by Paul Cude
"It'll get you in there okay," added Simon. "Just watch out for all the medical waste on the floor once you're in."
"Thank you," said Flash sincerely.
"You're welcome," replied Simon. "Don't worry about naga boy here, we'll await the king's instructions and make sure he's totally secured. Oh and by the way, you should get somebody to look at the damage to your back, pretty damn quick."
Flash turned inquisitively to face him.
"Field medic, that's my normal role," said Simon, answering Flash's unasked question. "It needs attention, soon."
"I'll get it sorted," announced Flash, climbing into the cramped maintenance tunnel.
"Good luck," shouted Simon, before securing the door back in place, and moving the computer server back to its original position. The other guards were only seconds away from the control room.
'Now to use my imagination, and explain all this away. There are just some parts of my job I really hate,' Simon thought, still slightly in awe of meeting one of the legendary Crimson Guards.
Flash, meanwhile, moved steadily along the tunnel, passing through two more doors, following its mazy path until he dropped down inside the incinerator itself.
'Simon was right,' he thought, looking across the floor that was scattered with all sorts of medical waste, despite the fact that it had been recently used, given away by just how hot it was. Scrabbling away through needles, syringes, rubber gloves and all sorts of glass and plastic, he eventually found what he was looking for. The metal plate didn't look very special at all, quite the opposite in fact. Shoving everything around it out of the way, he sought in his mind the instructions on what to do. In doing so, he became aware that the magical energy Simon had shared with him was being consumed at an alarming rate, his body clearly struggling in the fight against the poison. Urgently, he read the instructions in his mind, pressed down on the edges of the plate in certain places and waited to see if he'd done it correctly. Sure enough, a second or so later, a human sized hole opened up for him. Relief washed through him, taking away some of the pain temporarily, as he jumped feet first into the darkness of the hole, and began sliding to what he hoped was the conclusion of this nightmare mission.
8 My Kind of Scrum
Peter arrived at the sports club just after lunch. His hockey team were playing away today, but he'd come for a totally different purpose, here first and foremost to see Janice, but also to watch Tank play rugby and Richie play lacrosse. As he walked into the half full bar, he knew it would become busier as the day progressed, culminating in chaos at about 5pm when all the rugby, hockey and lacrosse teams that had been playing at home would come in along with all of their opponents, as well as some of the away teams returning from their matches.
Standing at the quiet end of the bar, his fingers tingled, arms and legs weakened and his stomach auditioned once again for the Olympic gymnastics team. Lately, he tried to pay close attention to all the things going on within his pretend body, and today he'd found out something startling. After leaving home, the closer he got to the sports club, the more powerful the sensations had become. Now that he was standing at the bar, it was all he could do to remain upright, the feelings were so overwhelming.
'Nothing makes any sense,' he thought, trying to catch a glimpse of Janice behind the well stocked bar. Smiling to himself, he knew what Tank and Richie would say. At least he thought he did. Tank would tell him to obey the strict dragon rules and leave all this behind. Richie would undoubtedly tell him that he'd fallen head over heels in love, hence the strange goings on within his body, and that he should follow his heart. For goodness sake, he was a dragon, he had no heart, well he did, it just wasn't like a human heart. It was all so complicated, he felt like banging his head against the solid wooden bar.
Suddenly soft hands swept around his head from behind and covered his eyes.
"Guess who?" whispered a squeaky voice in his left ear.
Feeling his heart rate quicken as a weak and wobbly feeling shot upwards through his body, he responded with the first words that came into his head.
"Tank, how do you keep your hands so wonderfully soft?" he asked playfully, knowing full well it was Janice.
Before she could remove her hands, he grabbed them, turning around quickly to face her.
"Just kidding," he whispered, before she had a chance to be offended. "Hello gorgeous Janice."
She popped up and kissed him slowly on the lips.
"You're cheekier than a field full of nudists."
Peter smiled.
