CHAPTER 52
Gannon was in shadow.
Something called out in the jungle. The sun was still high, but it was behind the massive pile of Rakastava.
Gannon looked over his shoulder. There was no help in dark vegetation and vines with spikes like spearpoints. He battered his fists at the slick surface of the city in which he had been born and raised, the city that had been his whole life.
He pounded while he had the strength in his arms, and he screamed as long as his voice lasted. The shadows lengthened. The sky grew black.
And the jungle behind Gannon began to whisper with more than the sound of wind rustling the leaves.