At first, I thought it was a collapsed tent made of translucent material, speckled with sand and billowing in the breeze. The alpha held up a fist, and we all froze. He gestured for cover, and the rest of us drew our weapons, scanning our surroundings while Dad approached alone.
Rust and Mack went rigid at the same moment, receiving news through the pack bond that I couldn’t hear. I watched their faces instead, reading the transmission through their reactions. Whatever the alpha was telling them, it wasn’t good.
Rust’s gaze cut to me. “It’s a snakeskin.”
My Glock dipped as my brain tried to reconcile Dad’s verdict with the nightmare before my eyes. Dad stood next to it, and the scale was obscene. He was a few inches shy of six feet, and he could have walked through it upright without brushing the top.
“Holy shit,” I said, annoyed by the tremble in my voice. “How big is the snake?”
Rust considered the skin. “I’d say about eight feet wide and close to a hundred feet long.”
My brain stuttered. I’d never been afraid of snakes, but I’d never seen one that could swallow a house before.
Dad waved us forward, and I dragged my feet, slipping behind the guys. The wind shifted, slapping me in the face with eau de rotting fish and sunbaked brine. My breakfast made a spirited bid for freedom, but I held my breath and looked away.
“You think the storm brought it in?” Rust asked, his tone hopeful.
“Hard to tell,” the alpha replied. “And it doesn’t matter. We’ve killed plenty of snakes before.”
Rust didn’t say what we all had to be thinking… not behemoth snakes that could eat the lot of us for a snack, we hadn’t.
Even more disturbing was the realization that in my dreams, the dragon was bigger. Much bigger.
I opened my mouth to warn the team of that threat, but the alpha snapped, “Let’s keep moving.”
Mackiel eyed the skin as we passed it. “Stay close to me, Zee.”
I gaped at him, wondering where the hell he thought I’d go? No part of me wanted to wander off in the desert by myself.
We fell back into formation and pushed along the coastline, every sense cranked up to eleven. The further we marched from the boundary, the more the city surrendered to neglect. Buildings sagged. Roads crumbled. Sand and salt devoured everything the magic hadn’t already claimed.
Yet people lived here. Evidence of their existence lingered in the occasional flicker of a tattered curtain or waft of cooking spices and seared meat. Thankfully, the residents stayed on their side of the road, and we returned the favor by staying on ours.
The port jutted over the sea in an upside-down L, a graveyard of rusted shipping containers, hollow warehouses, and silos that groaned in the wind. We wove through the wreckage to the furthest dock, where debris choked the water around the pilings, the destruction looking less like neglect and more like the result of a battle that everyone lost.
I looked at Rust, hoping he’d shed some light on why we were here, but his focus stayed fixed on our surroundings, his rifle ready.
The alpha strode out onto the pier as if he owned it and sat on the end of the concrete dock before removing his boots and socks and setting them aside.
The rest of us fanned out in a triangle around him. We had his back, though I’m pretty sure not one of us had the first clue about whathe was up to.
Taking point behind my father’s left shoulder, my eyes nearly bulged out of my head when he rolled up his pants and dangled his bare feet in the murky green water. My dad had never in my lifetime come remotely close to wading or taking a casual dip in any body of water, and we lived off the Puget Sound. The surprises weren’t done yet, though, as he withdrew a conch shell, covered in barnacles and mineral deposits, from his pack. Filling his lungs with air, he brought the shell to his lips and blew.
The sound was otherworldly.
Low and mournful, the note rolled across the water like thunder, vibrating in my chest and making my teeth ache. He repeated the call once, twice, three times, each blast longer and more powerful than the last, until my ears rang with resonance.
I shifted my weight, scanning the containers for threats and hoping like hell no behemoth snakes appeared. The only movement at my back was the fabric of Mack’s shemagh rising and falling with his breath.
The alpha lowered the shell to his lap and waited.
Minutes crawled past. The sun rose higher, passed midday, and began its descent. The hot, sandy air grew more humid with every passing minute, and sweat soaked my clothes. I eyed the water, wishing I could go for a dip to cool off, too, but I knew better. Back home, all sorts of Tricari claimed the Sound, none of which appreciated company. The creatures here likely felt the same, and I had no desire to make enemies.
I wanted to ask what we were waiting for, but the tense set of Rust’s shoulders warned me to keep my mouth shut.
Something flashed on the horizon.
I squinted through the sandy haze, shielding my eyes. A dark shape cut through the water, growing larger with inconceivable speed.