"Thanks for a great night last night," he stuttered.
"Hmmmm... it was good, wasn't it?" she replied dreamily.
Slowly, she pulled away.
"Sorry, I've got to get back to work. They don't like members of staff fraternising with the customers, not when they're on duty, anyway."
"No problem."
"I finish at five, so what about a drink then?"
"Sure. I'm gonna watch the ruby and the lacrosse so I won't be very far away."
"See you at five," she said, winking as she picked up some empty glasses from the top of the bar, before heading on through to the kitchen.
Realising that once again his stomach had gone somersault mad, his legs even weaker than before, he knew he needed to sit down. Heading over to a table by the window, he flopped down and took a deep breath. Inside, he knew that he really shouldn't be doing any of this, but it just felt so... right.
Sitting there thinking, he pulled his chair in as somebody moved into the seat directly behind him. That person leant back and bumped into his chair... twice. He ignored it.
'Some people are just so rude,' he thought. After a few more seconds, the person behind him did exactly the same thing again. Never normally able to say 'boo' to a goose, he'd had enough, and was about to tell the banging chair person exactly what he thought. As he whirled round, a grinning face greeted him, causing all his frustration to just melt away.
"She's soooooo pwettyyyy," teased Richie in a silly voice.
"Don't start," replied Peter firmly.
"But she is."
Peter just shook his head.
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your match?" he asked, trying to change the subject.
"Unfortunately the opposition had to cry off."
Deciding not to make a joke of things, he had some idea of just how frustrated Richie would be.
"Sorry Rich, that's not very good."
"Oh well," she said rolling her eyes. "Just means I have to keep you company while we both watch Bulging Biceps over there do his thing," she added, nodding her head in the direction of the window.
Glancing out to see the home rugby team warming up together, Tank stood out like a sore thumb, his giant frame dwarfing most of his teammates. Richie leant back in her chair, put her head next to Peter's and quietly whispered into his ear.
"Right at the moment, how much does he look like the true Tank we've come to know and love?"
Gazing out of the window at his friend, Peter realised Richie was right. Standing amongst his teammates, stretching, flexing his muscles, socks rolled down to his ankles, Tank looked magnificent as he exhaled a frozen breath. With the bright sun glinting off his receding hairline, he looked incredibly similar to the giant dragon that Peter had come to recognise as his friend.
"He could almost be atop Lava Falls, ready to leap off."
"Indeed," agreed Richie. "Anyway," she quipped, standing up, "are we going to watch him play, or are you going to sit on your scaly backside for the rest of the afternoon?"
Grabbing a drink from the bar, the pair proceeded outside with their plastic glasses, taking their place in the small crowd of spectators already there. Propping themselves up against the metal railings that surrounded the pitch, the friends' timing couldn't have been any better as the shrill sound of the referee's whistle got the match underway.
Sipping regularly from his drink, inundated with huge cubes of ice, something quite ironic given the
temperature, he marvelled at the sport going on in front of him. When Richie had encouraged both him and Tank to try some different sports, she must have had some inkling of which ones would appeal. Of course he'd taken to hockey like a dog to sniffing bottoms, Tank likewise with rugby. Looking out across the pitch at his friend, already covered from head to toe in mud, despite the fact that the match was barely a few minutes old, it was evident that Tank was a natural player, and obviously felt the same about rugby as he did about hockey.
The first scrum of the match jolted Peter out of his musings. Tank, as prop, took his place in the front row, his big strong arms wrapped around his teammates, before the two sides slammed into each other. Unconsciously, Peter winced at the thought of being in the scrum, despite knowing his dragon physiology would offer him some protection. Quickly, he scrolled through the variety of different visions available to him, finally settling on his mantra vision. Glancing across at Tank who, right at this very moment, was pushing the scrum forward almost singlehandedly, he was bowled over by his friend's heroics, his mantra vision confirming beyond any doubt that no secret abilities were involved at all. Switching his vision back to normal in the blink of an eye, he turned to look at Richie who was staring intently at him.
