Shadow Dragon

by wade coleman

  “I like it fine,” I say and look around. “All the shadows…it feels like home.”

  “This is the halfway point between your two worlds,” the djinn says.

  “Who are they…and who are you?”

  “Me…I’m an engineer. I make things, like this setting from Casablanca.”

  “Who are they?” I ask.

  “Look around,” he says, and points with his hand to a restaurant full of patrons. “You can talk to anyone you want.”

  “I like talking to Rick,” I reply. In a moment of drunken clarity, I ask, “Why are you helping me?”

  “Your people are not the only inhabitants of this planet, but you do cause the most mischief.” He takes his third drink and burps fire. The flames lick the back of the bar and set fire to the wood holding the liquor bottles.

  Bogart puts the fire out with an extinguisher.

  “Sorry about that,” the djinn says and slips Bogart a hundred-dollar bill.

  “Next time, use the spittoon,” Bogart says.

  The djinn stands and turns towards me and says, “Look at me.”

  I’m drawn to his eyes, two swirling galaxies that merge into one in my head.

  “Your enemies are homing in on you. You must protect the object you call the Kukan. It is a device we use to connect to your world.” He holds one of the ruby eyes. “You must wear this when you sleep so that you can communicate with Kukan. Do you understand?”

  * * *

  Opening my eyes, my chest is damp with sweat. I calm myself down by watching the sunrise from my bedroom window, the golden yellow orb climbing over the horizon. My eyes compensate for the brightness, and I observe it’s the size of a full moon, but much, much brighter. I check in with Natasha, and she says I’ve been asleep for two days.

  I stumble to the shower and stay until the water runs cold. After dressing, I retrieve a small box under a loose tile in the bathroom. Inside are two ten karat rubies. I removed them from the Kukan dragon and replaced them with cut glass.

  Holding one of the rubies, I look at it closely. They remind me of something. I know it’s important, but I can’t put my finger on it. Putting the rubies back, I walk out into the kitchen.

  Finding some cold chicken in the fridge, I lean over the sink and eat. Chicken is the best food on the planet. No culture or religion will turn down a cold fried chicken.

  Getting my tablet, I put it in on a stand and chomp through a chilled, meaty breast. Checking my tablet, there’s no mention of the vaccine on the national news.

  On the cover of the Navy Times is a gold dragon sitting on a table. Behind the Kukan are the five men of the Search and Rescue Board. Only Captain Perez seems to be enjoying all the attention. I was hoping for a bigger audience, but I guess this will have to do.

  An official-looking email from the City of Frisco is in my inbox. It’s more details on my three-year contract. The pay is minimum wage after flight school. The city reserves the right to sell my contract to any government agency. That means I could end up working for the Army flying helicopters in Colombia, where our government is fighting the drug lords for the control of the coca fields. I can’t think of a worse hell.

  I shrug and put my thumbprint in the box.

  Natasha appears to my right, leaning over the sink, and kisses me on the cheek. “You did the right thing, darling, signing up for flight school.”

  I feel her lips against my check and blush.

  Dad walks in while I’m on my second piece of chicken. Natasha fades when he walks through her. Grabbing a piece of chicken, he leans over the sink beside me. And here we are, Father and Son, eating over the sink with my imaginary friend. If only we could be in our underwear when Mom walks in.

  “You have snail mail,” Dad says. “I had to sign for it.” He looks at the table by the front door, where a package is waiting for me.

  Done with the chicken, I wash my hands and retrieve the parcel. Inside is a printed ticket to the “Gifting Ceremony.” The formal handing over of the Kukan to the Japanese government. It has today’s date on it.

  There’s also a card from Pam. I’m to dress in “summer Broadmoor attire,” which is blue shorts, white shirt with collar and blue tennis shoes. I hate white shirts. I can’t think of anything more uncomfortable.

  Dad looks over my shoulder. “Who’s Pam?”

  “A nurse at the Navy hospital,” I don’t want to reveal too much. Dad likes to remind me of my bad luck with women.

