by C Sharp
Mr. Derek Fitz sat within the curved bank of video monitors in the security epicenter of the building, but his eyes were glued to the newly downloaded porn playing silently on his laptop instead. He was tuned out to the constant chatter of the science geeks jabbering away on channel 4 in one ear, while waiting for the next officious announcement from that blowhard Mr. Duncan in the other. He was sick of it.
In his early twenties, Mr. Fitz had been a guard at the maximum-security wing of Sing Sing Prison. Once he’d dropped two men with a rifle from a hundred yards as they’d tried to escape under a fence, and another time he’d gone in hard with nothing but a plastic shield and a baton to stop a riot in progress, and he’d liked it.
In his early thirties, he’d joined Blackwater Securities and done two tours in Iraq, running protection for dignitaries and securing trucking convoys through the worst parts of Baghdad. He’d been with a team of real heavy hitters then, South African mercs and ex-Soviet commandos who loved to use knives. That had been the best job of his life, right up until some pantywaist in the Army turned him and the boys in for giving a family of terrorists exactly what they deserved.
Now he was here, stuck in Podunk, Virginia, on a team of tough-guy-wannabes and sitting on the bench at that. He knew it was that little McClellan girl who’d taken his radio, and he dreamed of smacking that smug look off her cute little face and showing her who was boss. Maybe he could teach her unbelievably hot mom a thing or two while he was at it…
He looked up from his computer and scanned the monitors around him. The power was steady again, but he was keeping the backup generator online just in case. Aside from the occasional shuffling by of some office drone or tech nerd, the hallways and parking lots were empty tonight, but then his eyes flitted back to the hulking shape of the sleeping thing. Even now, weeks later, it still freaked him out. There was simply no way that such a creature, whatever the hell it might be, should be able to exist—it wasn’t natural!
He didn’t know why they hadn’t killed it on day one and cut it open to see what made it tick. Instead, they made him sign the longest nondisclosure agreement he’d ever seen. And every day since, he’d watched as they fed it, washed it, and kept it drugged but alive. As he scanned the various close-up angles, another team of white-coat lab geeks stepped into the shot with a heaping cart of raw meat. He shuddered as the sleeping thing’s jaws opened in anticipation with some unconscious response to the stink of flesh. As the first hunk of meat was thrown, the jaws snapped shut like a giant bear trap, and the little dork in white actually jumped back. Then the long rows of sharp teeth slowly opened again… The sight of it feeding turned his stomach every time.
Mr. Fitz glanced to the assault rifle leaning against the desk, and he had the impulse to walk down there and put a bullet square in the center of the thing’s diamond-shaped head. But he knew that if he did that, he’d be stuck in nine tiers of legal hell for the rest of his damned life… If he didn’t find a way to burn off some of this steam soon, he was going to get himself into trouble one way or another. With a last hateful glance, he swiveled his chair away and returned his eyes to the girls on the computer.
• • •
Stan tossed another hunk of semifrozen meat, and again the jaws snapped shut with enough force to blast a jet of hot air in his thankfully covered face. He shot Chloe a wide-eyed look over his shoulder, and she gave him a reassuring nod.
“Just keep it going, and remember to act like this is all part of the routine,” she encouraged before wheeling a cart laden with unidentifiable electronic equipment past him. The front wheel wobbled and squeaked as she moved down the length of Uktena’s splayed form. Up close, she could see that what had looked like a dull, mottled coloring to his scales from afar was really a patchy translucence that had spread across his hide. With every breath, she could hear the thick rattle of gunk in his lungs, like rocks grinding together. She wanted to put her hands against him, beg for him to wake, wondering if her desperate shouts might rouse him from the drug-induced torpor that had taken hold, but she knew that wouldn’t help.
Instead, she tried to appear clinical and indifferent as she continued to push the cart toward Uktena’s heavily chained back haunches. Kirin and Ezra walked behind her, both of them painfully aware of the many cameras trained on their backs and the likelihood that someone was probably watching them at that very moment. Using his back to shield his hands, Kirin slipped his lock-picking set from his waistline and palmed his largest torsion wrench and his luckiest pick for heavy-duty padlocks.