"It's okay," she said. "We've all done it."
"Done what?" replied Peter innocently.
"Checked to see if everything's... dragon free."
"Ohhh," sighed Peter. "It's not that I don't trust him," whispered Peter, nodding in Tank's direction.
"I know," confirmed Richie, rolling her eyes. "Remember that hockey match you played against Manson?"
A rolling wave of nausea threatened to engulf him momentarily. Quickly he shook it off.
"What about it?"
"I checked you out with my mantra vision while you were still playing."
"Really?"
"Of course."
"And?" Peter asked indignantly.
"Oh come on Pete, don't go all grumpy on me. You know full well I didn't find anything amiss, because it would never occur to you to cheat and use your..." Richie leant in a little closer, "...differing species abilities."
Chuckling at the way Richie chose to phrase her words, he let her continue.
"Besides," she said, a stern look on her face, "don't try and pretend you haven't at least once checked up on me to see if I was abusing my... position of power."
Feeling he had to come clean, he knew he'd never fool her anyway.
"Maybe just... once," he uttered sheepishly.
She laughed, before taking a huge gulp of her frothy lager from the flimsy looking plastic glass she held. Having turned his attention back to the rugby, Peter could see that the scrum had turned into a ruck, or as he preferred to think of it... a mud covered skirmish. How there weren't more serious injuries in the game, he had no idea. Both teams were going at it hammer and tongs, crunching tackles on players who'd just released the ball, thundering charges, players diving over the ball into an oncoming mass of their opponents. Finally the referee blew his whistle to signal a penalty to the opposition, much to Peter's relief, as it was only then that he realised he'd been holding his breath, the action had been so compelling.
Hearing the referee explain to the Salisbridge players that the penalty had been for an offside to the blind side, much to the disagreement and disappointment of them all, he looked on as the opposition quickly took the penalty, trying a cheeky chip over the top, but the Salisbridge defenders were all switched on and alert to the danger, negating the threat posed, starting their own sizzling counter attack in the process. Both friends watched in awe as the ball was played out wide on the far side of the pitch, the winger eventually being forced back inside, well into the opposition's half. Having weaved and dodged with outstanding dexterity, the winger finally succumbed to a well timed tackle by a very tall and thin opponent, with the play again breaking down into a ruck. Through the crowd of players, he could just make out Tank's considerable bulk piling his way forward. With the tackled player having just released the ball on the ground, Tank was first to reach it, scooping it up with just one of his giant hands, pulling it into his chest and vaulting over the downed winger. Opponents converged on him like ants on a sticky sweet, stuck to the pavement. Still he remained upright, the ball clutched firmly to his muddy chest. Richie pumped her fist in the air, careful not to spill her drink, and shouted,
"Go on Tank, show them how it's done."
Peter shook his head, and then quickly buried it in his thick, warm coat, embarrassed by his friend's outburst.
Meanwhile Tank had managed to palm off a few opponents, while at the same time shaking free the one on each leg. With the burden of clinging rivals relieved, albeit temporarily, he broke into a sprint, determined to score a try. Unfortunately for him, one adversary remained firmly planted in his way. Tank dropped his broad shoulders, determined to sell the dummy, but the defender was having none of it, and tackled the man mountain of a Salisbridge player with all the ferocity of a great white shark with a sore tooth. Fortunately, just as Tank realised his dummy hadn't come off, he spotted one of his teammates out of the corner of his left eye, just slightly behind him. Instantly he unfurled the ball from his chest and managed to offload it to his colleague, just as the defender ploughed into him with a sickening crunch.
