The Last Dragon td-92

by Warren Murphy

  And Nancy knew he had been speaking the truth. The realization caused a coldness to settle into her marrow. She wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in her stomach to regurgitate. She settled for staring at King as if he were a ghoul that had stumbled out of a fresh grave.

  King asked, "Listen, those cables? Will they hold him down if he wakes up?"

  "I have no idea. I tranked him for a two-hour ride, with an hour safety margin. He could come around any time now."

  "Uh-oh. What do we do?"

  "You call the authorities before you get in any deeper," Nancy snapped.

  King stood up. "Like you said, two men are dead. It doesn't get any deeper than that."

  King walked to the edge of the loft. He cupped his hands before his mouth and shouted down. "Check the hauler. Maybe there's a trank gun on board."

  Nancy was considering rolling into the back of King's calves and knocking him off his perch when one of the hijackers came through the side door.

  "There's a car coming!" he hissed.

  "Douse the damn lights!" King yelled.

  The lights were connected to a single portable battery. Someone disconnected it and the barn became a great black space in which there was no sense of orientation.

  Then in the blackness, a sound. Low, mournful, but blood-chilling in its implications.

  Harrooo.

  Chapter 24

  The sound came again, louder, freezing the blood of everyone on the old barn's dark confines.

  Harrooo.

  Then something snapped with a metallic twang. Great suspension springs groaned as the hauler shifted on its huge tires.

  "Is that what I think it is?" a wary voice croaked.

  "The lights!" King cried. "Turn the lights back on!"

  "Something's moving down here. Something big."

  Another voice said shrilly, "The groats! Whose got the damn groats?"

  Nancy Derringer strained to see through the inky dark. It was impossible to see more than doubtful shadows.

  "Don't shoot! Whatever you do, don't shoot!" she pleaded.

  "Shoot if you have to!" King howled. "Don't let it get away. It's worth five million, dead or alive."

  Harrooo.

  Remo popped out of his rented car. A moment before, the decrepit old barn had been leaking light from chinks and knotholes and a corner of the roof like a gray old jack-o'-lantern fallen into ruin.

  Every fragment of light went out at once.

  "Must have a sentry posted," Remo muttered.

  The Master of Sinanju said coldly, "It does not matter. We have the fiends where they cannot escape our wrath."

  "Yeah, well they're probably not firing blanks now. We gotta do this so Nancy and the Bronto aren't hurt."

  Then they heard the sound.

  Harrooo.

  "Damn," said Remo. "Now we really have problems." He turned to Chiun. "Listen, I gotta have your word that no matter how this goes, the Bronto comes out of it in one piece."

  "That is our assignment," Chiun said in a thin voice.

  "Keep that in mind. No accidents, no taking advantage of opportunities. Got me?"

  The Master of Sinanju screwed up his tiny face into an amber knot of wrinkles. "I know my emperor's wishes."

  "Okay. Now let's take them."

  They split up, attacking the barn from opposite approaches.

  And the foghorn sound of the Apatosaurus came again-and with it the unmistakable complaints of heavy cables straining and snapping.

  The blat of automatic weapons fire was followed by barnboards being knocked off their frame supports.

  Abandoning stealth, Remo moved in for the side door, his face angry.

  Below the hayloft. Skorpion machine pistols were spitting long tongues of yellow fire, throwing intermittent shadows about the huge barn interior.

  The freakish light illuminated the Apatosaur throwing off its chains. Its goat eyes were coursing about the room, searching, frightened. A rear leg unbent itself and found momentary purchase on the right rear set of oversized tires. The rubber burst under the weight and the Apatosaur's leg slid off. The barn shuddered and shook when the padded leg touched the floor.

  The hauler suspension wasn't equal to the stress. It snapped. The opposite tires broke like thick-skinned balloons. The entire rear end fell and the great pumpkinlike rump of the Apatosaur slowly slid to the haystrewn floor.

  It was screaming now, its mouth open and set like a frightened snake.

  "Don't shoot!" Nancy screeched. "It won't hurt you if you leave it alone."

  "Do what you gotta," King yelled.