  Dad retrieves some paper towels and starts wiping his hands. “How does a nurse get an invitation to the main event like that?”

  I shrug. “Her father is Captain Fields. He commanded a battleship, the USS Washington.”

  “Wait a minute,” he looks at my tablet. I still have the picture up from the Navy Times. He spreads his finger over the screen, and the tablet zooms in on a man’s face. “You mean this Captain Fields? I know that look. You must have pissed him off right before the picture was taken.” He laughs and smacks my shoulder. “What is it with you and women, boy?”

  Irritated, I show him the ticket. “I have an invitation.”

  He smiles, then changes the subject. “From the shipping manifest, we know the virus meant for Frisco was destroyed. But the shipment for Frisco, Seattle and LA left the bunker days ago. And the company jet for Blue Algae is missing.”

  “It’s probably being retrofitted for aerial dispersal of the virus. I better get ready for the ceremony.”

  “Son?”

  I turn. “Yeah?”

  “You’re going to be a pilot. You’re going to meet people who can open doors. You need to be on your best behavior.”

  I keep walking, irritated. I don’t like being parented, even if I do still live at home. Heading to my room, I change into my three layers of armor: silk undergarment, vest, and clothes.

  The ceremony starts at noon, with a reception to follow. I finish changing, and Daniel is in the garage, removing the motor of a bike up on a rack.

  Putting down his wrench, he walks up to me. “Son, these people are going to test you, so try not to piss them off.”

  I smile. “That’s the same advice I gave Kim when she wanted to join our neighborhood.” I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t know, Dad, that’s asking a lot.”

  “Yeah,” he puts his hand on my shoulder. “I think there’s something about you that radiates chaos.” He smiles. “It’s just your nature. You can’t help yourself.”

  I leave the shop, get on my bike and turn on the battery. “When things happen, it’s best not to get too fixed in the moment…just see where it takes you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but, then again, I never do.”

  “See you on the other side.”

  “See you on the flip,” he answers, and I drive away, waving. At least we are on somewhat good terms again.

  Heading to Frisco along the estuary highway, a couple of bikers follow and try to overtake me. With all the chaos, the police are having trouble keeping things under control. Thugs are stalking the roads looking for easy pickings, and lo and behold, I just happen to be out and about.

  I taunt the riders by driving fast enough to stay out of pistol range. After a few miles, they fall back, and I flip them off. From my mirror, I watch them return the salute. I laugh and start singing “Bird is the Word.”

  I drive through the northern checkpoint, stay on the main road to the bay bridge were I cruise into Inner-City Gang Territory. Only a few nights ago, I was under the bridge and waiting for a ride home.

  The Broadmoor subdivision is near the old city of Concord, a thirty-square mile gated community.

  After they check my ID, I pass through the gate and make my way to the Country Club. I get a key and head to the lockers. After opening the dressing room door, a hand suddenly clamps around my neck and pulls me into a toilet stall.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” Detective Coleman asks with his eyes on fire.

  I show him my
invitation, and he lets up on the pressure around my neck.

  “How did you get that?”

  “A friend. You have a sample of the virus and a shipping manifest. Why haven’t you made any arrests?”

  He lets go of me. “I filed a report; it disappeared, and now no one will talk to me.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “I’m being set up. I have two men to guard the handing over of a priceless artifact.”

  I look at his neckline. “I see you have the new spider-silk vest.”

  “Yeah,” he fingers his collar. “It cost me six months’ pay. The department said it wasn’t in their budget.”

  I find my locker. “I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I see anything.”

  He nods and walks out of the dressing room.

  I change into blue shorts, white shirt with collar and blue tennis shoes. I look at myself in a mirror. I hate white, too easy to spot at night. After walking out of the locker room, I head to the back patio.

  Type 2 mutants are setting chairs in the back of the Country Club. A podium and table are set up near the entrance.

