by Shae Hutto
Amanda, who had taken time out of the excitement to touch up her lipstick in the fold down mirror, screamed again.
“What in blazes?” said Roger, clamping his hands over his wounded ears. Amanda turned and pointed behind them.
“Step on it, Paddy. He’s coming back!” Roger looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the fire truck barreling down on them again.
“Oh, for the love of-,” he began but cut himself off with spine breaking acceleration as he put the car in gear and floored it again. This time it was in self-preservation instead of a perverse speed addiction. The result was similar regardless of motivation. The car exploded into motion like Usain Bolt on meth. Even so, it was starting from a standstill and the fire truck already had a head of steam. It was a close thing. At one point, the truck’s front bumper was barely two feet from the license plate of the Nissan, and Roger was holding his breath in anticipation of being crushed to jelly. In the end, the car’s greater acceleration allowed them to pull ahead rapidly and avoid having fire truck tracks on their heads. But now they had another dilemma. If they continued to speed up, they might catch up with the dragon, which they could see ahead. If they slowed down, they would be caught up with by the insane fire truck.
“The turn is coming up. Slow down so we can turn right, up here,” said Amanda, gesturing at a road sign that proclaimed State Road 52 was just ahead.
“Turn?” asked Roger incredulously. “You’re barking. We can’t turn at this speed. Besides, that great bleeding rig will follow us.”
“I don’t think they’re following us,” she replied. Roger looked in the mirror at the fire truck that was definitely following them.
“They’re definitely following us,” he said.
“I think they’re following the dragon,” she said thoughtfully. “Slow down, dude. You’ll miss it.” They almost did. Thankfully, the lightweight sports car could shed speed almost as fast as it could build it up. Roger angled wide so he could turn at a higher speed than otherwise would have been possible. Even so, they barely got out of the way of the firetruck, which went onto the shoulder in a spiteful attempt to hit them before speeding past in a whirlwind of dust. The trailing firehose took out a speed limit sign and followed the truck in a spray of sparks on the highway.
“Huh. Looks like you weren’t wrong,” Roger said while eyeing the empty rear view mirror. “They weren’t following us. Just raging cafflers. Are all your firemen murderous gits?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Amanda. “They probably stole that firetruck to follow the dragon. I’m guessing whoever it is, they aren’t our friends. Or firemen. Turn here.”
Roger downshifted and turned into a residential neighborhood. “Which house is it?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “Look. Here comes Nick.” Nick was jogging toward them, obviously forewarned, with his new camouflage backpack strapped on and carrying what looked like a small sledge hammer. He was obviously dressed for adventure, all in sturdy black leather and corduroy. Roger brought the car to a halt. Nick ran up to the passenger side door and stared in disbelief at Amanda when she opened the door.
“Did you pick up a hitchhiker?” he asked Roger sarcastically.
“Cop on, Nick. No time for blather. Jump in if you’ll join the craic, lad.”
“What did you just say?” Asked Nick, confused. “What’s a craic?”
“No time, Nick! Toss your kit in the boot and get in. You’ll have to sit in ‘Manda’s lap. You’ll live.”
“Hi,” said Amanda, embarrassed. Roger found the lever that released the hatchback and Nick tossed in his stuff. He spent a few seconds trying to figure out how to sit in Amanda’s lap with the least awkwardness. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” said Amanda and grabbed Nick by the shirt collar and hauled him onto her lap, her initial embarrassment completely gone. “Hit it, Paddy,” she cried gleefully, the door not even closed yet and Nick’s boots sticking out. Roger pulled into the closest driveway to make a three-point turn and soon they were headed back toward the highway. Nick managed to get his feet inside the vehicle and the door closed. He was scrunched painfully into the floorboard, backward, with his face smashed into Amanda’s cleavage. He tried to find an inoffensive place to put his hands.
Amanda’s cell phone rang with a line from Meghan Trainor’s song, “All About That Bass.” The screen showed a picture of Claire, glaring with mismatched eyes, a look of indignant outrage on her face. Obviously, the Claire on the screen wasn’t happy her picture was being taken.
