Vlad grimaced, as the boat docked. The city sprawled out before them, seemingly empty of human life.
His cousin, Marcus Adamsfield, wiped sweat from his forehead as they gazed at the town. As Vlad tied the boat up and started unloading his bike, a tactical black Buell-1125R, a low roar echoed as a truck pulled up. But calling it a truck would be like calling his bike a scooter. Mounted with a gun turret it screamed military. Vlad hung back, letting Marcus make the introductions. Mark Ajax was New York SWAT and reminded Vlad way too much of the “Marchers” as his Reaper brothers called a certain class of tight-assed Apocalyptic Soldiers and former cops. Mark seemed nice enough, but his natural suspicion of authority had him leery of of any sort of police.