DRAGON FLIGHT
BY
J. KELLER FORD
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Dragon Flight by J. Keller Ford
Copyright © 2013 by J. Keller Ford
Original publication date December, 2013 by J. Taylor Publishing
2nd Publication: December, 2017
Cover Design by bobooks
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Please Review
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Thanks for Reading!
Acknowledgements
Sneak Preview – IN THE SHADOW OF THE DRAGON KING
More Books by J. Keller Ford
About the Author
PLEASE REVIEW
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Chapter 1
I grip the handles of the harness and squeeze my eyes tight as the coaster tops the three-hundred foot lift.
Oh, geez. What was I thinking? I hate heights. I hate things that go fast. So not a great combo for roller coaster riding.
My pulse thumps in my throat as the metal beast curves to the left. I squeeze my eyes so tight they hurt. Oh, no. Here we go! The scream hangs in my throat, waiting for the drop.
It doesn’t come. The steel dragon jerks to a halt, with me in the front row and nowhere to look but out and down.
What? No, no, no. We’re not supposed to stop! I’ve watched this ride a gazillion times. It never stops. I picture the track in my mind. Up, around, down, flip, corkscrew, insanity, heart attack. One and a half minutes of terrifying scream time. This can’t be happening! Why? Why now? Why did I get on this ride?
The answer sits in the seat next to me. Dean McCall. Damn his tall, dark-haired good looks, and jewel-blue eyes. I’ve crushed on him since sophomore year, ever since he showed up in Mr. Wilkins’ history class wearing a pair of oh-my-God-nice-butt jeans and a Halo game T-shirt. I tried then not to salivate like Pavlov’s dog, but it was useless. Not much has changed since, as I’m pretty sure I just about melted out of my skin when he cornered me by the popcorn stand and asked if I wanted to ride Dragon Flight with him.
Me! Book nerd extraordinaire. So what if he waited for Grad night to notice me? No one’s perfect, right? I gulped, mesmerized by his hypnotic eyes and charming, spearmint smile, and uttered something intelligent like, “Uh-huh.” Of course, my insides turned all gooey, and my heart struck up a crazy fast Congo beat because I’m such a feet-on-the-ground kind of gal. My brain shouted, Speak, you dolt! Tell him no. Tell him you’re afraid of heights. He’ll understand. Instead, I shook my head and said, “I-I … okay.”
Major face palm, but really, I had no choice. It was Dean McCall, and if I turned him down, I’d look like a moron in front of everyone who was anyone. Besides, who better to face my fears with than the cutest guy to ever walk the halls of Newbury High? Now, as I sit stranded at the top of this freaking ride, I’m beginning to question that logic.
I press my head back against the coaster’s seat. Get a grip, Amber. Breathe deep. You’re okay. You’re strapped in. You’re not going anywhere.
Clunk. Clunk.
My eyes spring open.
What was that?
I fight back the urge to scream.
The harness releases and lifts off my shoulders, its movement stopped by the belt latched to the seat. I squeak like a frightened mouse and clutch the restraint tight to my chest, my knuckles as white as the moon staring down at me. Oh, God, I’m gonna die.
A cool breeze brushes across my face. Lightning zigzags across the sky. Oh, no, please don’t rain. Please. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. My chest aches from too many shallow breaths. Stop it, Amber! Get a grip! You don’t hear anyone else getting upset, do you?
I listen for nervous laughter, screams, talking, any sort of hysterical chatter, but I hear nothing. Not a word. Not a laugh. A fist knots in my stomach. I swallow and force a single word from my parched mouth. “Dean?”
Silence.
My stomach flips upside down and inside out.
“Umm, hello? Dean?”
His name hangs in the air like thick smoke on a stagnant hot summer night. I lean forward and tilt my head to the right.
A smidgeon of a scream escapes in a whisper. The remaining fragment sticks in my throat, choking my airway. Dean sits frozen in his seat, a wide grin glued to his face, his arms extended above his head. The guy next to him and the girl on the end are stuck in the same position. Human statues petrified in time.
What the freak?
“Dean? Talk to me. Please.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Nothing.
A chill settles inside me. I force myself to stay calm. “Dean?” I raise my voice. “Hel-lo? Anyone?”
The park is silent. No music from the park’s speakers or the arcades. Am I deaf? The rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the harness prove I’m not.
More lightning sizzles across the sky. I tense when the lights on the track flicker a few times and go out. The rest of the lights in the park follow. Blip. Blip. I’m in complete darkness.
What the heck?
I take several deep breaths and count to ten. It’s an old trick I learned a long time ago to slow my breathing and clear the dizziness when it begins to swarm like moths on a streetlamp. I focus on the track of the steel beast, rising and falling, twisting and coiling, determined to carry me to the depths of its lair. I can’t let it. I have to get down. I have to find out what is wrong and why everyone is frozen in time like victims of some modern day Pompeii disaster.
