute of life.

The shadow suddenly lifted from over them. Bewildered, the men watched as Havoc rose again to his feet. He lowered his head and regarded them contemptuously. "Hear me, Humans!"

The voice thundered down upon them like an explosion. Ericson threw his hands to his ears and winced in pain as the dragon spoke again. "I have chosen to spare your lives," he roared, "because you may yet be of use to me."

He showed the captives his clenched fist, from which muffled shouts could still be heard emanating. Tiny limbs could be seen waving plaintively from between the fingers. "These will feed my mate. You, however, have shown enough strength and cunning to be worthy of serving me."

Dark shapes appeared high in the sky behind the dragon's head. They circled downward, growing more distinct as they approached. Black and red, devil's wings, long serpentine tails -- each one a small version of Havoc. They began to land upon the monster's shoulders and upon his wings; some flew downward to perch upon the rim of the wall where they gazed balefully down at the trembling men.

"My offspring," Havoc boomed, "have cut their teeth on meat that I have provided, and now it is time for them to learn to hunt on their own." His eyes narrowed and he curled his lip in a horrific grin. "You, of course, will teach them."

A shocked murmur arose from the men. Some of the more slow-witted ones did not immediately grasp the meaning of the dragon's words, but Ericson did, all too well. He felt the eyes of one of the young dragons burning into him, and when he lifted his head toward it the drake licked its jaws eagerly. "Sweet Jesus," he whispered.

Havoc's weight shifted, and one huge foot suddenly swept inward and through the stone wall of the enclosure. It was instantly pulverized, the flying debris knocking one man dead where he stood. "My den lies before you at the base of the spire," he roared. "Those who reach me will be kept as my servants. Those who do not will have the honor of feeding the spawn of Havoc Emberwing."

The echoes faded. There was nothing but the sound of the wind, the fidgeting of the eager drakes, and the rumbling breath of their monstrous sire high above.

Ericson was the first to muster his will. Slowly, stiffly, he shuffled forward past the gigantic claws of Havoc's foot. He climbed over the rubble of the wall and peered ahead, and now understood the full truth of the Dragonlands Resettlement Act.

Around him lay the remains of a city. He could not tell which one. A few skeletal buildings still stood amidst great mountains of rubble. Twisted pipes and the rusting hulks of flattened vehicles lay at the bottom of deep pits that still retained the shape of the foot that had made them. What had been streets were choked with wreckage, and here and there were scattered bones. Ericson and all of the remaining convicts now realized that they had been sent forth from prison not to rebuild a destroyed city, but to serve as tribute to its destroyer. The whole Resettlement Act was a lie. Nothing in their vaunted arsenal could kill Havoc Emberwing, so in desperation the government had made him a deal.

A few other men drew up beside him, and they too stared in disbelief at the devastation that stretched ahead of them. Ericson saw a gleam upon the horizon, and realized that a radio tower still stood on a hilltop in the far distance. It reflected the rays of the setting sun and stood like a beacon, a spire at the foot of which the dragon made his lair.

A derisive snort echoed from overhead. "You will make poor sport if you simply stand there."

Ericson broke and ran. Seconds later the men with whom he'd been standing were reduced to vapor by a blast of the dragon's fiery breath.

Shouts of terror rose behind him and were soon drowned out by the dragon's resounding laughter. Ericson stumbled, regained his feet and ran for his life. Chunks of rubble littered the street and blocked his path. He scrambled over it without looking back. Had he done so, he would never have seen that a footprint stamped by the dragon lay just on the other side of the barrier. Stumbling and flailing his arms, he somehow managed to skid to a halt on the shifting wreckage. Another man, not so lucky, darted around him and raced blindly forward, flailing before landing with a painful thud on the bottom of the print.