The head-sized lock that secured the thick, iron cuff around the dragon’s ankle was bigger and far more impressive than anything he had previously tackled. The giant, obsidian-clawed foot that it held at bay was another concern altogether. Kirin’s hands were shaking as they drew close. Chloe maneuvered the cart to block him and then made a show of turning the machine on and flipping an array of switches. It protested with a series of offended beeps before achieving a steady green line on a digital wavelength screen. She came around the back and handed Kirin a couple of protruding electrodes before motioning toward the lock.
“Good luck,” she whispered with a helpful smile from behind the plastic of the mask. “And hurry up,” she added with an unhelpful wink before turning to meet Ezra’s close analysis of the dragon’s spinal structure.
Ezra had purloined a clipboard with graph paper and had drawn a surprisingly accurate depiction of Uktena’s back. He seemed to be measuring the length from the floor to the bony ridge that Chloe had clung to in the dream.
“Anything of concern, Dr. Richardson?” she asked.
“Doesn’t it seem like you could climb up and sit right there,” he suggested with a point. “Almost like it was meant to be ridden?”
“Yes, it does,” she answered with a meaningless notation on her own clipboard. “And just for the record, I’m really glad you came with us tonight.”
“Me too,” he answered with a nod. “I think I’m meant to be a part of it.”
“Doctor,” Stan called from the other end, bringing Chloe at a swift walk. He was almost done with the meat, but this time as the monstrous jaws opened, Stan thought that he saw a ripple of blue spark in the dark recess of its gullet. He swung the camera up with his other hand to catch it, but it was too late. He took a wary step back, noticing that one of its oddly blue lizard eyes had opened slightly, but there was a milky film across the surface and the black slit in the center remained unfocused.
“Any change?” Chloe asked as she came up beside him. She fought back the urge to glance at the wall of cameras facing her.
“I thought I saw something, but I’m not sure,” muttered Stan. “Do you think I should give him the espresso bomb?”
Chloe looked into Uktena’s sickly eye for a long moment without answering. “No, finish with the meat first and hopefully he’ll respond… I’m not really sure what caffeine will do to him,” she admitted with another deliberate but meaningless notation.
“Righto,” Stan answered as the fanged maw scissored wide again.
The voices in Chloe’s ear crackled to life. “This is Car 4—I’ve got an empty black van in the freight lot that wasn’t here on my last pass—do you have it on camera, Foot 1?” asked Brent, trying to sound professional and not quite pulling it off.
Chloe’s eyes bugged and her breath locked in her throat.
The weasely voice of Mr. Fitz came next. “That’s a negative, Car 4—it doesn’t show up on any of my angles.”
Mr. Duncan chimed in. “Car 4, take a closer look and run the plates on the scanner.”
“Copy that,” answered Brent as Chloe snapped out of her temporary paralysis.
“We might need to speed this up.” She tried to remain calm. “They’ve found the van.”
Stan was sweating heavily and the visor of his hazmat helmet was fogging. He tried to think through any incriminating evidence in the car. “It’s cool, dude,” he reassured. “There’s nothing there to give
us away.”
Chloe shut her eyes and gritted her teeth. DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! She could clearly imagine Brent leaning into the van’s tinted windows just as the beam from his high-powered flashlight came to rest on the perfectly framed photos of her resting face up on the back seat… There was a long pause on the radio.
“Uh, Foot 1, this is Car 4—we may have a problem—do you have anything strange on any of your cameras?—over,” asked Brent Meeks with a nervous edge.
“What am I looking for here?—over,” pushed Mr. Fitz.
There was another long pause as Brent thought about how to answer. Chloe’s heart pounded with almost enough vigor to break a rib.
“I’m not sure, Foot 1—anyone who isn’t supposed to be there?—over.”
We are totally screwed! “They’re looking for us!” Chloe blurted out as Stan’s head whipped around, and Kirin’s masked face popped up from behind the machine.
Just then, another voice crackled across the line. “Hi, uh, security team?—This is Dr. Markson—we’re right in the middle of this thing, and I’m picking up cross-chatter from you guys—I’m going to need you to switch to a different channel.”