“Hey, girl!” exclaimed Amanda in an upbeat sing song voice. “What’s up?” She listened for a couple of seconds. “Yeah, we got him,” she said into the phone. “We’re on our way back. If we can avoid being smashed to paste by rampaging dragons and firetrucks, we’ll be back in ten.” She listened again. “Long story, Claire-bear. We’ll talk about it when we get back.” Muffled speaking noises emanated from Amanda’s bra. “Nick says ‘hi,’” she said. “Ta ta.” She hung up the phone.
“That was Claire, then?” asked Roger. Amanda looked at him like he had a large sign that read, “STUPID” on his forehead.
“No, it was Clint Eastwood. He told me to make his day.”
Roger grinned. “Now, Clint I know. Dying ain’t much of a living, boy,” he quoted from The Outlaw Josey Wales.
More mumbling drifted up from Amanda’s breast area. She grabbed Nick’s head on both sides and pulled him out of her shirt.
“What did you say, kid?”
“Isn’t he dead?” asked Nick.
“What!?” exclaimed Roger as the car swerved onto the shoulder momentarily.
“No, dimwit, he’s very much alive. Talks to chairs and stuff, but he’s alive. God knows 2016 has claimed enough famous people so far, but it hasn’t gotten Dirty Harry. Yet.” She dropped Nick’s head back onto the patch of drool he had left on her shirt. “Watch where you’re going, dude,” she told Roger. “We don’t want to get there dead.”
“Right,” said Roger, correcting back onto the road. “Oy!” he exclaimed a second later. “What’s that in me mirror?”
Amanda craned her neck around to look out the back-hatch window, shoving Nick almost completely into the foot well. “You gotta be kidding me,” she said incredulously but with a touch of excitement in her voice. “Step on it, Roger. Our big friend is coming back to the party.”
“What friend?” asked Nick from his uncomfortable resting place.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Roger as he gave the car some gas and downshifted, producing a violent howling noise and a burst of acceleration. Nick, who could feel every single pebble in the road in his butt thanks to track-tuned suspension and his uncushioned resting spot, yelped in protest as his head was slammed into Amanda’s knee. “Keep an eye peeled for our other friend upstairs, would ya, love?” he asked Amanda who rolled down her window and stuck out her head to get a look at the sky. Her dirty blonde hair streamed out behind her and she squealed with exhilaration. Then she squealed again in alarm.
“Yeah, he’s coming back. Low and mean. Claire must have stepped back into the library for her thirty-minute check-in,” said Amanda.
“Who is back?!” demanded Nick.
“Connix,” said Roger shortly, shifting back into sixth and flooring the accelerator. They raced away from the fire truck but the dragon was still overtaking them.
“Connix the dragon?” asked Nick in disbelief.
“Well, it ain’t Connix the evil math god, that’s for sure,” said Amanda as she shifted to let Nick get a look out the window. “Take a look at old ugly, yourself.”
Nick maneuvered himself so he could see out the window and before Amanda knew what he was doing, he had a wand pointed out the window and was saying some gibberish words. Massive arcing bolts of electricity blasted from his wand toward the low-flying dragon, who took the blast on his scaly breast and let loose an ear-splitting scream of anger and pain. Next came a roaring ball of flame that Roger couldn’t compl
etely dodge as the dragon recovered from his painful surprise and fought back. Fortunately, Amanda was already rolling up the window and although the car’s paint started peeling and the rear tires momentarily caught fire, the only damage the occupants got were some singed hairs.
“What in hell was that?” screamed Amanda in a voice that amply conveyed both her fear and her excitement.
“What did you do that for, you gobshite?” asked Roger. “He didna know who we were.” He jerked the wheel, slammed on the brakes and swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding another volley of fire. “Ah. He’s worked it out, now, though,” he added unnecessarily.
Amanda had her phone out again. “Get back in the corridor!” she yelled at Claire on the other end. “Before we’re roasted to a crisp. Just do it!” she hung up. “Let’s hope we’re not interesting enough for him,” she told the other passengers. A few seconds later, the dragon answered that question for them as he landed on the highway again, scattering what few cars weren’t already wrecked or abandoned. Obviously, he sensed Claire had left this world, again. He looked after the fleeing sports car for a second as he weighed the importance of the car to the one who had used his eye. Overhead, two military jets ripped through the air with a deafening roar. The dragon took one look at the threatening aircraft and turned back the way he was originally travelling and launched himself back into the air. The fire truck came to a screeching, smoky halt to avoid hitting the dragon and then executed a slow, clumsy turn on the highway and was off again, after Connix once more. “I’ll call her again when we get to the library and not a moment before,” Amanda said with evident relief. She slapped Nick on the head. “Thanks for nothing, doofus.”
