by Bryan Davis
A wrinkle of concern bent Bonnie’s brow. “That sounds like what happened to Acacia in Second Eden. Mardon was behind her disease.”
“We’re already on top of that possibility. Mardon and Semiramis have been set free, so Mardon might be up to his old tricks.”
“Set free? Why?”
“Let’s go!” Jared called from the helicopter. “Larry says we’re about to get blasted by a squall line. Less than three minutes!”
“I’ll have to tell you later.” After kissing Bonnie and Lauren on the cheek, Marilyn hustled back to the helicopter and climbed into the copilot’s seat.
As the blades began to spin faster, Walter leaned forward from the backseat and lowered something to the ground. “You might need this,” he shouted. “And be sure to use the tooth transmitters! They’re all on the same frequency. I’m hoping we can listen in. Tap your jaw twice to toggle them on and off.”
The chopper lifted into the sky, again churning the trees in a cold vortex. After several seconds, it disappeared in the darkness, and the sound of the whipping blades faded.
“We’d better hurry.” Bonnie hustled to the radio and slipped on the headset. “Larry, can you hear me? … Good. Are you able to communicate on the tooth transmitter frequency? … Excellent. I was worried we might be out of range. … Right. I understand relays. Listen, I’m going to put Lauren Hunt on. Copy her voiceprint and give her communications clearance.”
Bonnie pulled off the headset and extended it to Lauren. “Just talk to him about anything while I look for the tooth transmitters.”
“Okay,” she said, stretching out the word. “I can do that.”
While Bonnie dug through the backpack, Lauren slid the headset on and adjusted the microphone. “Larry? This is Lauren.”
“Lauren Hunt.” His voice sounded more like a stoic professor’s than a computer’s. “I have given you full access to all communications functions. Please speak a few more words. I need to confirm your voice.”
“Got them,” Bonnie said, pinching something in her fingers. “I found a flashlight, too. I’ll go see what Walter just left on the ground.”
While Bonnie flew across the clearing, Lauren turned her attention back to Larry. “Walter mentioned someone named Lois. Is she another computer?”
“In a manner of speaking. We were once two separate computers, but Ashley combined us before her incarceration, citing efficiency improvements. We are, if you will, married, joined at the chip, living in welded bliss.”
Lauren smiled. Even bad puns helped ease the tension. “Well, please tell Lois I said hello, and it’s been nice talking to you.”
“My pleasure. Larry and Lois are at Lauren’s service. Your voiceprint is confirmed.”
As Lauren slid off the headset, Bonnie walked slowly toward her, shining the flashlight on herself as she held a strap with a gun and holster dangling at the bottom.
“Ever used one of those?” Lauren asked.
Bonnie handed Lauren the flashlight. “Billy taught me. He wanted to make sure I could defend myself if he wasn’t around.”
“Good idea. He must really love you.”
“He does.” Bonnie firmed her trembling lips. “And I love him.” She shed the guard’s jacket most of the way, letting it dangle at the base of her wings, strapped on the holster, and withdrew the gun. After checking the magazine, she slid the gun back into place and donned the jacket again. As a new frigid gust flapped their clothes, she took the flashlight back from Lauren. “Are you ready?”
“To break in again? I suppose so. We don’t have much choice, do we?”
Bonnie pulled something from her jacket and shone the flashlight on it—a thin wafer that looked like a flat, flexible computer chip. “Wedge this between two molars. It’ll be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll get used to it.” She laid it in Lauren’s palm. “I already put mine in.”
“All right.” Lauren pinched the wafer, inserted it into her mouth, and slid it into a gap near the back. It didn’t feel bad at all. Ever since the end of her braces ordeal, her teeth had plenty of room. “I’m ready.”
“I hope so. This could be a rough ride.” Bonnie picked up the nearly empty backpack, dumped out the snacks and remaining electrical components from the main pocket, and handed it to Lauren. “I might be able to use this later, so please carry it.”