  The guests show up around eleven. Pam’s beehive of red hair is hard to miss, and she’s making the rounds, mingling with people. I position myself, so we’ll bump into each other, and it works perfectly.

  “Hi.”

  She shakes my hand. “Mr. Conrad, nice to see you again.” She leans in. “Be careful what you say around here.”

  “Ms. Fields, I’m a new member. Do you think you could show me around?”

  “Of course.”

  She takes my elbow, steers me through a thickening crowd and presents me as a Mr. Conrad, a new Broadmoor Country Club Member. Allowing mutants into the club is a recent change in the rules. Most of the older people seem uncomfortable around me, and a tall red-headed man walks in our direction.

  “That’s my cousin, don’t let him get to you.”

  Once she has his attention, she says, “Galen, this Hermes.”

  Galen stands a full foot taller than me and seems to be measuring me up.

  He sneers for a half second while he shakes my hand. “Nice to see some new blood around here.” He takes a drink of white wine. His right eyebrow goes up, and he sneers again. “Let me guess; you seem uneasy in our uniform, so you must be a Type 3 mutant.”

  “Type 3A to be exact, the ones with the best organs. But you’re right; I don’t like wearing uniforms, never a right fit.”

  He smirks. “You’ve come to the wrong place if you don’t like to dress up and play mind games.”

  “I’m in the pilot program, and I’m here at the Broadmoor to meet people. Not play mind games.”

  He purses his lips. “Really, you a pilot, with dirt under your nails, maybe you’d be more comfortable as a mechanic.” Galen smiles at me, judging my reaction.

  “Perhaps you would be more comfortable, but I am looking forward to being a pilot.”

  “Boys, play nice,” Pam is annoyed.

  “You don’t have money, so you must have a sponsor. What depraved acts did you perform for your lifetime membership?”

  “Galen, stop it,” Pam says, losing patience. Her cheeks turn red and freckles stand out.

  “I think we might define ‘depraved’ differently.”

  He takes a sip of his drink and puts it down on the table. “Oh, do tell. What do you consider decadent?”

  “Downtown they’ve have an underground club where vampires hang out, mutants that feed on blood and emotion. Vampires put out pheromones that make them exceptionally sexual. It makes ecstasy trite by comparison. Some depraved shit happens there. If you want, I can introduce you to some of my friends. They’ll like a big boy like you, all that extra blood.”

  Pam’s and Galen’s mouths are wide open. Then Galen breaks into a smirk. “Finally, a candid conversation. How refreshing.” Galen takes another glass of white wine.

  “So, Galen,” Pam changing the subject. “What do you think about the virus?”

  Galen ignores her. “So, how does an Army brat afford flight school without a sponsor?”

  I look at his shoulder pads…his Lieutenant rank. “Why would that be any of your business?”

  He comes in close, looking down at me. “You and Pam act like you know each other. Did you meet at the hospital?”

  Galen is trying to look intimidating, but polite. Considering how I’m dressed in full armor, I find him ridiculous and laugh at his expense.

  “What?”

  I look into his eyes, “Getting all protective of Pam, when it’s me you really want. You are a clever one.”

  Pam hiccups and grabs my arm.

  Galen sneers as we leave.

  Pam leads me under a tree where we find shade for her fair skin and can talk in private.

  “You handled that well. “You managed to evade all of his questions.”

  “Galen’s clever and a smart ass. I like that. What’s his job in the Navy?”

  “Intelligence,” Pam looks at the entrance. “Do you see the man who just walked in?” She motions to a man with receding red hair, Captain Fields, her father, and she leads me towards him. “Be on your best behavior,” she whispers in my ear as we approach.

  Why does everyone ask me to be on my best behavior? It’s not like I turn into a wolf.

  “Hermes,” Pam says, “this is Captain James Field, my father.”

  I put my hand out, and he backs up, putting his hands behind him. “It’s you.”

  “Yeah, it’s me alright.”

  Pam smiles. “That’s right, you two have already met.” Her voice sounds playful.

