Dragon's War

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by Ehsani, Vered


  For being Lavack’s official “fortress,” it was alarmingly easy to bust out. Okay, I was used to Grogan’s Headquarters, the building that used to house Dragon’s brain. Now that was one top-security building, with all the latest and greatest gadgets and systems. And I’d gotten out of that one with Dragon. Compared to that escape, this was easy.

  The key card helped too.

  Apart from the hillbilly banjo lover and a few sleepy guards, the building was empty. No one challenged me, which I found a bit strange. I didn’t question it though. If my luck could hold out a bit longer, I’d be home free. Or at least free.

  The stairs exited into the vacant expanse of a lobby. I tilted my head forward so my hair covered my face and ignored the two guards lounging behind their giant desk nearby. I couldn’t tell you what they looked like. I really didn’t want to know. If I could see them, they could see my face.

  One of them chuckled. They were supposed to be watching the monitors. But watching security monitors all night isn’t that amusing. I bet they were watching TV. Otherwise, they would’ve seen me sneaking around before, surely.

  I headed for the turnstiles and tapped the key card against the small scanner on a narrow pillar. Something beeped loudly in response. I mean, sonic loud in the silence. All that was missing was a huge, cartoon-style neon arrow blinking above my head, reading Prisoner Escape. I pushed through the turnstile, cold metal pushing against my shirt, squeezing my clenched stomach, and focused on the main doors.

  “Mr. Burnes?” a guard called out.

  Who the heck is Mr. Burnes? I wondered. Glanced at the card right before I stuffed it into my pocket. Duh. It must be the banjo lover.

  I heard the other guard mutter, “I don’t think so.” Chairs scrapped against the floor.

  Did I actually think this building was easy to get out of? Oops.

  Keep calm. Keep walking. I repeated the mantra as footsteps clicked against the cold tiles. The sharp clicks echoed around me, closed in behind me. I sped up, keeping my eyes on the prize: the doors leading to freedom and Dragon.

  “Miss, please stop where you are,” the guard ordered.

  I slapped my hand against a handle and the front door swished open.

  “Miss, stop now.” The shout was accompanied by a snapping sound (a holster flap being opened, most likely) and running.

  Time to move.

  Abandoning the calm walk, I began to run. A sharp, salty breeze blew in from the ocean, flapped my hair behind me, and carried the shouts and the alarm away from my ears.

  I still heard someone chasing me.

  That meant he was close. Way too close. I upped the sprint to an Olympic dash. Yeah, that’s a joke. No way could I keep up the pace. I’m nowhere near Olympic-fitness level. More like lab rat who never uses the exercise wheel level. Before me, there was a large expanse of driveway, parking and grass. It stretched out forever.

  Somewhere in my slightly panicking mind a little voice lectured, You really need to get into shape, Myranda Thalia Johansson. A seventeen-year-old shouldn’t be huffing and puffing like this.

  The rest of me told the little voice to shut up. Because a seventeen-year-old shouldn’t be racing through the night, trying to stop a war and save a friend. I veered away from the open area towards a lush, jungle garden on my right. There I had a chance. I could lose the guards in the unlit domesticated wildness. At least, it sounded like a good idea at the time.

  Problem was, I was going to lose myself in the little jungle. Or trip over something. Which I did, several times. I heard one of the guards behind me doing the same. I squeezed into the middle of a rhododendron bush and kept quiet. The guy passed right by me. I listened as his tripping and cursing veered along a different route.

  A mosquito buzzed around my ear. I stayed still, willing it to zip into a spider web and go to mosquito hell. Fat chance. It must’ve had its own guardian mosquito angel. I figured when I couldn’t hear the insect anymore, it must’ve attached itself to one of my veins.

  Another guard came crashing through the undergrowth, following the shouts of the first. Soon the sounds of pursuit faded into the leafy darkness.

  The murmur of ocean waves beckoned me forward. I extracted myself from the bush, shuffling through the dark, and walked into a spider web.

  Yeah, great, thanks a lot, I thought as I brushed the sticky stuff off my face. Where the heck were you when I needed you?