Ericson began to work his way around the rim of the trap as a dozen other men began to swarm over the rubble pile. The man who had fallen in had gotten to his feet and was clawing wildly at the earthen walls around him in a vain attempt to climb out. He shouted and pleaded for help, but Ericson had his own life to worry about. He could feel the dragon's pitiless gaze upon him, and those of the young drakes eager to feed upon the fleeing forms. Their burning stares seemed to scorch Ericson's back, driving him to run faster than he had ever run in his life. They were not following, not yet. The lesson would be much more valuable to them if their prey had a good head start.

Later -- minutes later, hours later, he couldn't tell -- Ericson's strength finally gave out. A rusted cargo van lay on its side in the ruined street, and Ericson wormed his way through the broken windshield and collapsed inside. The city had grown silent again. Not even the wind moved. Each man had taken a different course, realizing perhaps, as Ericson had, that the only hope for survival was to offer as many targets as possible and pray that the drakes chose someone else. He thought back to the poor convict who was trapped like an animal in the dragon's footprint. No doubt he'd be their first victim.

Better him than me, Ericson thought.

The sun was setting, its rays now shining into the van's interior. Ericson saw a demonic silhouette sweeping against the sky and realized with an icy jolt that Havoc was returning to his lair. That could mean only that the hunt had begun.

Frantically he began to climb from the van, but paused, his mind whirling. It would be dark soon. Could dragons see in the dark? He certainly couldn't. How would he find his way? He winced at the thought of stumbling in the darkness and breaking his leg, to lie helpless until dawn, until the hot, slathering jaws clamped around him.

No. If he was to be caught, he wanted at least to see it coming. There was no choice. If he was to have any hope of survival he would have to go to ground for the night, huddled like a rabbit in its warren while owls swooped past overhead. Ericson found himself quietly swearing that he'd never shoot another rabbit again. The absurd notion almost made him smile as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

He awoke shivering, damp with dew, in the pale pre-dawn light. The night had been restless, his dreams tormented by visions of being hunted down and torn to shreds. Morning usually dispelled such terrors, but now he sat frozen, eyes wide, the dreams that were replaying in his mind so horribly likely to come true. The drakes were out there, he knew. How many -- ten, twelve, fifteen? He had not been able to count them. Where were they now? Was one lurking outside the van, toying with him, waiting for its prey to be more fully awake and thus more amusing to chase?

The sun had risen fully into the sky before Ericson finally pulled his wits together. To sit huddled here would be suicide. He would either be caught by one of the drakes or die of thirst, neither of which were very appealing. Before moving on, though, he would have to find a way to reconnoiter, lest he let himself fall into a trap like the man in the footprint. Slowly he slithered from his hiding place, half expecting to be seized by a great claw the second he showed himself. He found himself at the base of what looked to have been an office building. It stood gaunt and hollow now, its upper stories shorn off above the eighth floor, charred wreckage hanging from its windowpanes. Bleached bones lay jumbled among the debris on the street, silent witness to the terrible carnage that had been wrought here. Ericson shuddered as he wondered if Havoc had hunted them, too, or if he had simply killed them where the stood.

The building had a central stairway that climbed to the sixth floor before becoming choked with wreckage. On each level lay blackened desks covered with was once expensive computer equipment, now melted into slag. Ericson made his way as high as he could, and then carefully crossed to the window where he could look out over the wasteland that Havoc had claimed for his offspring's hunting ground.

Claimed? No, Ericson thought bitterly. This city had been given to the dragon, along with hundreds of others. That was the cost of the celebrated "victory." Convicts, deportees, all of those whom the government had sent, willingly or unwillingly, into the Dragon-lands had been handed literally into the jaws of death. Had Havoc demanded such tribute...or had it been offered to him in exchange for sparing the rest of Mankind?

Ericson laughed humorlessly. Havoc wouldn't have asked for this deal. They had come crawling to him on the bellies, pleading for mercy and offering him the pick of the herd if he would only spare them. It was too bad that Ericson probably wouldn't live to see their faces when Havoc decided to renegotiate the deal. The dragon had more mouths to feed now, after all. What were they going to do when he demanded more food or more territory? They certainly couldn't stand up to him. They were little more than helpless slaves, the whole lot of them.