  He fakes a smile. “I’ve checked you out. Seems you’re a troublemaker.”

  “Mischief maker,” I reply.

  He nods. “You know my daughter is out of your league.”

  That fucker is making me mad, so I say something to put him off guard.

  “Do you know what I find most attractive about your daughter?”

  “What your mouth, young man,” the captain says through clenched teeth.

  “She the kindest person I’ve ever met. Pam picks up worms on the sidewalk and puts them on the grass. She bumped into a plant and said ‘excuse me.’”

  He points his finger at me and tries to think up something to say.

  Pam takes me by the elbow and says, “Hermes, let’s find some shade.”

  She leads me to shade of a ginkgo tree. “That was delightful. He wants to hate you, but you haven’t given him a good reason. So he going to stew in his own juices until he can think one up.”

  “My father and I have a complicated father, son and business relationship.”

  She smiles and looks down. “Yeah, complicated. He wants me to ‘fulfill my destiny.’ That is, get married to a general and have children.”

  “You have other plans?”

  “I’m not against getting married, but with my genetic pedigree, I should live to be one hundred and fifty. I want to take things slow and enjoy life.”

  Pam glances over at the table with the Kukan dragon. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to say hello to a few of my friends.” She leaves me and continues to work the crowd.

  I take a position under a tree, overlooking the patio. The Kukan dragon is set up on the table, and people are taking pictures of it.

  A bell rings, and the members start sitting down in the chairs. I feel a strange tingling in my jaw, pulsating every few seconds. “Natasha, what’s that?”

  “An AM band signal. It must be close for our nerves to pick it up,” Natasha says.

  Walking to the front, I scan the people who are sitting down. There is a central aisle which leads to the table with the Kukan dragon.

  I spot the detective looking at me, reading my body language.

  Our eyes meet, and he mouths, “What’s up?”

  Pointing to the crowd, we both scan the audience. People are just finding their seats and settling in their chairs. A man in his early thirties sits in the back row. He keeps touching his hand
to his chest. It’s in the mid-eighties, and he’s the only one wearing a club jacket.

  The detective’s eyes follow mine, and we close in from two directions. Getting to the man first, I stand behind him, slip my hand down his vest and grab a device the size of a phone. It’s a transmitter; the one suicide bombers use as a homing beacon for Hellfire missiles.

  Detective Coleman sees what I have and punches the man in the back of the head with an armored glove.

  “Incoming!” I yell.

  Suddenly, everything is quiet and slows down.

  Detective Coleman grabs the man by the back of the neck and picks him up. By the pedestal, a Japanese man grabs the Kukan and sprints for the parking lot.

  I run towards the golf course, dodging waiters and staff moving like they’re wading waist high in water. Soon, I’m on the green, and a whistle splits the air.

  The missile is homing in on the transmitter in my hand. Throwing the device towards the concrete bike path, I turn to run, but my legs are heavy. I can barely walk. I’ve haven’t fully recovered from my night in the city. And the last minute of accelerated speed has worn me out.

  Making it to a concrete planter holding a palm tree, I curl into a ball behind it. The whistle grows louder as the missile closes in.

  My armor stiffens from head to toe while the concussive force of the detonation vibrates my bones. The explosion is so loud, it deafens my brain, and I pass out.

  * * *

  Getting to my feet, my lips are caked with white concrete dust, and I’m surrounded by a high- pitched whine, which is very disorientating. My clothes are torn and caked with dirt. Through the dust are ambulance lights, and I head in that direction. The parking lot has been converted into a makeshift first aid station, and I find Pam packing someone’s chest wound. I sit on the grass, taking it all in, and a blurry man walks up to me and says something. But I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.

  He motions me to an ambulance, and I follow, sitting on the bumper. An EMT shines a light in my eyes. He gives me a shot and sits me next to some other people, not as bad off as others. After thirty minutes, the ringing dies down, and the shouting and the chaos grows in volume. Detective Coleman finds me, leads me to his squad car and lets me sit in the front seat.