  I kept expecting to walk into a wall or fence or some kind of perimeter security system, but I didn’t plant my face into anything, apart from the spider web. Ahead of me the foliage began to thin. A streetlight reflected off a ribbon of asphalt, a long, thin oil slick following the curve of the coast.

  It can’t be this easy, I thought as I brushed another cobweb off my ear.

  I hate being right all the time.

  I almost walked into the electric fence. So glad I didn’t. That would’ve been shocking, ha ha. Almost as shocking as my lousy jokes. I glared at the barrier. So close. I could see across the road to the pebble-strewn beach and the tips of a couple waves, frothing just before they collapsed on the shore. A rocky outcrop jutted out from the shore. The same one Blade almost crashed into when he’d helped rescue my mom and me. A small red star twinkled as it moved over the ocean towards the outcrop. Blade’s speedboat, approaching fast.

  Freedom. And all that barred my path was a fence made of several wires each carrying about 5,000 volts of energy. Not enough to kill (unless I wrapped myself around it), but it would sure give me a zap to remember and alert the guards to my position.

  Short of sprouting wings, I didn’t have a lot of options. I could dig my way under. Two problems with that: I was running out of time. And the fence had a concrete lip running along the bottom which might go down into the ground deeper than I was prepared to dig.

  I began looking for Y-shaped branches. Darned if I was going to let a little electricity stop me. Or the sound of people shouting through the forest or the increased blare of a siren. I had a plan: I’d widen the gap between the two bottom wires. The problem with that plan? You mean, apart from the chance I might get zapped big time? Moving the wires would cause the second and third wires to touch, triggering an alarm. Or should I say, another alarm.

  “Squirm fast,” I muttered as I found one suitable branch on the ground. A few minutes later, I snapped another one off a small tree.

  I propped the Y end of the two branches under the second wire and pushed the other end into the ground. From somewhere far behind me, a second siren wailed and tyres screeched. I didn’t dwell on it or the fact that only two flimsy sticks were keeping 5,000 volts off my back. I dove headfirst through the gap, supporting my torso on my forearms.

  Noise. Shouting reverberated through the silent night. A vehicle roaring down from Lavack’s fortress.

  I finished my squirming, wiped muddy handprints down my pants in a futile attempt to clean up, and ran. As my sneakers hit the tarmac, a security jeep swerved onto the road from off to my left. It was far enough away that I couldn’t see the driver. But close enough that the spotlight on its roof snared me in its glare.

  More shouting. Some of it from me. None of it intelligible. Small, wave-worn stones skittered under my feet as I landed on the beach. Stumbled, more like it. Almost twisted my ankles. But I kept running, my eyes fixed on the red beacon at the back of Blade’s boat. So close.

  The jeep roared down the road and skidded to a stop where I’d crossed over. The searchlight and shouting flooded the beach. Ahead, the boat revved into life, the red light twinkling against the darkness.

  He won’t wait for me, I thought. He won’t risk his own freedom for mine. I didn’t blame him.

  Adrenalin surged through me faster than a sugar rush after cotton candy. My gasping lungs became irrelevant as my legs dashed over the treacherous stones. I might’ve even run on top of the water, I was going so fast.

  Maybe not.

  I heard my legs splashing through the waves, but I
didn’t feel the water. All I could feel were Blade’s big, warm hands grabbing mine. The next breath, he yanked me into the boat and dropped me. My legs were barely inside before he gunned the engine and we shot off into the watery horizon.

  The cotton candy sugar rush sensation dissolved pretty fast. The bottom half of my pants were soaked with cold, salty water. My limbs were quaking and quivering and my lungs sounded like they were one gasping breath short of collapse. I dragged myself onto the cushioned seat and lay down.

  Blade glanced towards my huddled heap of a body, grinned and said, “Just like the good old times, eh, gorgeous?”

  I growled some response. I hated all the nicknames Blade directed at me. In hindsight (lots and lots of hindsight, with a sprinkle of maturity), I figure I probably should’ve been a tad more gracious. I mean, it wasn’t his fault Lavack locked me up and wanted to kill my best friend. And Blade had just risked his own freedom to help me out, again. All in all, he was a good guy.