He caught his breath. Slaves to the dragon -- that was what Havoc had offered to whoever survived the hunt. Ericson had been too terrified to pay much heed to the dragon's deafening speech at the time, but the words that rushed back to him now gave him a tiny glimmer of hope. Make it to the dragon's lair, and you'll be allowed to live as a servant. All you have to do is keep from getting eaten on the way. It was so much like some crazy arcade game that Ericson started to laugh out loud. Navigate the obstacle-filled maze and make it to the goal intact and you win the game. You only get one life though, and there's no points for second-best. You'll like being Havoc's servant. All you have to do is keep him happy, and maybe he'll even let you see those government bastards' faces in the end after all.

It was starting to sound like a good job by that point, and it sure beat the alternative.

Drawing himself up, Ericson leaned out of the window and took careful stock of his surroundings. The city was in shambles, like something out a war movie. No single building was intact. Huge sections were blackened, and there were vast swaths here and there where the earth had been swept clean. God only knew what had happened in those spots, but Ericson made a note to avoid them, knowing he'd be a sitting duck out in the open. The radio tower, the "spire" that marked his goal, still lay in the far distance atop a tree-covered mountain, its greenery a stark contrast to the blighted landscape below. Ten miles, maybe fifteen -- it was hard to tell. He picked out what he hoped would be recognizable landmarks from the ground, and plotted the safest possible path to the mountain. In the opposite direction, far in the distance lay the railroad line that had brought him here, along with the promises of "reform" and a "brand-new start." Yeah, right.

Then something closer caught his eye. A man, one of his fellow convicts, was stumbling down a cross-street, straight toward the building where Ericson was perched. His gait was stiff and drunken, and once in a while he would stumble over a piece of rubble as though he had not seen it. As he drew closer, Ericson could see blood glistening on the man's head, and dark stains covering the shoulders of his shirt.

Something stirred on the edge of a burned-out building directly across the street. A black hulk detached itself from the rooftop and then stood up, rearing on its hind legs and spreading leathery devil- wings, showing off the shocking red of its underbelly. Ericson's blood froze.

The drake arched its neck and shook out its wings, then dropped its gaze back down to the street. It's head swiveled, tracking the man as he lurched by below it. It tensed, dropped to all fours and crouched, then dove off the side of the building.

It all happened in seconds. The drake landed on all fours behind the man and lashed out with its clawed hand, catching the man and smashing him violently against a wall. The man bounced off and fell to the ground, shrieking and writhing on his back. The drake peered at him for a moment, then rose slowly to its hind legs and placed a heavy foot upon the man's torso. Ericson watched in revulsion as the man kicked and beat at the top of the great foot with his hands, while the drake stood over him. After a minute it seemed to grow bored with the man's struggles, and stooped and seized him about the middle in its hand. Straightening again, it lifted the man to its jaws and pushed him roughly inside. There was a sound, a horrible staccato cracking like someone chewing on ice cubes, and the man's body fell limp. The drake raised its head, and greedily gulped the man down, like a crocodile swallowing a fish. Ericson could see the bulge of the man's body sliding down the drake's throat, and for an instant he thought he saw the outline moving.

He felt sick. Bile rose in his throat and he clamped a hand frantically over his mouth, swallowing and gagging, terrified to make any sound that might draw the drake's attention to him. Though not at all as large as its sire, it was still big enough that one would not be a full meal for it. Ericson's stomach continued to churn, and some of the sour liquid trickled from between his fingers despite his efforts to hold it back. It was not the sight of a man being eaten alive that appalled him so; it was more the fact that the drake had been right there, so close, perhaps even perched through the night within sight of his hiding place. The slightest turn of fate could have made Ericson the drake's first meal of the morning instead of the hapless convict.