  Bound hand and foot, Nancy rolled toward King's standing form. That does it. You're going over the edge if I have to go with you, she thought fiercely.

  Then the side door came off its hinges, jumped six feet, and brought down a man who was trying to draw a bead on the Apatosaur's small, questing head.

  Simultaneously, a cluster of boards at the back splintered and fell and a high, squeaky voice filled the shot-with-gunfire darkness.

  "Surrender, minions of the hamburger king. For your doom is surely upon you."

  Recognizing the voice, Nancy stopped rolling.

  "Remo!" she yelled.

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm up here in the loft. With King. A prisoner!"

  "I'm a little busy right now," Remo said, and men were screaming.

  "What's got me? What's got me?" one shrieked.

  "I do," said Remo, and the sound of human bones snapping came with a finality that was undeniable.

  "What's going on down there?" King yelled.

  A man yelled back. "Something is down here! And it ain't the damn dinosaur!"

  Then a gurgle came from the vicinity of the yelling man, and when King called back to him, there was no answer.

  "Somebody hit the light!" King screamed.

  In the darkness, Skip King became aware of a shape looming in the black empty space before him. It was a long shadow amid patterns of shadow, and he sensed eyes on him even though he couldn't see an inch past his sharp nose.

  Came a low, interested sound: Harrooo.

  And a noxious cloud swept over Skip King. It smelled disagreeably of raw mushrooms.

  Remo was moving through a twilight that only his eyes and those of Chiun's could discern. To everyone else, the barn interior was pitch dark, except when someone expended a clip of ammo.

  Those flashes were growing infrequent now.

  Remo came up behind a man, tapped him on his shoulder, and the nervous man brought his weapon around in a chattering semicircle.

  Before the bullet track could cross Remo's chest, Remo drove two fingers into the back of the unprotected skull, just under his green beret. They came out clean. The two holes squirted blood and thick matter, but Remo had already moved on.

  The Master of Sinanju took hold of a neck in one bird claw hand. He squeezed. The flesh surrendered and then he was holding the hard bones of a man's spine. The bones proved no more resistant than the flesh, and the man struggled briefly then hung limp in the Master of Sinanju's grasp.

  Chiun dropped him onto the growing pile of bodies and turned to another foe. This one was walking blindly in the darkness, his eyes so wide they threatened to pop from his fear-struck skull. He was sweeping his weapon around, prepared to execute shadows.

  Except that he could not even see shadows.

  So the Master of Sinanju gave him a voice to shoot at.

  "I know something you don't know," he taunted.

  The weapon muzzle shifted and erupted in angry challenge.

  But the Master of Sinanju had already stepped behind the man, saying, "You missed. As I knew you would."

  The man whirled. His bullets peppered the walls and shook hay down from the rafters.

  "Damn!" he cursed, removing an ammunition clip and replacing it with a fresh one. He had drawn close to the great tail that lay uncoiled the length of the floor, unawares.

  "You may try again, blind one," Chiun sq
ueaked.

  This time the man stopped in his tracks and pivoted, firing.

  The Master of Sinanju effortlessly dipped under the stream of crude metal. He came to his full height once more, his voice a strident bell.

  "You are defenseless now."

  "Says you." And the gunman got off a final shot. One bullet. The round struck the hauler, ricocheted twice, and struck the Apatosaur in the thick meaty part of the tail.

  The tail twitched in the darkness, and blood oozed.

  Seeing this, the Master of Sinanju gave a cry of anger.

  "Aiieee!"

  His sandled feet left the ground floor in a leaping kick. One foot caught the gunman in the head, imploding his blind, fear-strained face. The Master of Sinanju landed gently on the body as it struck the floor.

  Then he stepped off the quivering hulk to examine the injury done to the ugly African dragon whose bones meant long life.

  Skip King was staring into a darkness that seemed to be staring back at him. His mouth felt dry.

  "Somebody," he croaked. "Anybody. Turn on the lights. "

  Somebody did. The hauler's headlights blazed suddenly. They made the back of the barn a cauldron of white light and tall shadows.