Dr. Markson is trying to buy us time. “Change of plan! Give him the espresso bomb now!” Chloe announced.
“Are they coming?” Kirin hissed from the other end of the dragon. His eyes remained calm, but the visor of his mask sucked in and out at a rapid clip.
“This is Car 1—I want a full team switch to channel 15 on three.”
“Not yet, but it won’t be long!” Chloe answered across the vast room with an unfortunate echo.
“One—two—three,” said Mr. Duncan in her ear before the line went quiet.
Chloe watched Stan throw the last hunk of meat into Uktena’s snapping jaws before she switched the walkie-talkie dial to channel 15.
“This is Car 1—Car 4, did you get an ID on the plates yet—copy?” said Mr. Duncan in her ear.
“Yes,” answered Brent. “The plates were last registered to a Dodge Ram owned by a Milford Boone in 2003—but I think—”
“Car 4—I want you to try the doors,” interrupted Mr. Duncan.
“Sir—is that legal?” asked Brent.
Chloe watched as Stan plucked the ten-pound sack of ground espresso from the lower level of the rolling cart and hesitated as the jaws cranked open again. “It’s in a plastic bag. Do I just throw it all in there?” She could no longer see his face past the fog across his visor.
The chatter continued in Chloe’s ear. “Car 4, this is Car 1—for the duration of this test, that car is on government property without permit—I want you to gain entry to the vehicle and perform a thorough search immediately—copy?”
“Copy that,” said Brent with a nervous hitch in his voice.
“Just open one end and toss it in,” Chloe urged as the scrape of metal on metal sounded from the dragon’s rear leg.
“Damn,” Kirin hissed from behind the continually flat-lining machine.
Stan yanked his hazmat helmet up to rest on his forehead and gulped fresh air.
“Stan, the cameras!” Chloe reminded.
“Dude, I can’t see anything.” He opened one end of the golden bag with the immediate release of a strong waft of coffee, and stepped closer to the bared fangs than he’d yet dared. With a delicate toss, the bag went in with the same snapping response. He quickly moved back beside Chloe as she made another fake notation on her clipboard.
“Sir—this is Car 4,” Brent coughed before the line went silent a moment.
“Go Car 4?” pressed Mr. Duncan impatiently.
“Sir, I’ve searched the car—I have reason to believe that… someone may be illegally on the premises—over,” said Brent, like he didn’t want to admit it.
“Foot 1—do you have anything on the cameras?” Mr. Duncan asked, just as a loud, heaving grunt came from Uktena’s throat and a fast-moving cloud of brown dust and hot wind enveloped Chloe and Stan.
Chloe’s facemask went dark, but Stan’s entire helmet flew off his head as he doubled over with his hands to his face. “Dude!”
Kirin and Ezra looked up to see that the white suits of their accomplices were now coated with a thick, brown layer of coffee dust and viscous goo. The dragon shut its mouth with a deep internal grumble before slumping back to its unresponsive state.
Chloe wiped gunk and grit from her visor as the voices in the earbud chimed again.
“This is Foot 1—yeah, I’ve got something weird going on by the package!” announced Mr. Fitz. “It just emitted some sort of ash cloud—and the lab techs that are in there feeding him are acting kind of strange—I’m switching cameras—over.”
“This is Car 1—there is no scheduled feeding for this evening—Repeat—there is no authorized feeding tonight!—over!” declared Mr. Duncan.
“They’ve seen us!” Chloe blurted with an involuntary glance back to the wall of cameras. She could practically feel Mr. Fitz’s eyes lock on to her via close-up.
“I think it’s the McClellan girl!” spat Mr. Fitz over the line, ignoring protocol. “And she’s got my radio!”
• • •
Uktena’s mind stirred from deep within the drug-induced fog. He had tried and failed to reach outside of the prison of his form again and again—more alone in these last days before the Ascension than he had ever been in the centuries of dreaming before it. From beneath the pond, his perception had wandered the cosmos without constraint; he had listened to the yearnings of animals, plants, and men, and had explored galaxy after galaxy filled with the dead planets beyond.