“Will do.” Lauren wrapped the loose handcuff around it and hugged it close. A sharp pain stung her chest, as if something attached to the pack had scratched her. She pulled it away and looked at the material, but it appeared to be normal. Maybe during their previous flight, Bonnie’s squeezing arms had bruised a rib.
After sliding the flashlight and a few of the snacks into her jacket pocket, Bonnie wrapped her arms around Lauren’s waist and lifted her into the air. Within seconds, they rose above the trees and into a blustery mix of wind and snow. Gusts battered them. Icy flakes buffeted their faces. With every sudden jolt, pain shot through Lauren’s rib cage. The bruises must have been worse than she thought.
Battling sudden drops and knocks to the side, they flew on. Darkness kept Lauren from seeing anything for the first minute, but lights from the prison eventually came into view. The towers’ search lamps scanned the grounds in back-and-forth sweeps, and bright floodlights hung from tall poles around the perimeter. Yet, in spite of all the security devices—fences, razor wire, alarm systems, and armed guards—no one likely suspected that a winged woman would drop in on them, especially one who so recently escaped.
They flew over the research building and slowly orbited, staying just above the glow as the wind continued to slash them from side to side. “If I’m going to dodge those lights,” Bonnie said directly into Lauren’s ear, “I have to time this perfectly. When the right moment comes, I’ll drop like a rock, even faster than before.”
Still hugging the backpack, Lauren nodded. No need to reply. In her position, she couldn’t do anything to help anyway.
One of the beams swept slowly over the building. The moment it passed the roof, Bonnie and Lauren plunged. Lauren held her breath. The dim roof hurtled toward them. Seconds later, they settled down near a roof access, a six-foot-high boxlike structure with a glass-paneled door.
Another beam swept by, but the shed blocked its light. As Bonnie tried to catch her breath in the midst of swirling snow, she shone the flashlight through the glass. The room was small, holding only a concrete pad and steps leading downward. She tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open.
“I don’t see any security system here,” Bonnie said. “This isn’t about to stop us.” She withdrew the gun and broke one of the glass panels with the butt. Then, reaching through the hole, she unlocked the door.
Lauren let the backpack dangle. The jabbing pain eased a bit. “I hope no one heard that.”
“Not likely.” Bonnie opened the door and guided Lauren inside. After closing it behind her, she sat on the top step and gestured with a wing for Lauren to join her. “It’s still cold in here. Sit close, and I’ll keep us warm until we decide what to do next.”
Lauren laid the backpack down and sat hip to hip with her. “Do you have a plan?”
“I’m working on one.” Bonnie’s wing wrapped completely around Lauren, leaving only her head exposed. “This blizzard is an answer to prayer. I just have to figure out the best way to apply it.”
Lauren met Bonnie’s gaze. Snowflakes clinging to her hair melted and dripped to her clothes. She looked tired and worn, yet determined.
“We’ll rest, for a little while at least.” Bonnie withdrew four granola bars from her pocket and handed two to Lauren. “By the time two or three o’clock rolls around, only a few guards will be roaming here and there. If the blizzard doesn’t cut out the power, maybe we can find a way to cut it ourselves. The darker it is, the better.”
As Bonnie spoke, her words entered Lauren’s ears through the air, as well as through a buzz in her jaw. Apparently the transmitters were
working.
Bonnie shifted their bodies to the side and leaned against a wall. “Go ahead and eat, and then we’ll get a little sleep. We can use snow for water if we need it.”
“What if we don’t wake up in time?” Lauren tore the wrapping from one of the bars and bit off a chunk. It had a gritty texture—granola, nuts, and honey.
Bonnie unwrapped her own snack. “Can you figure out how to set the alarm on Walter’s phone?”
“Most likely,” Lauren said, not bothering to swallow first.
“Then set it for two hours from now and put it on vibrate. I’ll hold it. I’m sure it’ll wake me up.” She took a bite, pausing until she swallowed. “Then again, with the vivid dreams I’ve been having, maybe not. We’ll just have to pray for the best.”
