Raising Dragons

by Bryan Davis

  Bonnie reached her hand forward, and Billy hesitated, staring at it for a second. Finally, he put his hand in hers, folding his fingers into a handshake, but this was like no handshake he had ever felt before. Her cool, smooth fingers wrapped under the heel of his hand, and her thumb hugged the knuckle of his index finger. Every pressure point brought a strange warmth that overwhelmed the chill of fear in his hands, and with every ounce of energy he had, Billy tried to transmit that warmth back to Bonnie, hoping to bring her some comfort.

  After a few seconds, Billy pulled his hand back, letting go slowly, allowing his fingers to caress hers as they moved apart. He had never held a girl’s hand before. He didn’t know what the sensation meant. Was it a romantic feeling, or was it the loving touch of a friend, a faithful sister who really understood all his troubles?

  Billy’s mother picked up the cell phone and handed it to him. “We should be back in range now. Let’s try your father again.”

  Billy punched in the numbers and waited, tapping his foot and breathing heavily. After a few seconds he responded to his father’s recorded greeting. Billy’s fear came through in his trembling voice. “Dad, it’s Billy again. The slayer’s following us. We’ll try to lose him, but I don’t think we can do it in this rickety old car.”

  “Billy, if he’s not there, just hang up and call 9-1-1.”

  “Dad, I have to hang up and call the police.” Billy glanced back again at their pursuer. “There’s no use hiding now. He knows who we are.” Bonnie raised her head and turned around to get a look at the slayer.

  Billy punched the emergency number and waited. His eyes darted around at the familiar sights as the road narrowed again, signaling their entry into Castlewood’s downtown section. The small town normally had light traffic, but today a river of cars jammed the two-lane stretch through the main drag. Trucks and vans carrying the setup crew for the fall festival hugged the curb and flooded the parking areas near the recreation entrance a few blocks farther up the road. Various craft stands, harvest exhibits, and charity booths packed the sidewalks, and dozens of people milled around, putting the final touches on their displays.

  A mechanical female voice finally answered, “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  Billy was about to speak, but he saw something that made him shout into the phone. “Never mind!” He hung up, grabbed his mother’s shoulder, and pointed down the road. “Look! There’s a policeman!”

  At the next traffic light, about two blocks ahead, a police officer directed cars, waving his gloved hand with robotic precision. Billy put the cell phone down and pointed again. “Mom! Pull up beside him and tell him what’s going on!”

  “I can’t yet. I have to stop. He’s stopping everyone, and there are at least a dozen cars between us.”

  “Then go in the other lane!”

  She waved her hand at the oncoming traffic. “I can’t. Cars are turning this way from the side street.”

  Billy looked back. Whittier’s Cadillac had stopped, too, and when their eyes met, Billy felt a cold shiver again. The principal’s evil glower carried a mix of unearthly hatred and sadistic delight. Would he get out now and come up to the car? Billy looked ahead. Oh, good. Mom left some escape room in front of us. He noticed her eyes moving back and forth again between the rearview mirror and the windshield. She was definitely on the alert.

  “Why won’t he let us through?” she complained.

  “All those cars have their headlights on,” Bonnie noted. “Is it a funeral procession?”

  Billy kept his eyes riveted on the slayer. “Probably. I’ll bet they’re all coming from Smather’s Funeral Home.”

  Billy’s mom gripped the steering wheel and wrung it like a dishcloth. “I couldn’t turn into the other lane even if I wanted to, and there’s no way I could get up on the sidewalk with all those produce stands everywhere.”

  Billy could only watch and wait. “Whoever died must’ve been a popular guy.” He looked back at the short distance between the VW and the Cadillac. “He’s so close. He could just get out and—” Billy dropped his mouth open. Dr. Whittier’s car door had swung open, and he was stepping out onto the street.

  Bonnie grabbed the front seat and screamed. “He’s getting out! And he’s carrying a crowbar!”

