Carry the Flame

by James Jaros

  Stumbling away, petrified that she’d fall and the torch would go out, she came to a broad hill of dirt, sand, and stones. She scrambled up the gritty slope and slid down the other side, looking back quickly. The dragon’s head loomed over the short crest, so close she could see his rough, wrinkled skin and forked tongue.

  Cassie backed up, instinctively thrusting the flame out in front of her. It didn’t stop the dragon’s advance. The animal romped down the rubble, looking left and right, his hideous yellow tongue snapping in and out, a ravenous creature trying to find a way past a lone flame.

  She gashed her foot on rebar, bleeding on broken concrete. It was painful, but she was grateful that she might be working her way out of the catacombs’ scariest recesses. But with the Komodo trailing her relentlessly in the darkness—and a sudden avalanche of rocks that could block her retreat at any moment—the exit to the river felt miles away.

  The beast moved closer, then lunged. His tongue grazed her pants. She brought the flame down, searing the dragon’s moist flesh. It sizzled loudly and disappeared into the Komodo’s mouth as Cassie, shaking, backed into a large rubble pile. She stabbed the torch once more at the dragon, and watched him move only his head aside, keeping his feet solidly planted. But when the creature shifted she had a chance to look behind her, and was startled by the daunting slope of dirt, boulders, and bricks.

  In desperation, she risked raising the flame from the beast, and spied a small opening below the ceiling. She began backing up the slope, holding the torch out with one hand while using the other to steady herself. The Komodo watched her intently, then tracked her closely.

  Hurrying, shaking worse than ever, Cassie reached the top with the dragon so near she was afraid he would claim her with a single lunge. She poked her legs into the opening—the unknown blackness and whatever it held—then wriggled the rest of her body through the breach, never shifting her gaze from the eyes that fed on her. She had to withdrew the torch to crawl backward over the bricks, then raised the flame again and saw the Komodo’s thick head poking through the gap. He strained to break all the way through, powerful exertions that tumbled debris toward her. Not far above the beast, she spied a much wider hole in the ceiling, from which the rubble had formed.

  Go up there, she pleaded to the dragon silently, but he had eyes only for her.

  Backing away once more, she spotted the steel bars bent to the ground, twisted like candle wax by huge slabs of stone.

  Where’s William?

  Her harrowing question vaporized at the sight of the dragon methodically digging away the last of the stones and bricks blocking his massive shoulders. With little effort he muscled his upper body through the enlargement, forcing aside other ruins to accommodate his girth. In fraught seconds, the beast crouched above her, a gob of saliva dripping from his pebbly lips.

  Then the Komodo started down after her, crunching the debris, hurried steps that sounded like the busy jaws of a voracious beast.

  The land mines sent shock waves across the arena. A vicious shudder raced up Jessie’s legs and shook her upper body, the sword and stubby torch vibrating visibly in her hands. She registered all of this with piercing clarity as Bliss hurled her torch into the mouth of Chunga, the larger Komodo, then slapped her singed hand on her pants. The beast flapped his jaws, and the short smoldering post fell out. Before the giant lizard reeled away, his mouth opened again, wider, like he was bellowing; but Jessie heard only the earth ripping open from the middle of the pit all the way to Tonga’s pen, and watched the beast himself slip into the vast hole.

  Stunned, she backed away. Support columns broke apart as easily as ancient urns, then the brittle roof crashed down in bucket-size chunks. She grabbed Bliss and dragged her to the pit wall, seeking the limited shelter she could find in the first seconds of devastation.

  She still gripped her own tiny torch, enduring burns because she assumed that Chunga was rampaging somewhere in the darkness. Hard as she peered, she couldn’t see the Komodo, and wondered if, like the other dragon, he had slipped away, too. But she did spot one of the torches that had fallen from the pit’s perimeter, snuffed out by the sand. She quickly lit it with the short one still torturing her hand, then cast the agonizing flame into the pitch, hoping to spot a gun or rifle that might have fallen in the attack. She saw no weapon, but gunshots rang out above. Looking up, she spied the silhouettes of marauders and guards running past the few torches that remained upright. Not for long: even as she watched, they were uprooted by men frantic for light in the darkening chaos. A hail of bricks knocked a guard to the ground. His torch, so briefly held, fell to the pit and rolled into the hole, still ablaze.

