He trod carefully, quietly, his eyes searching the nooks and crannies. He stepped over rubble and out through the door in the crumbling wall. The sun hit him in the eyes, dazzling him. Squinting, he raised a hand to shield his face. Crack! The noise of rock hitting against rock. He ran. It could have just been a falling brick – the walls and rubble piles were certainly unstable enough. But it might have been one of his pursuers. And he didn’t want to take a chance. Dawson skirted the old building. His runners sank into the sand baked by the harsh sun. He stopped at the edge of the wall and peered into the main street. There were people near a bright red car at the very far end of the dirt and gravel road. But, otherwise, there was no one else close by. He took a deep breath, then dashed across the street. Breathing hard, legs pumping, he made it through to the next ageing building. He surveyed his surroundings. Streaks of sunlight hit the tired walls, making the shadows seem even darker.