While Lauren pushed the buttons to set the phone alarm, she asked, “What kind of dreams?”
Bonnie poised the granola bar in front of her mouth. “It’s more like watching a movie than a dream, because I’m not in them myself. These two teenagers, Joran and Selah, are offspring of Methuselah, and the last dream ended with them being confronted by a demon.”
“Tamiel?” Lauren took another bite.
Bonnie nodded. “That’s why I was so surprised when you told me his name. I had never heard it outside this dream. And every time I dream, the story continues. It takes place a long time ago, and now Tamiel is trapped with the teenagers in an ovulum, a glass egg that’s also a refuge, another world people can enter.”
“That’s really bizarre. How could your dream invent a real name you didn’t know before, someone who is really tracking us?”
“I’m not sure, but in the dream, Methuselah said that dragons sometimes dream about what happens in an ovulum, so since I have dragon genetics …”
“The dream is telling you why you’re dreaming.” Lauren altered to a tone of skepticism. “That’s not exactly a reliable source.”
“Maybe not, but both of us knowing Tamiel’s name makes me think there might be something to it. It could be that God is giving us information we’ll need.”
“Okay,” Lauren said, adding a nervous laugh. “I can’t argue with that. Maybe you should go to sleep and get Joran and … what was the other name?”
“Selah.”
“Get Joran and Selah out of their mess.”
Bonnie smiled. “I was getting kind of worried about them.”
Lauren pushed the phone into Bonnie’s hand. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, though. I feel terrible.”
“It’s no wonder. I felt the same way when my mother died.” Bonnie grasped Lauren’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “I had to trudge through the snow to a social worker’s office and …”
As Bonnie continued talking, pausing now and then to nibble on her snack, Lauren pushed the last morsel of hers into her mouth, leaned her head against Bonnie’s shoulder, and closed her eyes, slowly chewing. Like the honey in the granola, being enfolded by a strong wing while their hands intermeshed was a delicious sensation. Mom was kind and loving, but not really like this. Bonnie was … well … different, special, a natural at coating her with comfort. Still, her birth parents were probably like Bonnie. Their family photos proved that they were kind and caring, taking little Lauren to amusement parks, beaches, and zoos. Although years in the foster care system had tarnished any idea that all parents were perfect, nothing could damage the reputation of the two who had given her life.
Lauren pushed the other granola bar into her pocket and felt for the ring the Colonel had given her. He had said it belonged to her mother, probably thinking Bonnie was her mother. If so, maybe Bonnie could explain why Semiramis thought the gem was so special.
She pulled the ring out and enclosed it in her hand. As soon as Bonnie finished, she would ask.
The story continued, an amazing tale about a white-haired girl named Sapphira who could turn her body into flames. She and Gabriel, a young man with dragon wings, guided Bonnie through a snowstorm.
Lauren let the story come alive in her mind, picturing Bonnie, Sapphira, and Gabriel as they walked through the snow to a social worker’s office where a friend and confidante of dragons hid Bonnie in the foster care system so the dragon slayer couldn’t find her. After a long journey on a train, she arrived in West Virginia, hoping to find the son of another dragon who had turned human.
Soon, Bonnie’s soft words faded, and new images entered Lauren’s mind—a boy holding a lyre and a girl clutching two metal rods.
TRAPPED
Joran took a rod from Selah with his left hand, and, still holding the lyre in his right, locked arms with her. “Who is the fool?” he asked. “The mice in the trap, or the trap setter who gets caught in it himself?”
With his wings spread out behind him, Tamiel stepped closer. “You did not bring that lyre in here with you. Where did you get it?”
“Stop!” Joran shouted as he and Selah lifted their rods. “I am not the child you and Naamah deceived in the past.”
Tamiel halted. “You are both still children, and you have not faced the likes of me with your sonic defenses. If you create a sound barrier, I will turn it against you.”
