by Ward Parker
Ronnie was believed to be the great one his species has waited for. Already, he had proven the ability to shape-shift, which was rare among dragons. And ever since adolescence, other species of reptiles showed reverence for him.
The common household geckos and anoles of Florida used variations of their courtship behavior—pushups and pulsing throats—to worship him. The same with iguanas. Even alligators would appear when Ronnie was near a body of water, arrange themselves in a circular formation, and hold their mouths open wide for him.
At first, Ronnie merely found this amusing. But as the belligerent humans pushed the dragons into war, Ronnie devised a total-war strategy.
When his daughter was captured, he turned it up several notches. And sent his magical commands into the world.
First came the iguanas. They were stealthy, hiding in trees and on canal banks. But as they assembled in greater and greater numbers, South Florida homeowners viewed them with alarm. They called wildlife hotlines and were ignored. Their landscaping services went after them with machetes. The small number of iguanas who died were considered martyrs by their brethren.
All at once, on a Tuesday at 10:30 a.m., a date and time that was significant only to the reptile brain, the iguanas attacked.
No, they didn’t directly attack humans. They’re not that kind of reptile. Instead, they ate every single flower in every flower bed. Home vegetable gardens disappeared. Yards were burrowed into and destroyed.
And the iguanas pooped in swimming pools. They do this regularly anyway, but under the mass hypnosis that made them gather in suburbia to do battle, they pooped on an industrial scale. By 5:00 p.m. on that fateful Tuesday, henceforth known as The Day of the Iguana, every swimming pool in South Florida had become a murky iguana toilet.
And the lizards didn’t stop there. They had conquered the suburban yards, but next, they invaded the homes.
Thousands of frantic emergency calls came in as iguanas popped up in toilets. Iguanas showed up in washing machines, bathtubs, bidets. Even in hot tubs, and several human swingers were rushed to the hospital with heart attacks.
No people died as a direct result of an iguana attack. The human casualties resulted when people scurried away from the lizards and fell off their patios or backed into the path of a car. Technically, it was their own fault, not that of the iguanas.
What the iguanas accomplished was to send a message to humans: you can kill us and even use us in enchilada recipes. But we own this place now. We’re not a native species, but neither are you, humans. And we’re in charge now.
The vampires of Squid Tower and Alligator Hammock received the same treatment as the humans. The most dangerous predators of humans, the undying vampires freaked out when they found an iguana in their toilet bowl.
And the iguanas were just the beginning.
All Roy wanted was a peaceful day of fishing. He hoped to catch a couple of bass, or at least some bluegill or crappie. Most of all, he wished to sit in his little johnboat beneath the shade of a tree and see the leaves reflected on the placid lake. To eat his pimento cheese sandwich, sip some iced tea, and let the stress flow from his body, through the rod and line, and out into the water.
That’s all he desired for his day off from caring for Ellie, hidden deep beneath her cloak of dementia. Relaxation was all he asked for. Heck, he didn’t really care if he caught any fish. He wanted to imagine it was thirty years ago when he would fish this same lake with Ellie in the other seat of this same johnboat.
But the boys from town had other designs.
They came like a swarm of angry bees. Jet Skis. Six of them carrying young punks who cared nothing about the lake, the beautiful surroundings, or the biodiversity of the ecosystem. The lake could be a road as far as they were concerned. They wanted speed and the rush of jumping each other's wakes.
Their motors roaring, they came from the boat ramp on the opposite side of the lake. Traveling in a corkscrew pattern, they buzzed the boats fishing on the lake, which were spaced far apart to show courtesy.
The Jet Skis showed no respect at all, spraying the fishermen with their wakes as they passed dangerously close.
They came for Roy next. He didn’t understand why they wanted to invade the little cove where he was anchored, unless part of the fun for the young men was the annoyance they caused others.
They made a beeline for his boat. He braced for a collision. With only feet to spare, each Jet Skier did a sharp one-eighty and buzzed away, sending waves of water into Roy’s boat.