  Billy’s mother spun the steering wheel to the right and muttered. “So I smash a few pumpkins!” She stepped on the gas, lurching the car forward, but the engine backfired with a loud “Pow!” and choked before expiring in a dying gasp. All three gulped and held their breath while she frantically turned the ignition key. The starter sounded like rocks spinning in a tin can. The motor coughed and sputtered but died away again.

  The dragon slayer limped up to the left rear window and drew back his crowbar, ready to strike. Bonnie threw herself forward and covered her face with her hands. The crowbar crashed through the window, sending glass shards and pellets flying over her back and shoulders.

  The slayer didn’t bother opening the door. He threw the crowbar down and lunged his torso through the window’s gaping hole, reaching with his maniacal fingers until he grabbed a fistful of Bonnie’s hair. He jerked her upright and dragged her, faceup, toward the window. Bonnie screamed and stretched out her arms and hands, hysterically trying to grasp anything within reach.

  Billy lunged toward her, grabbed one of her floundering hands, and pulled, but it slipped, and he flew back and banged his head on the dashboard. Billy’s mother spun, leaned around her seat, and caught one of Bonnie’s arms. She held on with one hand while wrapping her other arm around Bonnie’s waist.

  The enraged slayer, with both fists now full of Bonnie’s hair, pulled ferociously. Pop! Pop! Bonnie’s neck vertebrae sounded an alarm; they couldn’t hold out much longer.

  Billy reached over his struggling mom to help. It was no use. Their bodies flailed, arms and legs flying in every direction. But he had to do something! Bonnie’s neck was about to snap, and the jagged glass in the window stabbed her shoulders. She could be dead in seconds! He leaped out his door. His only hope was to dash around and attack the slayer.

  As he ran, he noticed the policeman finally turning their way. Can he see what’s going on? Can he possibly help in time? The people on the sidewalks just stood and stared, apparently in a state of shock. He couldn’t wait for anyone. He had to go for it.

  As he rounded the front of the car, a strange light struck his eyes, blinding him for a second. It seemed to come from the slayer himself.

  Billy stopped and shielded his face. He felt confused and weak, as though something was draining his energy, even his thoughts.

  Bonnie’s throat lay bare and stretched out just past the window base. The window frame’s jagged, broken glass sliced into her shoulders just below her neck. Her terrified eyes turned to Billy, and her gaping mouth formed a silent scream.

  “If I can’t get you out,” the slayer growled, his bright eyes now glowing yellow, “I’ll just finish you off right here, Demon Witch!” He raised his hand, and a long switchblade snapped open.

  Billy took a deep breath and held it. His feet wouldn’t move. They felt anchored to the street. He lunged forward, releasing a guttural, explosive, “Nooooo!” An orange tongue of fire shot out and wrapped around the slayer’s arm, engulfing his sleeve in flames before he could complete the fatal plunge. Still clutching the knife, the slayer stumbled backward, almost falling into the next lane of traffic. He ripped out dozens of strands of Bonnie’s hair as he jerked away, and her head flew up and then whipped back downward again, springing like a clown’s head in a jack-in-the-box.

  Billy thrust himself toward her and stretched out his arms to catch her on the downswing. He cradled her head with his right hand, and he slid his left arm behind her back to support the rest of her body. Now gasping for breath, he made his own body a shield for Bonnie, lifting her off the glass on the window frame while standing between her and the slayer. All he could do now was wait for help.

  After the sudden release
of pressure, Billy’s mom slipped and lost her grip on Bonnie. Her foot caught on the brake pedal as her body spun toward the passenger’s side. Her elbow slammed against the Volkswagen’s horn, and it stuck, sending a high-pitched distress signal throughout the district.

  The slayer ran for his car, beating the air with his right arm while tearing at his sleeve with his left hand. By the time he reached the door, the flame had died, and a torn, charred sleeve fell to the street. Before he could pull the door’s handle, a wiry, gray-haired man leaped on his back. Like a squirrel on a thin sapling, he wrapped his legs around the slayer’s waist while grasping his face and neck with his hands. A huge, burly man jumped from his pickup truck and charged the slayer from the front, reaching forward with ape-like arms.