I shake off a chill as an imaginary headline flashes before my eyes: Acrophobic falls to her death while climbing from faulty thrill ride. I banish the thought from my head. I have no intentions of dying. Not that way. Still, my brain fails to fire on all synapses, refuses to come up with any ideas on how to complete my insane, idiotic act of heroism, until I fix my gaze on the narrow metal path to freedom.
Steps! Of course! How else do thrill-seeking maintenance workers fix these damn things when they break down? It seems simple enough—get out of my seat, walk a short distance along the catwalk to the steps and take them to the ground. Easy peasy.
Not!
The mere thought of it sends my body into lockdown mode, which is where I remain for quite some time, until I get the insatiable urge to pee. Why didn’t I go before I got on the ride? I can no longer delay the inevitable. I reach between my legs and release the belt from the seat.
The harness lifts over my head with a whoosh.
The lack of restraints suck the breath out of my lungs like a vacuum hose on a garment bag. I dig my nails into my thighs. Oh, God, I can’t do this! I’m going to die! I’m going to die.
Anger kicks in. No you�
��re not! Now pull yourself together! You know what you have to do. Do it!
I start humming some old tune my mom used to sing when my dad left, something about surviving. I lift off my butt, hold tight to the seatbelt, and ease to the floor. I sit stock-still, knees to my chest, my body shaking like the San Andreas Fault in a nine-point-o earthquake. I glance over at Dean, still not moving, oblivious to my insane act of stupidity. I snort. It’s just as well.
I shake out my arms and steady my breathing. One. Two. Three. Butterflies take flight in my stomach. I get on my hands and knees and pray. You can do this, Amber. Come on. I crawl toward the opening.
Oh, crap.
I rock back and forth; my palms teeter on the edge of the coaster. The ground. It’s so far down. One wrong move and I will fall! Go! Crawl out! The catwalk is right there!
My bottom lip trembles. A few stray tears fall through the rails of the track. “I can’t,” I sob. My limbs wobble.
You have to!
I wipe my tears on my sleeve, hold my breath, and take a gigantic step forward. My breath hitches for a moment before I tumble onto the cold, steel bars of the track.
As if touched with a hot poker, I scramble across a narrow metal beam to the catwalk, my heart thudding in my ears. I lay on my stomach, tremors rattling my legs. Closing my eyes, I’m anxious to rid my body of the overwhelming urge to scream. How helpless, numb and terrified I am. I stare at the shadowed ground below me, desperate for its solidness beneath my feet. The steps. Back up.
I army-crawl backward on my stomach, my side pressed against the low metal wall encasing the steps. Elation ripples through me as my feet find the first rung. You did it, Amber Jenkins! Back up! Don’t stop! Don’t look down! Go!
The steps rattle beneath my weight as I shimmy down. I daydream of summer nights on the lake. Baking cupcakes. Imagining what it would be like to kiss Dean.
My foot slips. I slide downward at NASCAR speed, reaching for the rungs, but they elude my grasp. My ribs scream in agony with each crashing thud against the metal. My chin smacks the steps, and I bite my tongue; blood trickles down my throat.
Like tires over a never-ending railroad track, I slide off the bottom step onto the pavement and fold in a heap. My head throbs as if cleaved in two, and I roll onto my back and wipe the tears from my eyes. Above me, the belly of the coaster comes into view. I laugh. I can’t help it. I made it. Maybe not gracefully, but I made it.
Rolling onto my hands and knees, I stand. My bladder pulses with the reminder of how much I need to pee. A restroom waits between a souvenir shop and a funnel cake—both silent and stopped. Inky darkness falls over me like a weightless sheet as I limp inside, and with my arms held out zombie style, I shuffle forward.
“Come on, stalls, where are you?”
My hands hit something solid. Warm.
“What the heck?”
I pat the object, touching, feeling. Fabric. Hair. Eyes. Nose. I gasp and clamp my hand over my mouth. Backing up, I bump into another something-or-other behind me. Another brushes my leg. Pee trickles down my leg and puddles on the floor.
Rushing out the way I came in, I’m chilled as if possessed by a ghost. I shudder and cry as sweat pours from my brow and along the nape of my neck. What was that? People frozen in there in the dark? I touched them! Ewww! The heebee-jeebies crawl all over me.
Running inside the gift shop, I rifle through the racks and pick out a towel, a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and some flip-flops, tearing off the tags and leaving them, along with a fifty, on the counter next to the cash register. I hurry back to the bathroom, feeling my way along the wall. A sigh of relief escapes as I reach a sink and find it unoccupied. Public bathroom soap never smelled so good.
Chapter 2
Stepping into a patch of moonlight, I unfold a map I unclipped from a guy standing outside a coffee shop. As suspected, the security and park offices are located at the front—completely opposite of where I am.
I head to my right, down the main walkway, past fleshy statues of lovers kissing, babies crying in strollers and birds stuck in flight. I stop for a moment, to pet an owl perched on a wood railing, when a strange darkness envelops the sky and obliterates the moon and stars.