One after another, six Jet Skis in all, played this one-way game of chicken with Roy.
His head throbbed from fear and anger. His face was wet from the spray.
“Get out of here, you punks!” he shouted.
One of them flipped him the bird.
The personal watercraft raced from the cove. But then, they circled and headed back toward Roy.
Except, this time it was different.
One by one, they entered the cove.
And one by one, each driver was tackled by a gator leaping out of the water.
Yes, leaping into the air like they do at the alligator farms during the feeding shows for tourists—using their powerful tails to rocket upward and chomp their jaws on the chickens dangled by the handlers.
Today, however, it was Jet-Ski-riding punks the gators chomped their jaws upon. The gators knocked the punks from their crafts and fell back into the water, dragging their prey into the depths.
One by one, the humans disappeared. And one by one the riderless Jet Skis, engines cut off by the safety cords, sloshed into the bank of the cove beneath the trees.
Bubbles rose to the surface and burst. But neither the gators nor the humans came up again.
Roy bailed out his boat with a small plastic bucket. He took a long drink of iced tea. He sighed, letting the stress flow out of his shoulders, to his fishing rod, then down the line and into the lake where, down there somewhere, the gators prepared to feast.
Ah, Roy thought, peace and quiet. At last.
The reptiles and amphibians of Florida were rising up under the spell of the dragon king, the Anointed One, king of the kings of reptiles.
In some cases, there were small acts of rebellion, such as the handler at the alligator feeding show, who got yanked from his ladder instead of the chicken. Or the alligator wrestler performing in the Everglades park, who lost his face to his usually docile partner.
You know the freaky guy with the white hair and tattoos who shows up at the public beach in Jellyfish Beach, wrapped by his pet Boa constrictor, and poses for pictures with tourists?
He is no longer with us. Horrified tourists witnessed his demise, and videos of it went viral.
The little lizards every homeowner has, the green anoles outside on the patio, and the geckos who sneak inside and show up on the bathroom wall, were part of the uprising, too. They had a harder time than their larger comrades in taking out humans. But it was amazing how well tiny, unintelligent creatures can cooperate when under the magical influence of their mighty ruler.
It doesn’t take much to make a human slip on the pool deck or in the bathtub. A human sleeping with his mouth open only requires a few brave lizards to block his airway. And drivers discovered the only things more deadly than other Florida drivers are hordes of geckos appearing from beneath the car seat and swarming over your face when you’re trying to negotiate I-95.
Many Florida reptiles and amphibians didn’t need to go to great lengths to take out humans. Many of them were already deadly to begin with. Such as the pygmy rattlesnakes hiding beneath the bags of mulch outside the home-improvement store. The humans loading up their carts with forty-pound bags normally aren’t prepared to dodge rattlesnake strikes.
Even Cane, or “Bufo,” Toads, the invasive creatures nearly as large as dinner plates, joined in the act. They are notorious for the glands on their backs that secrete poison when harassed by predators such as the family dog. It took true toad ingenuity to
find a way to poison humans, too. But humans often aren’t much brighter than toads. Especially. when they place their cold beverages down beside the swimming pool and take their eyes off them long enough for the toads to hop by.
The human casualties added up while society remained unaware of a pattern behind all these freak accidents. But what about the vampires? How did the dragon king attack these monsters who sleep during the day when most reptiles are active?
It turns out reptiles are far more cunning than you’d imagine.
On Tuesday evening, around midnight, Evie Gaynor was taking a moonlight dip in the ocean. Sharks usually don’t bother swimmers, except by accident when pursuing fish. Undead vampires are even more unappetizing to sharks.
The American crocodile, which can be found in South Florida and Central America, lives in saltwater and is active at night. It’s not known for attacks against humans or vampires. However, when under the spell of the ruler of all reptiles, it will prey upon anything it is commanded to.
