He climbed into the driver’s seat, feeling the air-infused cushioning wrap solidly about him. He found the belting mechanism, triggered it, and was locked in place. He looked down at the dash. No key. Just a numbered pad. You had to know the code. He thought about it a moment, and then felt under the gear locks. Sure enough, the code was engraved on the underside of the column. That was the way the owners did it with these machines, Michael had told him. If they were amateurs. He traced the numbers with his fingers, reading them. Another trick Michael had taught him. It was sometimes better to start a vehicle in the dark, avoid using a light that would alert an enemy. He repeated the numbers to himself and then punched them in.

The Ventra’s engine came to life, a soft velvety purr that barely registered inside the cab. Logan smiled some more. He glanced at the rear seating—room enough for seven or eight—and then farther back at the storage and weapons compartments. There were two, long and wide enough for Parkhan Sprays and Tyson Flechettes. Equipped, he would wager.

He glanced down at the weapons panel and its array of blinking green lights. Rockets, sprays, lasers . . . He stopped, catching sight of something new and unexpected. The black lettering leapt out at him from the panel. Carbon Seekers. He hadn’t ever seen those, only heard about them. They weren’t installed on anything that wasn’t government-issue, in the days when there were still governments. But he knew how they worked. They targeted carbon-based life-forms—everything human, for starters—dispatched a dissolver, and the target simply ceased to exist. Very dangerous. Very effective. The thought that he had possession of not one, but two, gave him pause.

Who was the owner of this vehicle, and what had happened to him? Was this his escape transport when things got too bad, a transport he hadn’t had time to reach?

An instant later he heard Trim screech, and he looked up in time to see the owl lift off and disappear skyward. Something had disturbed the bird. Logan climbed from the Ventra without turning off the engine and hurried through the shed doors.

Outside, a huge Lizard was lumbering toward him, moaning and growling and raising its massive arms threateningly. The Lizard was covered in thick, jagged scales and was wearing the ragged remains of what had once been some sort of military uniform, now reduced to tatters. The Lizard saw him and pointed as if seeking to freeze him in place. It stopped and began gesturing; then it pointed at the shed and shook its head as if to admonish Logan, waving its arms some more. For a moment, Logan thought it was simply crazed from its transformation.

Then all of a sudden he realized what was happening. The Lizard was trying to drive him away from the shed and its contents.