Finished with its meal, the drake fastidiously licked its fingers and then launched itself into the air. It rose with powerful beats of its wings that stirred up dust storms on the street below, and then soared out of sight. Ericson almost fainted with relief. He dropped his hand from his mouth, fell to his knees, and retched hard and long. Finally, after some painful dry heaves, he spat and rolled panting to his back. "That could've been me," he wheezed over and over. "Sweet Jesus, that fucking could've been me."

It was several minutes before he had recovered enough to make his way back down to the street, the shock of his narrow escape leaving his knees unsteady. He could hardly bear to be in the open now. The skin on the back of his neck tensed up constantly with the anticipation of being leaped upon from behind, so he stayed as close to the edge of the street as he could, scurrying like a mouse from shadow to shadow.

The day wore on, hour after hour, one shadow after another. Tormented by thirst and hunger, he stumbled at dusk upon a pool of muddy water bubbling up from some source under the broken street. Perhaps it was an old water main that still held some pressure, or maybe it was sewage. Ericson didn't care. He eagerly gulped it down, his parched body soaking it up like a sponge. Sated at last, he crawled beneath a toppled newsstand and slept.

In the morning he resumed his slow, slinking journey toward the tower. Its top shone in the distance, closer now than before, but still seeming to be an eternity away. At one point he saw the silhouette of a drake circling in the sky above and he hid in terror, cowering behind a chunk of concrete in the shelter of doorway. He remained there long after the ominous shape had gone away, and then moved on. Two more drakes would appear in the sky overhead before the day was done, and one would even drop down and swoop curiously along the street, but both times Ericson escaped their notice. The tower drew ever nearer, the sun's reflection glowing from it like a hopeful beacon.

"Hey, Buddy!"

Ericson cried out in alarm at the sudden voice calling to him from an alleyway just as he was searching for a place to hide for the night. He whirled to find a man hunkered down in the shadows. "Jesus, stay quiet, Shit-for-brains!" he hissed. He jerked his head wildly from side to side and up at the sky, and then relaxed. "You want those dragon-kids to hear you?"

Ericson scrambled back, eyes wide. "Who are you?" he gasped. "Get away from me!"

The other man put both hands up. "Hey, cool it. I'm one of you." He looked around again, and lowered his voice further. "The name's Cook. You seen any've them things around?"

"N-no. Not lately. There were a couple early on, but they didn't see me."

Cook snorted. "Obviously. You'd be dead if they had. I saw two of'em go after one of the guys that was with me. They got in a fight over him, pulled him all apart...shit!"

Ericson looked skyward instinctively, as though simply telling the tale might cause one of the demons appear. "Great. Listen, Cook, we've got keep moving. We got the best chance if we split up, so you go your way, and I'll go mine."

"No way! I got a way out, Sonny."

"What?"

"Really!" Cook pointed back over his shoulder. "There's an old subway tunnel back in the next block. Don't know how far it goes. But the lights are still working somehow. There's water there, and you could probably walk for miles without the dragon- kids spotting you."

Ericson's heart leaped. "No shit?" After a quick glance to make certain the sky was clear he darted across the street and dove into the alley where Cook was crouching. "You mean it? How the hell can the lights still be working?"

"How would I know? Listen, maybe the government guys use it for something. You think that old train is the only way in and out of here? I'll bet that tunnel goes all the way back home."

"Hell, yeah! Count me in. Don't just sit there, let's go!"

Ericson rushed past Cook as the other man stood up. He heard more than felt the sharp crack at the back of his head, and then there was darkness.

Someone was hauling him to his feet. He awoke groggily and staggered. Two hands steadied him. "Come on, Sonny, let's get going. We didn't come this far to get caught now."

Ericson blinked and tried to speak. Something was in his mouth. It felt like cloth, wadded up tightly and held in by a tight gag. He shook his head, and felt dried blood caked on the back of his neck. His hands were bound behind his back, the rope looped around his neck. The noose tightened when he tried to move his arms. Turning, he saw Cook grinning smugly at him.