Various parts of Evie washed up in the tide the next morning. Even vampires can’t heal themselves when they’re in several pieces. A man taking an early morning walk on the beach reported finding a woman’s head wearing a bathing cap. When the sun came over the horizon, nothing was left but a bathing cap full of ashes. The police did not believe the man’s tale about a woman’s head.
George Martelli, a vampire since the seventeenth century, was not afraid of rats or spiders. But he was very afraid of geckos. A neighbor heard his scream and glass breaking. George was found impaled by a glass shard through his heart after he fell through his sliding-glass door.
As mentioned earlier, iguanas have an uncanny knack at showing up in toilet bowls. But never have hundreds come out of a single toilet before. Until Tuesday afternoon, when Cindy Shatmeyer ran screaming onto her balcony where she was promptly sun-torched.
When a neighbor went to check on her, the hundreds of iguanas scurried from Cindy’s condo and chased the neighbor to the stairwell, down the stairs, and across the lobby, until the neighbor ran outside and experienced Cindy’s fate next to the shuffleboard courts.
Only a direct attack by dragons could devastate the vampire population, but these attacks were psychologically damaging. They sent the message that the natural world had declared war on Squid Tower and Alligator Hammock.
“We have to do something,” Agnes told the Board and Missy. “We must return the baby dragon to its parents before more of us are lost.”
Even Schwartz, who was indifferent to the suffering of others, had been shaken.
“I hate snakes,” he said. “There better not be any snakes in my condo. Ever.”
“We must stop this insane war,” Agnes said.
Next door to Squid Tower was Seaweed Manor, another fifty-five-plus retirement community built in the late 1960s. All the residents were werewolves. Some of them were a bit on the rough side, and it wasn't uncommon to see the shifters get a little too rowdy on a full moon, drink a little too much before shifting, and get into vicious fights over dominance issues.
But largely, the residents were peaceful. They rarely devoured humans, preferring small wild game, if they still hunted at all.
They had no conflict with the dragons. It’s doubtful any of the werewolves knew they existed. But, being humanoid, the werewolves were considered an enemy by the reptiles and amphibians that revolted against two-legged species.
Among the Seaweed Manor residents who still hunted were those who belonged to the Werewolf Women's Club. This community group, when not having bake sales or bridge tournaments, loved to go on outings to hunt and eat possums.
The timing of this year’s Everglades Hunt and Picnic couldn't have been more unfortunate.
The ladies assembled at a picnic pavilion decked out in their finest outdoor-themed outfits. Their president, Josie Denton, sported a safari outfit with a wide-brimmed hat worn at a jaunty tilt.
“Ladies,” she said, “Emma and Cindy will now present this year’s gift for each of you. Hand-quilted dog beds! If you ever want to take a nap while in wolf form. Aren’t they cozy looking?”
The two-dozen members, sitting at picnic tables, applauded while Emma and Cindy handed each of them their beds.
“That's so thoughtful and sweet,” Thelma said, with several others murmuring in agreement.
“As soon as we finish our appetizers, we’ll shift and head out on the hunt. Let’s hurry so we can get into our thick coats before it gets dark enough for mosquitoes to come out.”
The pavilion buzzed with chattering women, mostly in their sixties and seventies, with the occasional octogenarian like Josie.
At the same moment, as if spurred on by instinct rather than communication, all the club members disrobed, folding their outfits, and slipping them into tote bags.
The shifting itself, always painful and awkward, took only a couple of minutes. The pack of excited wolves, hungry for the main dishes of their picnic, jumped about like puppies. As soon as Josie took off into the forest, they loped after her.
The wolves dashed through the cypress and mahogany trees, eager to pick up a scent. But after a few miles, their pace slowed, and whining arose from the pack.
There were no raccoons, possums, or deer within sniffing distance.
Josie had warned them about what she had read: the invasive Burmese pythons that multiplied unchecked in the Everglades had decimated the population of small mammals. Josie hadn’t realized it would be this bad.