  Chunga’s elongated head leaped from the darkness just feet from Jessie and Bliss, as if he had sniffed out the humans, the tips of his forked tongue testing the air inches from them. Bliss raised her sword, and Jessie stabbed at the creature with the torch.

  Then they ran. But a clump of bricks broke apart on Bliss’s back, halting her escape. She tried to stifle a scream as her mother hauled her toward Chunga’s pen, thinking it might provide protection from the falling roof—and the rapacious dragon.

  Burned Fingers shouted her name.

  “Over here,” Jessie yelled back.

  Like the Komodo, he sprang from the darkness, but from behind them near the wall—his appearance almost as shocking as the dragon’s. Blood spilled from his scalp and streamed down his face. He wiped at it roughly, and jabbed at the beast with his sword.

  “Let’s get to the pen,” Jessie shouted.

  “Right,” he agreed, as if he’d been working on the same plan.

  She looked up as another rumbling sound erupted, this time from above. Enormous sections of roof peeled away and shattered randomly across the arena, revealing patches of stars in the night sky—heaven’s bright incurious indifference to hell.

  A twelve-foot length of bricks, mortar, and bones battered the sand inches from Chunga. The hunkering beast didn’t shift his dogged eyes from his quarry, sloughing off smaller chunks as if they were raindrops.

  When the dragon probed boldly with his tongue again, Burned Fingers sliced off a half foot of the yellowy organ. The lump of flesh fell soundlessly amidst the constant clatter of bricks. The beast opened and closed his mouth several times, as if pained and confused.

  The three of them backed out of the pit into Chunga’s pen, and Burned Fingers closed the gate. As he searched for a means to secure it, the Mayor jerked it open and slammed it just before Chunga banged against the wooden barrier. Before the Mayor could pivot toward them, Burned Fingers pressed the sword to his spine.

  “Drop your gun or I’ll cut right through you.”

  “I think I have a decided advantage,” the Mayor replied coolly. But he had yet to turn around, and the hand holding the pistol remained by his side.

  “I’ll die fast, you’ll die slowly. Probably eaten by one of your pets.”

  The Mayor glanced at his gun. Burned Fingers pressed the sword hard enough to draw a spot of blood through the Mayor’s faded blue shirt. Jessie looked from him to the marauder, who appeared intent on goring the tyrant.

  The gun dropped to the sand. Jessie retrieved the chrome-plated Smith & Wesson .45 revolver, hammer cocked, and aimed it at the Mayor’s head.

  “See what else he’s got,” she said.

  Burned Fingers pulled a long shiny knife from a sheath hanging by the Mayor’s hip. He used it to cut off the man’s belt and tie his hands behind his back. Jessie felt unmitigated pleasure at seeing him so clearly at their mercy.

  “Kill him,” Bliss said, raising her sword.

  “No!” Jessie replied sharply. “Not yet.”

  “How about you put your sword right on his belly when I turn him around,” Burned Fingers said to the girl, “and cut him wide open if he moves?” She nodded, and the marauder forced the Mayor to face them. “I’m searching the front of you head-to-toe,” he said. “She’ll stick you, and her mom will shoot you.”


  Chunga banged the gate again.

  Burned Fingers patted down the Mayor thoroughly, handing his knife to Jessie. “Now, how does this lock from the inside?”

  “It does not.” Incredibly, the Mayor chuckled. “And my dear Chunga has not learned to open doors, or even to knock politely,” he added in the same amused tone, as the Komodo banged the barrier once more. Then he turned serious: “So before we leave, we will have to open it to save his life.”