"Sorry about that subway story. Survival of the fittest, though. Now start walking."

Ericson glared at him and stood fast. Son of a bitch, he thought.

Shrugging, Cook slipped a knife from his belt. It was rusted and dull, probably something he found in the wreckage, but still looked effective. "Maybe I should say 'please.' Or maybe I should say, 'get walking or I'll cut some slits in you so those dragons have a nice trail to follow.'

He meant it. Ericson could see it in his eyes. He could not fathom why Cook would have taken him prisoner this way, but Cook answered the question for him. "You ever done any burglary?" he asked with a smile.

Ericson just stared at him.

"Yeah, me too. That's what I was in for, you see. Now, one thing I learned early on is that you always bring along a big chunk of meat when you go into a house. That way, if they got a Rottweiler in there, you just throw him the meat, and while he's busy with that, you take off. Good plan, right?" He chuckled, and held up a length of rope, which Ericson realized was tied as a leash to his bound wrists. "So, do you and me start walking together and take our chances, or do I leave you here for the Rottweilers?"

Ericson nodded. They started walking.

Keeping his head down and watching his footsteps, Ericson stumbled in the lead. Cook was walking him out in the open, exposed, as if daring the drakes to come down and take his offering. Ericson did not look back at his captor, and as he trudged he plotted, dreaming up a dozen possible courses of action, all of which ended with him taking Cook's knife away and carving him up like a turkey. He kept quiet, however. As long as they were out in the open, Cook had no reason to get rid of him. Ericson decided that as soon as they reached the tree line at the base of the mountain he would make his break back into the ruins. Cook would likely prefer to stay in the cover of the woods than chase after him. It would give Ericson a chance to find a safe spot to wriggle out of his bindings and make a dash for the woods himself. If he was very lucky, he would catch up to Cook before he reached the tower and would help him shed a few ugly pounds.

They walked for miles with Cook happily leading Ericson before him on his leash, and eventually happened upon another watering hole. To Ericson's surprise, Cook removed the gag and let him drink. "Now, don't take any of this personally, Sonny," Cook explained. "Just looking out for Number One. Just don't want you giving old Number One any grief until we get to the top of that hill. Once we get there I'll let you go."

"Yeah, right. I'll bet." Still hog-tied, Ericson was forced to drink on his knees with his head bent over the pool. "You're enjoying it too-*"

His words caught in his throat. The sky was reflected in the water's surface, and so was something black and red and terrifying. Ripples in the surface made the reflection dance as it grew steadily larger.

Ericson jumped awkwardly to his feet, the noose biting into the skin of his neck. Desperately he cast about for shelter, and spied a hole gaping near the foot of a toppled building across the street. He bolted for it. Behind him he heard Cook's enraged bellow, which quickly turned to a thin shriek of terror. Ericson felt the ground lurch as behind him the drake landed, the weight of its bus-sized body pulverizing the concrete beneath its feet. He heard Cook scream again as he threw himself headlong into the narrow hole.

He landed with a wrenching pain on his shoulder and rolled. His hiding place was little more than a pocket in the rubble, the opening barely wide enough for a man's body. Dust filtered down around him as the earth shook again. He ventured to look outside and saw that the drake had risen to its hind legs and was towering high over Cook, who was dancing about in front of it and waving his knife wildly. It sneered at him, then raised a hind foot and stomped it down hard, shaking the earth again and making Cook sway and stagger. The drake's grin widened in amusement, its teeth bared in a cruel expression worthy of Havoc himself, as it dropped back to all fours. It stalked Cook carefully, baiting him, thrusting its head forward and snapping its jaws within inches of the man's chest. Cook shrieked with each lunge and struck out with his knife, the blade skipping and sparking across the drake's armored snout. The drake licked slowly across the top of its muzzle, and then opened its jaws wide as a loud hiss burst from its throat. Ericson expected to see Cook roasted in his tracks, but while heat rippled in the air between the monster and its prey there was no flame. Apparently the drake was still too young for such weaponry.