“If that’s true, why are you warning me?”
“I heard the white-haired girl. I need you both to be healthy so you can get the key.”
“So you can steal it from us?” Selah asked. “Like you stole Seraphina’s voice?”
Tamiel laughed. “Steal it? My dear girl, I would never take the key without your permission. In your search for it, you might discover a way to use it that I could not learn on my own. Considering the circumstances we find ourselves in, we should formulate a plan that would benefit us all. I have a lot more experience with the legends and prophecies than the two of you have, so you would be wise to listen to me.”
Joran leaned sideways and whispered, “I don’t believe a word he says.”
“Neither do I,” Selah whispered in return. “If he didn’t fear us, he wouldn’t have warned us at all. I say, let’s attack first and end the threat now. He’s evil and will do nothing but evil.”
Joran nodded. “Set the rhythm.”
“Do not be foolish,” Tamiel said, lifting his hands as if ready to block an attack. “I am not one of the stupid Watchers who so easily fell prey to your arts.”
“Beguiling serpent.” As Selah scowled at Tamiel, her voice resonated in the hollow chamber. “Remove your mask.”
“This is your final warning,” Tamiel said in a calm, even tone. “Your aggression will not aid our cause.”
“Behold the sunlight.” Selah’s words bristled with energy. “And breathe your last.”
Joran sang out probing notes that matched her beat, but no echo returned. Tamiel stood motionless, his hands still lifted with his palms facing out. Somehow, he had the ability to block and cancel the sounds. Joran had to guess the proper key and tune and hope it worked.
After taking a quick breath, he sang out.
A demon strikes with serpent’s fangs
To bite the flesh, injecting wrong;
Now biting back, we sing with light
To break the darkness with our song.
As before, a sound wave emanated from his metallic pole and spread across to Selah’s, attaching to it and creating a barrier. The wave repeated Joran’s voice, twisted and distorted, as if he were singing while riding a dragon in a storm. Tamiel warped in their view, but his confident pose never altered.
“Time to wrap him up,” Selah shouted above the noise. “I’ll hold the lyre. We don’t have a dragon to burn him, but maybe we can incapacitate him.”
“With a concussion note?”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s try it.” Joran shifted the lyre to her grasp, then, holding his rod high, ran around the demon. The vibrating barrier encircled him, wrapping him in a banner of reverberating words, but he remained calm and confident in his stance.
When Joran compl
eted the orbit, he pulled the rod to remove the slack in the wall of sound. As it adhered to Tamiel, his face tightened and paled, and his eyes bulged. Tremors shook his body, making his teeth clack together in the midst of the barrier’s continuing song.
“I think he’s ready.” Selah reached toward Joran. “I’ll take your rod. You’ll need your hands free.”
“Can you hold everything?”
Selah pressed the lyre against her chest with her wrist. “I think so.”
He gave her the rod and stepped away. Lifting his hands, he took in a deep breath. This would take every ounce of energy he could summon.
“Do it!” Selah shouted.
Joran belted out a high A note, the very top of his vocal range, and held it. Like an arrow from his bow, his voice pierced the wall and slammed into Tamiel’s head. An appendage of sound protruded from the wall and followed the note into the demon’s ear. Grimacing, the demon teetered but soon recovered his balance.
“He can’t last much longer,” Selah called. “Keep it up!”
Joran continued holding the note. His lungs burned, and pain throttled his skull. Soon he would run out of air, and since the note degenerated the barrier wall, it would eventually collapse. No demon had ever been able to withstand this kind of onslaught. Since the sound barrier amplified the note, no one within its grasp could stand for long.
Just as Joran stopped to draw a breath, Tamiel thrust out his arms, grasped the thinning wall with both hands, and reeled it in. Selah flew toward him, the rods and lyre still in her grip. When she drew within reach, Tamiel looped the sound barrier around her body, and pulled her into his arms. The echoing song jumbled, and the tune twisted. The wall sounded like a strangling man trying to call for help.