  Skip King stood on the edge of the loft, blinking into the cold reptilian gaze of a backlit serpentine head.

  "Oh shit," he said.

  Nancy called out, "Remo! Are you all right?"

  "Who do you think turned on the lights?"

  "Thank God."

  "Somebody tell this thing to stop looking at me like that." King said in a voice that was unnaturally low. "He's all right. Thank God he's all right," Nancy sobbed.

  "Uh-oh," said Remo.

  Nancy started. "What?"

  "Old Jack caught one in the tail."

  "Bad?"

  "Looks like a scale wound, or something. It doesn't seem to be bothering him. It's just standing here."

  "It's looking at King."

  "I don't like the way it's looking at me," King said. "It's creepy."

  "You'd better get back," Nancy warned.

  "Why?"

  "Because it's been shot in the tail. It could go berserk at any time."

  "Wouldn't it already be berserk?" asked King in a dazed voice. He was just standing there, like a jumper on a ledge.

  "The Apatosaurus is so long that nerve impulses have to be relayed along the spinal column through an organic relay near the tail," Nancy said. "Like a booster station."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It's been hit in the tail. But doesn't know it yet. When the pain reaches the brain, there's no telling what will happen."

  "Oh," said King, talking a step backward. He took another.

  Then the placid goat eyes staring at him flared. The Apatosaur suddenly acted as if it had whiplash. It reared up, a titan of black-and-orange flesh, on its rear legs. The forefeet hanging before it, it thrashed its long neck about the barn, banging its head and snout against the rafters like a snake in a box. Wood splintered and showered down.

  Harrdunk. Harruuunkk. Harruunkk.

  "Oh shit," said King.

  The fit of pain was over quickly. Still balanced on its rear legs, the head righted itself, and eyes questing, its crazed gaze fell on one figure.

  The head dipped, looming closer, every tooth in its yawning mouth exposed.

  Nancy tried to roll out of the way. King stumbled back.

  "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" he was screaming, waving the orange snout away.

  His heels encountered an obstacle. He looked back and saw Nancy, lying there, all but helpless.

  Skip King knew opportunity when he saw it. He pulled Nancy to her feet and got her in front of him, trying to use her as a shield.

  "King! Let go, you jerk!"

  King cowered behind his prisoner. "Don't let it get me, Mommy! Don't let it get me!"

  The head snaked down, a splash of orange with blazing eyes.

  Frantic, Nancy brought her heels down on King's feet. They dodged. In her ears was King's voice screaming-inarticulately now.

  The scream was cut off as if by a blow. The snap of great teeth coming together sounded over her head.

  King's grip suddenly went away, and Nancy knew to duck.

  Looking up, she beheld Skip King, arms and legs jittering, being carried away. His head was in the Apatosaur's mouth and it had closed. The rest of him dangled like so much clothed meat.

  As she watched, the creature threw its head back, upending it. And Skip King went down the long gullet like so much cabbage.

  Nancy watched in blue-eyed horror, then turned her head away at the sight of King's tasseled loafers slipping from sight.

  Remo was at her side a moment later, his strong fingers shredding her bonds.

  "You okay?" he was asking.

  "What about Jack?" Nancy asked in a shaken voice.

  "I was hoping you had some ideas."

  The Apatosaur was gyrating its long neck, trying to get the too-large morsel down. It wasn't succeeding. It moved its rear legs clumsily, trying to hold on to its precarious balance.

  "It's going to choke! Can't we do something?"

  Remo called down. "Chiun-any suggestions?"

  Chiun's voice floated up. "Do not fear."

  And the Master of Sinanju was suddenly a fluttery shape on the creature's great dappled back. He leaped onto the neck with the agility of a monkey seizing a coconut tree bole. And like a monkey, he climbed to a point just under the jaw hinge.

  There, Chiun took hold of either side of the reptile's muscular throat and gave a hard twist. The crack of vetebra was audible.

  "No!" Nancy screamed.

  "Damn," said Remo.

  The serpent's head came down, dropped its uneaten meal, and raced it to the floor.

  Every rafter and roof shake shook off dust and grit when the monster slammed into the floor.