  “Dream on, asshole,” Burned Fingers said.

  Jessie thought the dragon might be figuring it out on his own. She noticed that the third time the creature banged the gate, it opened inches farther before smacking what sounded like Chunga’s head, which the beast appeared to be using as a battering ram. And when the reptile repeated the pounding yet again, she watched the gate swing open more than a foot, wafting the creature’s horrendous odor over them.

  “You should let me lead you to safety,” the Mayor said, “and then we can talk about—”

  “Why do you think you’re still alive?” Burned Fingers interrupted, putting his knife to the man’s throat. “Now turn around and show us how to get out of here. And if you give me any excuse, I’ll saw your spine right out of your back.”

  They hurried through the pen, the gate banging at longer intervals behind them. With the Mayor in front, they eased by the old rickety circus wagon, where the mauled young woman had been used as bait for the beast.

  “You see, even if he gets past the gate, he will run into this,” the Mayor said, sounding pleased with himself. “But we should leave something tasty so he does not get any wicked ideas. He will expect his usual treat.”

  “How about your arms this time? You like that idea?” Burned Fingers pushed him. “Keep moving.”

  Jessie would have preferred to lop off the Mayor’s head and toss it in the wagon.

  The big man remained uncharacteristically mute as they edged into a wide tunnel that rose a foot higher than her head. Only their footsteps violated the quiet of the enclosed space, an unnerving hush after the violence and mayhem of the wrecked arena.

  She pointed the Mayor’s gleaming gun into the darkness, knowing that even though she looked like a hunter, the torch she also carried made them easy prey for anyone—or anything—lurking in the blackest shadows.

  “Bliss,” she said softly, “stay back. Out of the light.”

  When the mines blew up, Linden watched everyone above the pit freeze. He also waited, wondering how long it would take for drunken pandemonium to break out. Only seconds. The Mayor triggered it by rushing to the edge, staring intently at the opening earth. Men rushed everywhere at once, giving the emissary the opportunity to walk up and casually knock the despot into what looked like a blackening abyss. Then the hairless man bolted toward Ananda, Leisha, and Kaisha, who were lifting their eyes to the roof as it started to crumble.

  He grabbed the girls, whispering, “Run fast. I’m getting you out of here, somewhere safe.” When they failed to move, he forced them forward, glancing back every few seconds. Gunfire ricocheted all around them.

  Ananda hated the bald guy. The Mayor’s best buddy was pushing her away from the pit, and she desperately wanted to see that her mother and Bliss were okay. But the falling torches gave her only a glimpse of the Mayor with his pistol. She wondered what he was doing down there. Was he going to shoot her mom and sister? It seemed that he and every man in the arena had a gun and a reason to fire wildly in the melee. But there were also screams and curses, and the howls of the maimed and dying.

  She wanted to escape Linden but didn’t know where to go. His pushes were keeping them just ahead of the falling bricks. She heard rubble hitting the ground just feet behind them, like hungry hounds chasing ever closer to their quarry.

  Now Linden ordered them to hold hands. He pulled them along faster for several minutes, offering encouraging words with almost every step. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get you away from this.” Then he rushed headlong into a brick column and dropped Ananda’s hand, cursing and groaning. “Come here!” he snapped, herding the kids into a corner, where he pushed their heads down and forced them into what felt like a cubbyhole. “Stay there. Don’t move.” Linden sounded angry now, like most men. “I know where you are. I’ll come back for you. Just stay put. I mean that.”

  Ananda listened to him run off. When she was sure he was gone, she turned to the twins. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “But he said to stay,” Leisha quarreled.

  “Of course he did,” Ananda argued back. “He’s one of them. He wants us safe because we’re worth a lot. We’re not staying.”

  She crawled out, blinded by the darkness, then she pulled the girls to their feet. Just as she was about to lead them away, heavy footfalls made her freeze. The terrifying sounds hurried toward them.