What the … I close my eyes and breathe deep, certain I’m mistaken, but when I open my eyes, the veil remains. First petrified people, now disappearing celestial bodies? Shivering, I tuck my hair behind my ear and keep walking. I have to get help.
A water ride appears on my left. The log carrying seven people is frozen in motion at the bottom of the hill with the splashdown arced in a frozen spray over their heads. Faces smile, shoulders hunch in anticipation of a grand soaking. The scene is surreal, as if I stepped into a photograph and can’t get out.
My stomach lurches with dread. What if the entire world, the universe, is stuck for all eternity in suspended animation?
Why aren’t I?
A breeze rolls over me. It rustles my hair and plays with the banner over the ride’s entrance. A glimmer of hope flickers inside. Something moved other than me. Granted, it’s slight, but slight is better than nothing.
I hurry on, passing one food stand after another, people sitting at tables, their hotdogs and hamburgers on the way to their mouths but unreached. My stomach grumbles, and I snatch a slice of pizza and a drink from a woman with so many diamonds on her hands, she could buy Miami with a single bauble. I figure, what the hell. Maybe I can pay her back sometime. When the world is set right again. If ever.
Devouring the food, I trudge up the landscaped hill. The kiddy ride section is on my right, the Leviathan coaster to my left. Two trains are stuck on it—one going up, one stuck in mid-loop. My entire body cringes. Those poor people! I want to cry for them. It doesn’t make sense why everything stopped. It makes less sense why I’m the only one who is unaffected.
Maybe I’m dreaming? What if I’m not? What if I can’t find anyone to help me? What if the security people are frozen, too? Where are the main controls to the rides and the lights? My head hurts from all the chatter inside of it. Baby steps, Amber. Baby steps.
I stop at the bottom of the hill beside the Ferris wheel and unfold my map. I need to turn right, go past the carousel and turn left. I’m almost there.
A chk chk noise makes the hair on my arms stand on end. I spin around. Something big is coming toward me, and it’s nothing I recognize. My stomach lurches. The sound grows louder, nearer. I duck behind a trashcan, unsure of the thingamajig marching my way.
Chk. Chk. Chk.
I peek around the corner, ready to shout for help, but the words are lost by my own scream, as four Rottweiler-sized cockroaches scurry into view, their mandibles clicking away.
This can’t be real. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming!
They turn their heads to the right and left before taking off, two in my direction.
I get up and run.
Chk. Chk. Chk.
An antenna brushes my leg. I scream and spurt into overdrive, past a line of gift shops. I hook a right at the fork in the path, and crash into a throng of human statues standing everywhere. I mean everywhere. Hundreds of them, frozen, mouths open as if laughing. I push my way through, bouncing off them like a metal ball in a pinball game. A few of them fall over, but I don’t care. All I can do is run, the cool air seizing my throat.
I glance behind me, praying I’ve outrun the bugs. They are nowhere to be seen. I stumble forward, gasping for breath. A very tall man stares down at me, poised like a department store mannequin waiting for his turn in a window display. I wipe my tears as hysteria takes over, and laugh and cry at the same time. I can’t help it. My life is freaky in the most macabre, twisted sort of way.
“I have got to be dreaming!”
The carousel comes into view on my left, the colorful metal horses stretched in full gallop as if trying to run from their fate. I long to break the spell on them, reanimate them so they can rise and fall to the calliope music.
I pass the turnstiles at the entrance of the park and hurry toward the sky-ride and the park offices. Shadows of buildings loom behind a fence marked
Employee Entrance
Authorized Admittance Only
After what I just experienced, I dare anyone to tell me I’m not authorized, not that anyone would because I’m the only one not frozen.
I push open the gate and pass a line of electric carts and immobile employees shoving trash carts. I wonder how much time has passed since everything froze. Is it the whole world or just here? Picturing Dean, his gorgeous smile, the way his hair sweeps over one eye. I hear the soft melody of his voice in my head and worry I’ll never see him again. I have to get Granbury Park up and running again.
Behind the scenes is much bigger than I ever imagined. There are entire buildings dedicated to costumes, props, musical instruments and set designs, but I’ll be darned if I can find the administrative buildings.
I turn down an alley and almost run into two performers on stilts; they’re dressed in feathered costumes, their faces painted like peacocks. Up ahead is a tree-lined path marked Employee Exit. Shadows of buildings loom in the distance.
My destination lies at the end of the road. It has to. A breeze wafts over me, carrying with it the scent of night-blooming jasmine. I breathe it in, swimming in its intoxicating sweetness, and continue walking, drawing nearer to the buildings. I tilt my head back and take in the flowering archway of wisteria above me. Beyond it, I hear the most wonderful sound in the world—a voice. A muffled male voice.
My heart leaps. I sprint forward.
“Hello?” My voice is so loud it cracks the silence. “Can you hear me? Hello?”
A deafening commotion rattles overhead. I emerge from the archway and freeze as a dome lifts from the park, exposing what appears to be striped curtains, a desk lamp … and a bunk bed? Rubbing my eyes does nothing; the scenery remains the same.
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