  With a deft spin, the slayer turned, putting the man on his back between himself and his new attacker. The trucker planted one oversized boot flat on the pavement to avoid smashing the older man, and he stumbled, falling forward to the road like a toppling redwood. His forehead smacked against the asphalt, and he slowly lifted his body, bracing himself on hands and knees and shaking his head.

  The slayer extended his right arm, his knife still in hand. With driving fury, he plunged the blade into his older attacker’s calf. The man cried out and fell to the ground next to the truck driver, grasping his leg and writhing in pain.

  Dr. Whittier flung his car door open and jumped in. Since the policeman had stopped the flow of traffic just seconds before, the slayer was able to turn his car into the opposite lane. He roared away in the other direction, and, in a heavy puff of exhaust smoke, he was gone.

  Less than two seconds later the policeman finally arrived, halting his frantic sprint in a burst of heavy stomps next to Billy. He helped Billy keep Bonnie’s shoulders clear of the window’s sharp remains.

  Billy made sure his hands were the only ones under her back as he leaned through the window to support her hidden wing structure, while the officer, an athletic, leather-jacketed man with a thick mane of gray hair, carried her head and shoulders. “That’s it, son. Lift her a little higher. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  Bonnie had stopped screaming. Her eyes stayed tightly shut, but her stifled sobs broke through her composure. As gently as they could, her two helpers guided her back into the car where she pushed herself to a sitting position.

  When they opened the door, Bonnie stepped out with the help of the four supporting hands and tried to stand. Her wobbly legs fought to steady themselves, and just before she lost her balance, she threw her arms around Billy and wept pitifully on his shoulder. Billy supported her weight and gently draped his arms around her, careful to keep his touch light on the blood-dampened sweater. He tried to pull the material away from her skin to somehow disguise the lump from her hidden wings. Would anyone notice?

  Billy’s mother had struggled to a sitting position herself. She gave the steering wheel a firm rap with her fist, and the horn stopped blaring. The officer helped her out of the car with one hand while reaching for his shoulder-strapped radio with the other. “I need ambulance support at the corner of Main and Millstone. Four individuals, two females, one adult, one teenager, and two adult males. Injuries may be serious. I need an APB on a Cadillac, dark blue. License plate looks like a vanity tag that starts with IHD, state unknown. Middle-aged male suspected of attempted murder. May be armed with a knife. Last seen heading southbound on Main.”

  The policeman paused for a second, his eyes squinting toward the horizon. He cleared his throat and began speaking into the radio again. “It’s hard to believe, but the suspect looked just like the middle school principal. I think his name’s Whittier.”

  “It is Whittier,” Billy offered. “And he may be heading for the airport.” When he spoke, he felt a terrible stinging pain. His tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and he spat out the words. The inside of his mouth felt like he had been gargling acid, and pain radiated back into his throat, making his whole insides burn like he had swallowed a swarm of angry bees. What happened? Did that fire come from inside me? He needed water to cool the burning sting, but nothing was available. He tried to create some saliva to swallow. That helped, at least a little bit.

  “Suspect believed to be going to the airport,” the officer continued. “Cannot pursue at this time. He’ll probably take residential roads to Airport Boulevard, so seal the corner of Airport and Vine.” When he finished, the officer turned to the victims and addressed Bonnie first. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  Bonnie kept her face buried in Billy’s shoulder. She just nodded.

  With an awkward limp, Billy’s mother walked behind Bonnie and pulled the sweater collar down to have a look at her wounds. She shook her head and grimaced. “Quite a few cuts. One looks pretty nasty, but the bleeding’s not too bad. It’s just oozing.”

  The officer lowered his bushy gray eyebrows, making him look like a worried grandfather. “And are you all right, ma’am?”

  “Just a little ankle sprain. I’ll be fine.”

  “Sorry I took so long. I stopped and drew my gun, but I couldn’t shoot while he had the girl. Then the boy got in the line of fire, and the man got on the creep’s back. I should’ve kept running.”

  “Don’t worry, officer,” Billy’s mom said, “it wasn’t your fault, and I think our injuries are minor.”