  The Master of Sinanju leaped off the collapsed carcass to land on the floor. He paused, inserted his fingers into the sleeves of his kimono, and regarded the two pairs of horror-struck eyes-Remo's and Nancy's-with unconcern.

  "It is done," he intoned. "The beast has been quelled. I await my deserved reward."

  Chapter 25

  "It is not dead," intoned the Master of Sinanju when they climbed down to join him at the Apatosaur's side.

  Nancy's eyes, hot with tears of anger, went to the creature's head. She placed a hand in front of its nostrils. They grew instantly moist and warm.

  Then she buried her head in its orange forehead and sobbed in immense relief.

  "It was only a realigning of the spine, producing unconsciousness," Chiun announced.

  Remo blinked. "Chiropractic?"

  "Did I ever tell you, Remo, how a Master of Sinanju, penniless and stranded far from his village, divulged certain secrets of Sinanju to a foreigner in return for passage home, and centuries later, a new breed of charlatan became as numerous as cockroaches in Europe?"

  "Never mind," said Remo. He examined the hauler. The back was ruined. It looked as if Godzilla had sat on it hard.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm not up to moving this thing again," he said to no one in particular. "Never mind where we could put it."

  Nancy came up, wiping at red eyes.

  "I was taking Punkin to the Zoological Gardens in Philadelphia. I have a friend there. Burger Triumph would have to sue to get it back."

  "Good plan. Too bad you didn't make it."

  Nancy walked around the beast, which was limned by the hauler headlights. She stood near the back, the belly of the Apatosaur was clearly exposed.

  "It's a bull!" she gasped.

  The Master of Sinanju looked to his pupil. "The strain is obviously too much for this woman, Remo. She now believes this hideous dragon is a bull."

  "I think she means it's a bull Bronto, as in a male."

  Frowning, the Master of Sinanju floated over to where Nancy was kneeling to satisfy his curiosity. He returned almost at once, his w
rinkled face crimson with embarassment.

  "It is definitely male. And that woman is leering at its maleness in a disgusting way."

  "Nancy's allowed. She's a cryptozoologist."

  The side door opened and Remo and Chiun dropped into tense crouches, ready to attack or defend as the circumstance warranted. A rustic-looking man with an odd fringe of a beard and a quaint round-brimmed hat poked his head in, saw them, and said in a Germanic voice, "Who is in my barn at this hour making such noises?"

  "This your barn?" asked Remo.

  "Ja."

  "We want to rent it for a few days," Remo said.

  "Why should I rent you English my barn?"

  "Or we can just leave this bull Brontosaurus for you to clean up?" Remo said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder.

  The man looked past Remo for the first time, eyes going round as the brim of his hat.

  "How many dollars per day vill you pay?" he asked.

  "As many as you want if you leave us alone," Remo replied.

  "I do this. Danke. " He clapped the door shut behind him.

  "Who was that?" Nancy asked, coming around to see.

  "Some Amish guy," said Remo.

  "Amish?"

  "We're in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Didn't you know?"

  "No. My God! That poor man. What will he tell his family?"

  "If he's smart, nothing." Remo was looking at Skip King's broken body lying in the hay. "I thought you said they ate only vegetables."

  Nancy refused to look at the body. "They do. Old Jack wasn't trying to eat King, just to punish him. I guess he recognized King from Africa. He was probably the first human being he ever saw."

  "Well, he's a used doggy chew-bone now," Remo said.

  The Master of Sinanju strode up to Nancy and fixed her with his stern hazel eyes.

  "I have twice rescued this ugly beast," he said, his wispy chin held high.

  "That's true," said Nancy.

  "I claim my reward."

  "Little Father-" Remo began.

  The Master of Sinanju cut him off with a curt chop of his hand. "When this noble creature expires at the end of its natural span, its bones are mine."

  Nancy had been holding her breath. She let it out in surprise. "If I have anything to say about it, it's a deal."

  The Master of Sinanju bowed, and with a last forlorn look at the slumbering dragon of Africa, he padded from the barn.

  "Remo, you will give this woman our secret telephone number."