On the sideline, Peter winced at the tackle, and then tried to peer through numerous bodies to see if his friend was okay, but to no avail. The pass that Tank had made had been gathered in by his teammate and converted into a try, as Tank continued to lie in a heap with the defender in the mud, twenty feet from the try line. Eventually the bodies in the way cleared just long enough for Peter and Richie to see the defender stagger to his feet, a smug grin etched across his muddied, deformed and beaten face. Peter, who'd been holding his breath again, exhaled into the cold winter air as his friend finally rose to his feet, albeit slightly dazed and confused. In an instant, the Salisbridge physio was by his side, checking out not only his vision, but a huge lump that had appeared on the top of his right cheek. Although he knew it was nigh on impossible for Tank to be seriously hurt, Peter remained deeply concerned for his friend, even after the physio left the pitch and play resumed with Salisbridge successfully kicking the conversion to go 7-0 ahead.
As the teams took their positions for the restart, Peter glanced over his shoulder at the hockey match taking place on the Astroturf, just beyond the frozen lacrosse pitch. A disconcerting shudder rattled down his spine. Images from the horrific, icy cold, November evening he'd spent as Manson's prisoner flashed before his very eyes. As the terror filled moments in which he'd almost died replayed in his head, it was all he could do to hold back the tears. Immediately a comforting arm slinked around his shoulders, pulling him in close.
"It's alright Pete, it's over. Manson's gone, never to be seen again. You know that," whispered Richie, understanding exactly what Peter was feeling.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing as he did so, he felt so... embarrassed... ashamed... frightened. Knowing he'd caught the attention of the other spectators, he decided he just didn't care.
"Sorry Rich," he finally managed to splutter. "Seeing the pitch again, it just brought everything flooding back."
"You don't have to apologise Pete. It frightens me to think back and realise that we could have lost you that night, despite the fact that you were only a stone's throw away from both me and Muscles over there. Looking back on things and knowing what we know now, it makes me feel weak, helpless and vulnerable, knowing that there was nothing I could have done to stop you going through all of that. I've felt for a while that it should be me apologising to you, for not knowing that you were in danger. Despite all Manson's special talents, I still should have been there. I'm pretty sure Tank feels the same way, you know."
Peter wiped even more tears away from his wet, chilly face.
"It's like a nightmare Rich. I thought I was over it. I had a few bad dreams for a couple of weeks afte
r, but since then, I've not really thought about it, but just seeing the pitch again was enough to trigger a reaction. Everyone keeps reiterating that it's over and that's the end of it for me, but is it really? Somewhere in the back of my mind there's a little niggling voice that keeps telling me I'm still in some way connected to it all and that I might get dragged back into whatever's going on. Sometimes it makes me want to go and live wholly underground, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that."
Richie pulled back from Peter, flabbergasted.
"My God Pete, I hadn't realised it was that bad."
He just nodded, not knowing what else to say or do.
With more warmth than the hottest of dragons, she embraced him, pulling him close to her with both arms. As she did so, she whispered very quietly into his ear.
"It WILL be alright. You will ALWAYS have Tank and I, and the way things are going, I'd say a human girlfriend... result!"
A smile spread across his sad face, all thoughts of his ordeal banished, for now at least.
"You always know the right thing to say," he declared with a wink.
Richie nodded, before both friends returned their attention back to the third member of the trio, eager to see how the rugby match was panning out.
It didn't take long to figure out that the whole match had been turned on its head. Salisbridge were very much on the back foot, with Tank limping as he ran to catch up with the ball, Peter noticed, sorry for the interruption his outpouring of emotion had caused. Richie leant over and chatted to the spectators further along, returning to inform Peter that the score was now 7-6, with the opposition having scored from an open play drop kick, as well as a penalty kick. On top of which, they'd been using some very underhand tactics. Both friends continued to watch Tank hobble about, knowing that not only was he suffering with an injury to his leg or ankle by the looks of things, but that he was almost certainly outraged at the opposition resorting to a whole catalogue of dirty tricks. They both knew their friend would give everything he had to turn things around on the pitch, much as they would in either of their respective sports.