  Ananda heard the twins move. Quiet, she wanted to warn them, but couldn’t. She put her hand on their chest, hoping they would stay still as the walls and that the men would pass. She smelled a rank odor, and feared her own scent would give them away.

  We’re animals, she thought, sniffing the air silently.

  The footfalls grew louder, and she smelled sweat.

  But they’re worse, she told herself as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled her skin. They’re beasts of the night.

  She didn’t understand how she could be so sure of this—and wondered where those exact words came from—but she knew it was true. And then she knew why. The answer came to her as simply as it had moments ago: Because we’re animals. We sense things.

  The beasts of the night, invisible as phantoms, stepped so close that her nose now filled with their sour, boozy breath.

  Linden wondered whether he’d told the girls that he was working to free the caravaners. He’d been in a rush to get them out of the target zone, and then smashed his head into the brick column so hard it had left him dizzy. He was still reeling when he hid them in the empty weapons cache. But everything he’d said about taking them somewhere safe was hardly the message of an enemy. And he’d promised to come back for them.

  Still, his doubts needled him, and he wanted to turn around. But he knew it was more urgent to get word to Sam and Yurgen and the others that while the roof did collapse, it looked like many of the guards, marauders, and Russians had been spared. The extermination must begin at once.

  They’ll be okay, he decided. They’re too scared to move. Who wouldn’t be in this madness?

  But nothing felt certain in the City of Shade. Not his life. Not theirs. Especially if drunken men grabbed them in the darkness: those girls couldn’t possibly imagine what that would mean. No one with a heartstring of decency could fathom the deranged mix of desire and murder that swirled through the minds of men so long denied the objects of their lust.

  Tonga shifted his weight from foot to foot, and it seemed to Cassie that he was about to pounce. She jabbed her torch at the reptile—which appeared less frightened of the flame now—and backed up.

  Behind her, deep layers of bones rose halfway up the slope she’d climbed with William. She thought he must be dead, or he would have waited for her. She checked the ground and saw a teddy bear mine about five feet to her right. Inches away, she spotted William’s hand protruding lifelessly from a heavy pile of rubble, as if he’d pushed the bear away in his last seconds.

  The sight of his hand startled Cassie, and made her feel more alone—more vulnerable—than ever. Even William had died.

  A lifetime seemed to pass as she looked from the bear to the dragon. Finally, she forced her gaze back on the mine and screamed, “Get it!” to try to make herself move.

  She edged toward the bear, guessing William had pushed the pin back into the mine to deactivate it. Otherwise, the explosions would have set it off. But she hoped not, because she hadn’t been able to budge the pin when he’d given her the chance to pop it out in the storage area. That was why she’d had to carry both land mines ready to explode.
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br />   Tonga’s tongue moved in and out of his mouth almost continually now, dripping strings of saliva, as if he were already digesting her. When he thrust out his tongue again, it darted so close, spittle landed on her pants, inches from her foot.

  She parried with the torch. Despite her shaky hands, she fried inches of the organ, withdrawing the flame just before the beast bit down. The Komodo shuddered, perhaps with pain, but mostly, Cassie thought, the beast looked angry.

  Almost choking with panic, she gazed down and saw that she’d managed to move within inches of the teddy bear.

  With a halting breath, she reached for it, still holding out the torch, and dug her fingers into the ground to try to scoop the bear up gently. Even in fear’s densest fog, she knew better than to seize the land mine.

  Please be ready. Please.

  She rose, fingers feeling the back of the bear to determine whether the pin had been pulled. It has to be.

  Holding out the flame, Cassie fended off the giant lizard while retreating to the very edge of the slope. Then she clenched the torch between her knees, moaning when she found the pin in place. Tears clouded her eyes.

  She blinked away the blurriness, threaded her thin index finger through a metal loop, and pulled, with little hope of success. The pin didn’t move, but the beast did, lunging within feet of her. She had to grab the torch and stick it in the dragon’s face, unsure it would even stop him. The reptile did back up, but only a foot, more a dodge or feint than any sign of defeat.