  Like I said: hindsight. At the time, I was just irritated and obnoxious. I had my reasons. None of them that great, to be honest, but I still felt my scowl was justified.

  His grin widened. I think he got a kick out of pushing my buttons. And as if to prove that suspicious correct, he added, “So, cupcake, what do you want to do next?”

  I reflected on my options: respond with a snarky comment, possibly insulting the guy who was making a habit of rescuing me (although I doubt Blade could ever get insulted; his skin’s too thick); pretend to find his button-pushing faintly amusing; or go to sleep.

  I opted for the third choice.

  Chapter 5: Dragon

  The starless void beckons me, but I resist its pull. I don’t need to escape pain or the torment of my mother’s grief or my own. This time is different. This time, I want to return. I’m just waiting.

  I spin lazily around stars and planets, my red scales glittering along my back, my golden eyes glowing brighter than the sun. My shimmering spider web wings sparkle like dewdrops on gold lace.

  I coil my long tail around an asteroid and perch there, watching the universe stream by me. I’m used to waiting. And here, in my dragon’s dream, I’m at peace.

  My thoughts flicker through memories and I find one of Myth’s favourite quotes from Albert Einstein: “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” She has her own reasons for liking it, and so do I.

  This place, my dragon form, the universe dancing around me, all of it is just an illusion. But for now, it’s comfortingly real, a friendlier reality than my other existence as a bodiless brain trying to be human.

  The dream ends.

  Chapter 6: Dragon

  In the midst of my dream, I reflect on death. You’re considered dead when your heart stops beating for a prolonged period of time. Beyond a certain point, they don’t try to revive you. It’s just not worth the cost, plus all the after-treatment needed if there’s brain damage, not to mention the lawsuits. Nope, not worth the hassle. No heartbeat, no life.

  And that puts me in a rather awkward position. I don’t even have a heart to beat. So does that mean I’m not alive?

  Before my brain became MindOpS, before my heart stopped beating, before I’d joined Blade’s smuggling gang and about the time I became a dragon boat racer, I’d signed an organ donor card. Grogan Ltd had only just started developing lab-grown organs, so there was still a need for human donors.

  Only later did I realise that I should’ve done the following:

  Read the fine print;

  Find out what my organs would be used for;

  Re-read points 1 and 2.

  As it turns out, the term “organ” included the brain. I didn’t know that at the time. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have thought much of it. What would anyone want my brain for? There’s no such thing as a brain transplant (as much as some people might need one).

  That’s where the trouble began. I didn’t know the brain was an organ, and I didn’t read the fine print and I had no clue what my various parts would be used for, in the unlikely event of my early demise. So when I was murdered in a not-so-accidental boat mishap at the ripe old age of twenty-one, my heart went in one direction, my lungs in another, and my brain was sent to a lab that was researching alternative management software systems.

  It turns out the human brain plugs in very nicely.

  I spent the next ten years plugged into Sana Island’s control centre. They thought I’d lost my memory. Well, I lost my body, my heart and a whole lot of other parts, not to mention all the things I used to do with all those parts. But I guarantee you I have not lost my mind. And I remember everything. I remember my life, my loves, my dragon boat racing dream, the mother whose howl of grief reached into the dark void of my coma, and the people who betrayed me.

  Especially them, the ones who did this. I’ve opened up a special file in a corner of my mind just for them, and then made back-up copies in various locations. I’m not going to forget them.

  But at this moment, my concern isn’t about the traitors or the misleading fine print or what Grogan Ltd did to my brain. This isn’t about me. I have nothing to risk except my memories. My fear is about a girl who knows how to risk everything and is prepared to do so. And a city about to turn into hell.

  But mostly, it’s about the girl.

  I know she can’t come back. She’d promised she would, but I know it’s not possible. Still, there’s an illogical part of me, a part that confuses illusion with reality, which hopes and asks: Where are you, Myth?

  Chapter 7: Myth

  “You sure, pumpkin?”

  If I gritted my teeth any harder, I’d have none left.