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A little later, the fire truck left the highway and trundled out into a field outside of town, raising a small cloud of dust from the dry grass. Minutes before, a massive angry dragon had plunged into the field and vanished with a loud gong noise that reverberated from the surrounding pine forest with eerie resonance, causing startled birds to rise from the trees for miles around. The truck parked in the middle of the field and two black clad figures clambered out. After a moment of silent consultation, they each placed a palm on the ground and their other hand on the fire truck. They spoke dark ominous words and with a sound similar to the one the dragon produced, they fell through the earth. The ground wobbled like Jell-O for a few seconds and reverted to normal solid ground. The twins were gone, and with them went Engine 43.
CHAPTER FIVE: Old Friends
“I don’t like to commit myself about Heaven and Hell- You see, I have friends in both places.”
- Mark Twain
They had wisely elected to ditch the sports car a couple of blocks from the cordon around the library. They were hiding in plain sight as they loitered with a small crowd of looky-loos just outside some police tape. They could see the library doors but were unwilling to risk an open break for them until they knew they could make the elevator do its thing. So far neither Nick nor Amanda had been able to raise Claire on her cell. It kept going straight to voicemail. They also had been forced to reject several attempts by family members to reach them on their own phones. Nick felt guilty about that, especially in light of his too recent disappearance. Roger was visibly impatient, but Amanda seemed to be having the time of her life. Nick had persuaded her to not put their adventure on Twitter or Facebook so far but he would be happier being somewhere that he knew her phone wouldn’t work.
Nick had stowed his masonry hammer in his backpack and the poor thing sagged with all the weight. Roger was having an even more difficult time being inconspicuous with his overcoat in such fine weather. He couldn’t take it off, though. It was hiding his sabre. He was sweating both from wearing an overcoat and from nervousness. Amanda’s cell phone rang and Claire’s glaring face appeared on the screen. Amanda accepted the call and put it on speaker.
“How quickly can you get in here?” Claire asked through the phone.
“We’re looking at it, Claire,” said Amanda. “We can be inside the lobby in less than a minute. But we’ll probably be running from cops, so you better have those elevator doors open.” A woman in her thirties and holding a tea cup poodle looked at them oddly. Nick noticed and motioned for Amanda to take her off speaker. Amanda put the phone to her ear.
“The clock’s already ticking, sister,” she said with emphasis. “That flying lizard is probably on his way back already. I bet we have less than ten minutes.” She listened for a few seconds and then broke the call and put her phone in her pocket. “Time to go,” she said more loudly to Nick and Roger. “Move your butts!” She swatted Roger on his rear end and started running toward the library doors, ducking under the police tape. The three of them made a mad dash for the building and they didn’t even notice whether or not they were pursued, they were so focused. Nick kept imagining a hand grabbing his shoulder, but refused to turn around to see if they were being chased. They didn’t stop at the broken, melted doors but kept right on running until they were at the elevators. They slid inside where Claire and Weenie were waiting on them. They were all grins as the elevator ascended out of reality and into the sanctuary of the otherworldly corridor.
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All five of Claire’s new and expanded crew lounged in the hallway, backs against the wall, as they tried to come up with a practicable plan for how to proceed. They were afraid to enter a world for fear the dragon would follow them there. Nick was absent-mindedly twiddling a small and evil looking dagger in one hand while everyone pretended not to notice his apparent obsession with sharp pointy objects. Amanda had her iPhone out and was listening to music through earbuds with her eyes closed. The rest of the group was almost certain she could hear enough of the conversation to be considered a part of it. Weenie kept restlessly moving from one human to the other, resting his head on their thigh experimentally, seemingly unsatisfied with the restful qualities they offered. Roger and Claire were the only ones who seemed completely engaged with the situation. They did most of the talking.
“We can’t make a move until we get rid of that stupid dragon,” summed up Claire and she expressed her annoyance by throwing a copper coin of unknown provenance against the wall. It bounced and rolled a few feet away before Claire retrieved it and threw it again. Weenie watched with interest from where his head lay for the moment on Nick’s lap. Maybe Claire would throw something worth chasing. Like bacon. Humans threw bacon far too seldom.