Over the passing of ages, he had learned of the terrors of the black rifts that moved invisibly through the universe, and he’d explored vast pockets of space with nothing but the darkness and cold to fill it. He had read the thoughts of killers and madmen, and he’d known what it was to be rabid and dying. But above all that, it was the recent silence of being locked away inside himself that terrified him most. The poison they’d put in his food and shot into his blood had kept him from action or escape. He had come to accept that it would be his own death that would soon mark the beginning of the end for mankind. That was what the prophecy had meant all those years ago. Finally the hubris of humanity would kill the spirit of the land—him.
But this time, as the boiling acid in his stomach leached the nutrients from his meal, he knew that something was different. He had not been able to stop his body from the mechanical act of eating, even when he’d known that the food he ingested would only hasten his demise. But now the food in his belly lacked the toxins that he’d come to expect. It was pure and natural, and it sent the hint of a spark through his gut. He felt the tickle of static collecting there as the heavy film that had hung over his perceptions began to thin. Though his eyes still wouldn’t focus, his thoughts found the hazy presence of the Child Queen standing before him, and though he knew such thoughts were foolish, he felt an instinctive urge to survive.
He tried to raise his head to speak, but his body still wouldn’t respond to his command. He tried to grasp her mind with his own, but still there was an infuriating distance he could not cross. Instead, he felt the gathering of energy from within as the tingling hum traveled up through his blood to focus on the diamond-shaped plate between his horns.
• • •
An alarm sounded throughout the building, and a red light had started to spin across the far wall. Chloe knew that at that moment people with guns were on their way toward her, but she stilled the urge to run, drawn instead to the glow of white light that pulsed within Uktena’s forehead. She stepped closer and realized that the light was made by ripples of electricity flaring beneath the fine layering of scales that rose from the dragon’s brow. For a moment, she was mesmerized by the current’s dance.
Stan squinted through coffee-coated lashes at the red spiral on the wall. “Guys?”
No one answered. Kirin remained hunched over Uktena’s back claw, continuing to scrape and mutter as he worked fr
antically on the unresponsive lock, while Ezra took off his helmet and palmed the football again—scanning the room for assets and exits. Chloe had gone completely deaf to the stern exchange that continued in her ear. The shining diamond beckoned to her as her feet brought her closer. It’s the only way.
She couldn’t sense Uktena in her thoughts as she ripped off the helmet and rubber gloves that came between them. She stepped close enough to feel the slump of his lower jaw against her knee. There was a sickly stale musk in the dragon’s breath, and Chloe’s fingers trembled as she reached toward the light. It’s not magic; it’s just science we don’t comprehend yet.
“Guys, should we be running?” Stan asked.
Chloe touched the smooth, warm scales with just her fingertips at first, and then she pressed her whole palm against the diamond plate and felt the same sort of tingling as when she folded laundry fresh out of the dryer. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to happen… but nothing did.
• • •
Brent tried the handle of the outside door beside the loading dock, and it clicked open without resistance. He would have stopped to ponder how a couple of teenagers had gotten through one of the most advanced locks that corporate money could buy, but there wasn’t time. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told Mr. Duncan that it was Chloe inside, but he knew that if Derek Fitz got to her first, something bad would happen.
“This is Car 1, en route to HQ—secure the package and contain all intruders—Mr. Roberts is coming in on Air 1—copy,” said Mr. Duncan with the sound of a speeding engine behind him.
“This is Car 4—moving in on the package from the freight entrance—I’ll be there in three minutes—over,” Brent said, on the run.
“I’m at the door!” bellowed Mr. Fitz over the line with a loud banging as punctuation. “They’ve barricaded it with something!” he added furiously.
“Get in there NOW,” commanded Mr. Duncan as Brent rounded another corner and started to sprint toward the enormous freight door that they’d brought the creature in through. Though he’d never realized it until now, he couldn’t bear the thought of Chloe being hurt. She was annoying and had pretty much ruined everything, but Brent still loved Audrey McClellan, and loving her meant loving her daughter as well.