Then Cook got lucky. The drake swatted at him with a foreclaw, missed, and then snapped at him once again. Cook swung the knife, and the drake jerked its head back with an ear-splitting roar, the blade buried deep inside one of its nostrils. Cook made a wild dash for the little cave in which Ericson had taken refuge; Ericson barely had time to move aside before Cook plunged past him, while outside the drake shook its head and pawed the knife free, then turned and crawled angrily toward the hole.

Ericson tried to retreat further into the cave, but from behind Cook gave him a vicious kick in the center of his back. "Get out there, you son of a bitch!" Cook bellowed. "Get the fuck out there!"

The opening of the cave suddenly darkened. The drake's nose shoved its way inside, sniffing hard. It retreated, replaced by viciously gnashing teeth gnawing at the opening, then a long tongue thrusting between them and searching for the men. Ericson tried again to push backward, but Cook was becoming frantic and kept kicking him. The man was shrieking incoherently now, determined to give Ericson up to the monster like a piece of meat thrown to a guard dog.

Ericson felt the dragon's breath against his face and he screamed. Twisting to the side, he threw himself back on top of Cook, his hands straining at the ropes while the noose started to choke off his air. Behind him a black talon pushed its way inside the opening and scraped against the rocky floor, and then began ripping powerfully at the edge of the opening in an effort to widen it. Ericson tried to keep Cook pinned down while fighting to free his hands, but the other man landed a jarring punch on his jaw and shoved him off. Ericson sprawled on his side, and then felt something hot and wet slide up his back. It was replaced a second later with massive teeth that nipped at Ericson's arms and then clamped down on the rope that connected his wrists to his neck. He let out a strangled yelp and tried to twist free, but the teeth gripped the rope tightly and started to drag him backward. The noose tightened further still around his neck, cutting off his air entirely.

He saw Cook roll to his knees, eyes bulging and grinning insanely. "Eat him, Motherfucker!" he howled. "Eat him! Eat him!"

Ericson squirmed wildly and hooked one leg over a broken pipe that protruded from the wall of the cave. The drake growled behind him and pulled harder, stretching the rope tighter. Black spots danced before Ericson's eyes. He felt as though his head and arms were about to be pulled off, but he held on doggedly.

There was a snap, and Ericson fell forward. The drake's head jerked backward. It growled and spat out the chunk of rope, its ends bitten through, then thrust its muzzle into the cave opening again. By now Ericson had freed his hands and begun beating Cook savagely, driven by rage and desperation. Cook, taken by surprise, made a valiant attempt to defend himself before Ericson knocked him senseless, and then continued to pummel him. "You son of a bitch...you filthy son of a bitch!" Ericson shouted over and over. Rolling off of the man, he yanked him up to a sitting position and shoved him roughly toward the drake's snout. "Here, Kid. Choke this down if you're so hungry!"

Cook's body flopped against the black nose, which pulled back in surprise. Cook slumped to his back and groaned. Blood poured from his nose and into his eyes from a gash on his brow. He reached up feebly to try to wipe it away, and at that moment the light from the opening was blocked out once more. The drake's finger slithered into the opening, the claw arcing downward and spearing Cook's right shoulder. Cook let out a piercing wail and clutched at the curved talon, his legs kicking madly as he was dragged out of the cave and into the waning daylight.

Ericson lay panting at the back of the cave. He watched as the drake, crouched on all fours, lowered its head and nosed curiously at Cook, then picked him up in its teeth and dropped him. It seemed disappointed, but then Cook started to crawl to his feet and the drake perked up excitedly. It rose again to its hind legs and swept one foot forward, kicking Cook out into the middle of the street, where he lay dazed and choking.