“Let’s go over our options again,” said Nick sensibly. The dagger disappeared for the moment.
“Fight it,” suggested Roger. Claire threw the coin at his head. “Ouch,” he exclaimed and glared at her as he rubbed his forehead where the tiny missile had struck.
“Next,” she said dryly as she picked up the coin again.
“We could take him to his bleeding eye, yeah?” offered Roger and looked at Claire warily.
“Lure him to the Queen’s castle,” said Nick.
“Could we talk to him?” asked Amanda, her eyes open for now, and looked hard at Claire’s mismatched eyes, daring her to throw the coin at her.
“That’s brilliant, actually,” said Roger. “How come nobody else has thought of that?”
“Brilliant?” asked Nick incredulously. “I don’t want to be the one nominated to talk to him. I hear being burned to death is one of the most painful ways to go.” He slumped back against the wall. The dagger re-appeared.
“What would we say to him?” asked Claire, fingering her coin ominously. “Assuming we could get him to talk to us and not kill us out of hand.” She paused, then added, “And also assuming he is capable of rational thought and speech.”
“He’s thinking rationally enough to track you across multiple worlds,” said Nick. Amanda nodded enthusiastically and closed her eyes again. Faint traces of Disturbed escaped from her earbuds. Roger and Weenie continued to warily eye the coin in Claire’s hand.
“Oy, Mr. Connix,” joked Roger.
“We can take you to your crystal ball of an Eye and let you roast the beour what nicked it. Just follow us!” Claire threw the coin at Roger’s head again and Weenie launched himself across the corridor, intercepting the copper disk before it could hit Roger, catching it in his mouth. He turned and padded over to Claire, dropped the coin in her lap and sat on his haunches. His tail wagged slightly.
“Wow,” said Claire softly. She patted Weenie on his spotted head and scratched behind his ears, careful to avoid the one mangled by the werewolf. She pulled out her wand and started practicing a new spell she was trying out: a flaming lasso. It kept sputtering and flickering out. She frowned. Roger reached over and grabbed the gross thing Weenie had been chewing on.
“Good boy,” he said happily and tossed the piece of mystery meat down the corridor. Weenie chased after it eagerly. Roger looked with distaste at the slime on his hands and wiped them on the carpet. Claire grinned as she imagined the dismay with which the cleaning bot would regard the resulting stain.
“Yeah,” said Amanda after some thought. “I think we say pretty much exactly that. Once we get his attention, that is.”
“I don’t see how we can get his attention and talk to him without risking being fried like bacon,” said Claire. She tried to lasso Roger with the fiery whip and only succeeded in getting it wrapped around one of her boots. She quickly let the spell go before the boot got too badly burned.
“I have an idea,” said Roger quietly. They all looked at him expectantly.
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Commander Julianne Otto, in command of International Space Vessel (ISV) Ramses, stood at the command console of her ship, monitoring the progress of the shuttle Cleo as it captured an asteroid that looked promising in the mineral department. ISV Ramses and its shuttle currently appeared to hang motionless in inky nothingness, the frigid, inhospitable space around it as cold and empty as any other. The vessel was actually travelling in a near circular ellipse around the sun at about 21 kilometers per second, which is over 47 thousand miles per hour. Although the space around it was empty by human standards, it was jam packed with asteroids by cosmic reckoning. These asteroids were also orbiting the sun at similar velocities and the nearest one to Ramses (besides object 894366) was over twelve miles away and was only the size of a VW Beetle. Asteroid 894366 was twice that size and only half a mile away and its orbital velocity was precisely the same as Ramses, by careful design and execution. Currently, the shuttle Cleo was anchoring six tether lines to the icy rock before getting down to the gritty task of drilling exploratory holes in it. Although the mission of the Ramses was nominally that of exploration and discovery, nobody was averse to bringing home a couple tons of palladium, iridium and gold. Commander Otto’s share would be considerably more than her actual paycheck. She smiled in anticipation of her impending windfall. She turned in puzzlement as she caught the reflection in a data screen of the door to the emergency suit storage. It looked like the door was opening by itself.