  The policeman looked at Billy, his eyes surveying him from top to bottom. “Where did that fire come from, son? Did you throw something at him?”

  Billy glanced over at his mother and Bonnie and then back at the officer. He really didn’t know how to respond, so he just shrugged his shoulders. “You got me.”

  The policeman pinched his chin between his thumb and index finger, apparently mulling the whole thing over, but after a few seconds he just waved his hand toward the outskirts of town. “The ambulances should be coming from the county station, but the traffic’s pretty bad, so it might be a few more minutes. Just take it easy right here while I check on the men.” He gave a reassuring smile and hustled over to the two would-be heroes.

  While his mother continued to examine Bonnie’s neck and head, Billy watched the officer tend to the fallen men. The policeman knelt and pulled up the smaller man’s pant leg while the trucker rose slowly to his feet, still shaking his head to clear the fog. The officer then left the scene, jogging past Billy toward his squad car back at the intersection.

  “I’m going for a first-aid kit for the girl and the men,” he called back. “The ambulances might take too long.”

  A few seconds after he left, the faint sound of a wailing siren rode the cool breeze into town. Bonnie lifted her face from Billy’s shirt and tried to speak through her crying spasms. “We . . . can’t let them . . . examine me.”

  Billy’s mother stepped back and ran her hand through her tangled hair. “She’s right, and we have to get to the airport. We have a first-aid kit in the plane. I think she’ll be okay until then.”

  Without another word, Billy helped Bonnie and his mother back into the car. As he walked around the rear, he saw the two injured men once again. Billy decided he couldn’t possibly leave without thanking them.

  “Back in a sec!” he called, his tongue stinging a bit less.

  As he hustled toward them, he noticed an unusual sparkle on the road near where the two men rested. Clouds covered the sun like a cold gray blanket, so he wondered where the light could be coming from. He leaned over and snatched it up. It was a small stone, about the size of a quarter, shaped like a slightly flattened golf ball. Instead of tiny dimples, it was covered with hexagonal facets about the width of a pencil eraser, and a hole had been drilled through one edge, as though it had been the pendant for a necklace. A crystalline shell surrounded a black core, and it seemed to emit light from one side, dim but noticeable. The faint beam flickered, painting shadows on Billy’s palm, as though it were casting the image of ghostly dancers from its glass-covered stage.

  Although the pain in his mouth came roarin
g back, he had to ask about the gem. He showed it to the truck driver. “Is this yours?”

  “Never seen it before,” he replied while rubbing the back of his neck.

  The police officer had just arrived and was kneeling next to the older man, who was still sitting on the street holding his pant leg up. Billy held the stone between his thumb and finger. “Does this belong to either one of you?”

  “Nope,” the injured man replied. “Don’t wear jewelry.”

  The officer pulled a roll of gauze from the first-aid kit and glanced up at Billy. He just shook his head.

  Several other people had ventured onto the street, talking to and comforting the men, so Billy held up the stone for all to see. “Does this belong to anyone here?”

  Various shakes of the head and calls of “Not mine” gave him his answer. He dropped the stone into his pocket and spoke to the two men. “I appreciate what you tried to do. He’s really dangerous.”

  “No need for thanks,” the trucker replied. “I just wish we could have caught him.”

  Billy didn’t know how to end the conversation, so he just waved clumsily and hurried back to the Volkswagen, which now had three or four people by the driver’s side, talking to his mother and to Bonnie. As he jogged back, he noticed the pain in his mouth lessening again. Good thing! I don’t know how long I could’ve stood that heat without a drink! I wonder why the pain keeps changing?

  Billy jumped into the front passenger seat and slammed the door. “The police guy’s got his back turned. We don’t have time to file a report, so let’s roll. The sirens are getting close. With all the commotion, maybe he won’t notice.”

  His mother rolled up her window after saying a quick goodbye to her well-wishers. By this time, the cars in front had already pulled away. “Oh, please start this time,” Billy’s mom pleaded as she turned the key. A weak, grinding sound whined from the rear and then fell silent. Another grind, even weaker, cried like a sick puppy and died away.