All at once another drake appeared, landing with a hollow boom on the opposite side of Cook. The air was shattered with deafening roars and hisses as the two drakes faced each other and began to circle while their prize curled up on the street and whimpered. One of them leaped forward suddenly, scooping Cook up in its hand. Instantly the other was upon it, clawing and biting, groping and seizing one of the quarry's flapping limbs. It came off when the drake pulled, and the first, enraged that its toy had been broken, attacked its sibling with renewed fury.

Cook's story about what had happened to his first companion -- more likely his first "chunk of meat" -- came back to Ericson. "It serves you right, you bastard," he growled, but then with a sudden shock he realized that he now had a chance. The irony of the situation nearly made him laugh as he crept from the cave opening and began to scuttle like a beetle behind large pieces of rubble. The drakes were too preoccupied with their battle to notice him; in fact, when one of them accidentally stepped on Cook's head, the fighting grew even more vicious. Ericson could still hear them bellowing and shrieking at one another even as darkness fell. He stumbled onward through the night until the sounds faded in the distance. His shoulders ached and his neck bled from where the rope had torn at the flesh. At last he fell, panting, to the earth. Surrounded by darkness and lacking the energy even to crawl under cover, he slept.

Trees came into focus when he blinked his eyes open the next morning. His entire body was wracked with pain, and somehow he managed to climb to his feet. The sight was almost unbelievable. He was standing on a barren plain. Behind him lay the ruins of the city. Ahead was a looming mountainside, its face as lush and green as though it had been brought here from outside of the Dragonlands. His gaze traveled upward to the top of the shining radio antenna whose upper mast he could just barely make out from where he stood. Despite the pain he began to laugh, and then he broke into a loping run, charging across the open ground and plunging into the forest. He climbed with almost blind eagerness, grabbing onto tree-roots and branches and hauling himself upward, ignoring the brambles that nicked at his flesh. Relief poured out of him in a mixture of laughter and sobs as he fought his way to the summit and threw his arms around the base of the spire. He stood there for a long, long time, embracing the cold metal as he would a lover, even kissing it tenderly. The sun was high before he finally let go and started down into the valley where he knew he would find the dragon's lair.

Soon he stood panting before the cavern and peered down into its inky depths. There was no sound other than the gentle breeze through the treetops. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, "Havoc!" Moments passed with no reply, so he called again, his voice cracking hoarsely. "Havoc! Havoc Emberwing!"

The earth shook, then shook again, and again. Ericson backed up slowly as the thunderous footfalls grew stronger, and at last Havoc's glowing eyes appeared from the depths of the cave. He blinked in the light and slowly emerged, growing larger and larger with each step, and finally he reached the entrance and reared up on his hind legs. His gaze fell upon the tiny human at his feet. "What is this annoyance?" he rumbled.

Ericson grinned, triumph overwhelming his fear. "It's me!" he shouted. "I made it!" He began to wave his arms excitedly.

Havoc's eyes narrowed.

"The spire!" Ericson continued. He thrust a finger vigorously toward the tower. "I made it! I'm your servant now!"

The dragon glanced up at the spire for several moments. "Ah, yes," he said at last, and a slow smirk spread across his muzzle. "Servant? Please. Do you really believe that I would have a need for vermin like you?"

The smile faded from Ericson's face. "But...but you said...if I reached the spire, you'd keep me as a servant."

Havoc's laughter nearly shattered Ericson's eardrums. "Insect!" he roared. "You have already served your purpose to me."

"But..."

"Now die."

One mighty foot began to sink deeper into the earth as the other one rose. Ericson stared, dumbfounded. "Wait...wait!" he shouted hoarsely as the foot swung over him. "I can do a lot! Haven't I proved anything to you?"

Havoc's face disappeared as the vast sole moved in front of it and began to descend. "You have indeed," the dragon rumbled. "You have proved that you are robust. It is a useful quality in a prey species."

Ericson's brief cry was cut off as the enormous leathery surface shoved him to his back and settled upon him. There was an instant of unbearable, smothering pressure, of the breath being squeezed from his lungs. There was a sound like someone chewing on ice cubes, and then silence.