She also had no way of knowing that the pythons were part of an army ordered to attack humanoids.
After the wolves returned to the picnic pavilion, dejected by the failed hunt, they shifted back to human form and got dressed. Ever the thoughtful planner, Josie had packed chicken and hamburgers in case they came up short on game. So, covered in bug spray, the women sipped wine and tried to make the best of the situation while their food sizzled on the grill.
That’s when the pythons showed up.
Lisa, sitting on the end of a table at the edge of the pavilion, disappeared. Thelma, on the opposite edge, screamed and dropped out of sight.
“Thelma has a giant snake wrapped around her!” Emma screamed.
The Werewolf Women’s Club erupted in panic. Half the women ran toward the minibus. The other half kicked the two snakes that had captured their friends.
Josie didn’t know the reptiles had been ordered to attack humans, but she had a gut feeling the club members would be safer in wolf form.
“Ladies!” she shouted. “Shift right now. Right now!”
Not taking time to remove their clothes, the women shifted, tearing the garments to pieces as they went from little old ladies to muscular wolves. Sure, their coats were streaked with white hairs, but they were formidable fighters.
The python wrapped around Thelma seemed shocked to have a snarling wolf to swallow instead. Thelma sank her fangs into the snake and scratched it with her claws. The other wolves lunged at the reptile, jaws snapping. Josie seized it in her jaws just below the head and eventually pulled it from her friend.
A wolf yelped on the other side of the pavilion.
“It has Lisa!” the wolf said, which was very difficult to understand thanks to her wolf's mouth mangling the words.
The wolves rushed over to find the giant snake resting on the ground with a human-sized bulge in its belly.
Despair spread throughout the pack.
Suddenly, the snake twitched and went through painful contortions.
The bulge in its body moved violently around, as if a battle was taking place in its belly.
Indeed, it was a battle. Lisa was shifting to wolf form while inside the python. The pack watched in horrified fascination while the snake’s belly bubbled and rippled from limbs thrashing about inside it.
A sickening, tearing sound came.
And a wet wolf stepped from the ruptured snake she had clawed and bit her way out of.
She shook herself like a dog who just eme
rged from a lake, drops of snake goo flying everywhere. But no one minded. They were so happy to see Lisa emerge, like Jonah from the whale. They barked and yipped with glee, and would have wagged their tails if werewolves had tails. And at the same time, they kept a wary eye on the surrounding darkness, making sure no other reptile caught them by surprise.
The werewolves packed up the minibus while still in wolf form. It wasn’t as difficult as you’d think, between their jaws and opposable thumbs, and their ability to walk upright, if needed. They packed their dog beds and picnic supplies into the bus and piled inside themselves. They waited until the bus was safely on its way to Jellyfish Beach before they shifted back to human form.
The hunt had been a disaster. The saving grace was they now had cute dog beds to curl up on.
11
Vampire Town, USA
“You want my blood?” Ronnie asked incredulously. “Are you one of those crazy conspiracy theorists? I’m willing to shed my blood, but only after spilling the blood of all the vampires and humans who have wronged us.”
“No, I need a drop of your blood,” Missy said. “For a spell.”
It was 3:00 a.m., and Ronnie had somehow managed to land in Missy’s backyard without hitting any power lines. Though, he did knock over a palm tree by accident. He carefully avoided damaging any of her mango trees. As a young dragon rehabilitating in her garage, he had been extremely fond of mangos.
“You gave me a general idea of where your daughter, Elantha, is,” Missy said. “With a drop of your blood, I can cast a spell that pinpoints her exact location. Then, we’ll go in and rescue her.”
She approached him with a glass vial. With his surprisingly dexterous foreleg, he pricked his shoulder with a claw. Missy held the vial beneath the wound and collected several drops before it quickly healed. Dragons had supernatural healing powers similar to those of vampires, but not as powerful. And as demonstrated by the recent deaths, dragons are not immortal.