  “Name’s Myth,” I squeezed out from pursed lips. “Not pumpkin. Not sugar or honey, either. In fact, it doesn’t sound like any other food or condiment you could ever think of in any language. It’s Myth.”

  Blade shrugged his broad shoulders, his large and heavily tattooed hands fixed onto the steering wheel of the speedboat. A salty breeze flicked his dreadlocks away from his face. The glimmerings of dawn glowed on his dark skin, glinted off his very white teeth. “Whatever you say, little lady. You still haven’t answered the question. You real sure you want to go back to that island? What with all you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like the safest place.”

  “Yes. I’m sure,” I said, trying to sound confident. “We need to…”

  “Whoa there.” Blade held up a warning hand. “We do not need to do anything. You might need to, but not ‘we.’”

  Insufferable man. An unfair thought, I know, but I wasn’t in the mood to be generous with praise. I glared at the expanse of dark blue ahead of us, with Sana Island floating in the midst of it. A green blip on the vastness of the ocean. A big green blip on the radar of gamblers everywhere. Overhead, distant stars retreated before the emerging rays of our local star.

  “Fine,” I snapped, watching the shoreline approach. We were landing near the abandoned warehouse district. No one should be around to see us, or me, since there was no “us” or “we.” No security monitors either. “Stay safe in your boat. I need to get on that island.” I jabbed a finger, just to clarify the situation. “I’m going there, finding Dragon and getting him away.”

  “How? How’re you going to get him away?”

  I stared at the man, his skin obscured by tattoos and scars and the fading darkness. Good question. “I… I assumed you’d help. That you’d be waiting.” I clenched my hands to keep from biting my nails. Good question. How was I going to get Dragon off the island? “Stupid me. Bad assumption. Forget it. Just forget it. Why don’t you just throw me out right here? I’ll swim to shore and figure it out.”

  “Hey, sunshine, no need to get so excited there,” he said in a soothing voice, slowing the boat down and turning to me. “I’ll help you out. Well, I’ll help Dragon out. I guess I owe him one.”

  My hands unclenched and I chewed on my pinkie nail. Both my thumbnails had been completely exhausted of chewable bits
a couple weeks ago. They can’t grow fast enough for me. If Grogan sold specially designed, fast-growing nails, I’d be their number one customer, hands down.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because you’re a damsel in distress,” he said grandly, “and deep underneath, I’m a real gentleman.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, really deep, deep underneath. I meant why do you owe him?”

  Blade shifted around to watch the shoreline. If it hadn’t been so dark, I could’ve seen the seabed below us. “That’s between him and me, Myth.”

  “So you do know my name,” I said. I was so going to interrogate Dragon. What hold did he have over this guy? Why? And how did they ever associate with each other? Okay, that probably sounds more snobbish than I meant it. But Dragon and Blade were so utterly and totally different.

  You mean, the Dragon you know, a little voice insinuated. You have no clue what his life was like before. Do you really want to find out?

  I hate that little voice. Always popping up to ruin the party. Truth can be a bummer, I guess.

  Sand grated gently against the underside of the boat as we coasted to a stop. Casting a shadow over us was the remnants of the old pier. Not much left of it, apart from a few of the pillars. Its boardwalk had long since decayed. Blade tied his speedboat to a pillar and jumped onto the sand. His boots left deep imprints in the saturated sand. My shoes barely left an indent.

  “Hey, I thought you weren’t coming?” I prodded as I followed him up the beach.

  He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m a gentleman. Can’t let a little lady wander off into danger unescorted.”

  And as annoying as he could be, and as capable as I felt to look after myself, I admit I was grateful for the company. I’d never admit that to him, not then anyways. But I was grateful.

  We paused as our feet left sand and dune grass. We were standing at the edge of the warehouse district. The warehouses were the first buildings erected on the island, near the outskirts of the city, at the north-east edge of the man-made landmass. They had stored equipment and materials for constructing Grogan’s vision of a city that was an ultra-modern, ultra-safe destination for responsible investment and high-stakes gambling. Rundown and shabby, the old buildings are slated for demolition, to make way for new housing. No point in maintaining the rusted metal roofs and the cracked sidewalks overtaken by weeds and dune grass.

 

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