by Bryan Davis
“Look, I don’t know who you are,” the patrolman snapped. “What makes you think you can come down here and take over something you know nothing about?”
The other man flashed a badge in a leather case. “I’m not taking over; I’m just telling you to report all findings to me. If you don’t, I will take over.”
The patrolman left in a huff, and the man with the badge looked back at his three friends and laughed. “They’re just a bunch of local yokels! Come on. Let’s get to the crash scene.”
Walter tugged on his teacher’s coat and whispered. “Mr. Hamilton. Look at that guy. Is that—”?
Mr. Hamilton pulled Walter to the side. “Don’t show your face. Yes, it does look like Whittier, or whatever he’s calling himself, and he’s walking with a limp.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I suggest that we call him Devin, at least for now, to prevent confusion. Let’s talk to the patrolman and see what’s going on.”
The two high-stepped through the snow-covered grass to the patrolman’s car. They found the officer sitting behind the steering wheel, talking on the radio. “Yes, Special Agent Albert Devin. He says he’s FBI.” The officer twisted his neck to see who had approached. “Yes?”
Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat and tried to sound confident. “We know who the agent is. He is not who he claims to be.”
The patrolman squinted, a curtain of doubt crossing his face. “Who is he, then?”
Mr. Hamilton raised his eyebrows with a knowing sort of air. “Have you heard the name, ‘Whittier,’ in your investigation?”
“Of course. The missing principal, the guy who tried to kill the girl back in Castlewood.”
Walter tugged on Mr. Hamilton’s coat again.
The teacher waved him off. “Just a moment, Mr. Foley.”
Mr. Hamilton went on. “Albert Devin is Dr. Edward Whittier.”
The patrolman’s eyes shot wide open. “What?”
Walter tried to speak up. “Mr. Hamilton?”
“Just a moment, Mr. Foley.”
The officer got out of the car and glanced briefly over at the supposed FBI agent. “And he’s the one who tried to kill the mystery girl?”
Mr. Hamilton crossed his arms and nodded. “The very same.”
The squad car radio crackled back to life, and the patrolman listened to the static-filled transmission. Walter couldn’t decipher the words, but when the patrolman came out again, the look on his face told him something was wrong. His shoulders had slumped, and his eyebrows bent down toward his nose. “Devin checks out. I’m supposed to do whatever he says.”
Mr. Hamilton jerked his head fully upright. “What? Impossible!”
“Mr. Hamilton?”
The teacher turned sharply to Walter. “Yes, Mr. Foley! What is it?”
“The plane. Were there survivors?”
Mr. Hamilton stared at Walter for a second and then slapped himself on the forehead. “Yes, of course!” He turned back toward the patrol car. “Officer, what of the crash site? What was found?”
The patrolman slammed the car door shut and gazed up toward the hills. “Good news and bad news I suppose. The good news is that the plane didn’t explode, and there were no bodies around anywhere.” He then looked back at Mr. Hamilton. “The bad news is that they found a lot of blood and signs of something being dragged away. There are bears in the area, you know.”
Walter gulped. “Bears?”
The patrolman continued. “But the snow’s making the search for footprints very difficult. Aviation is consulting by phone, and they said the plane could have had parachutes. Maybe the passengers jumped.”
“You mentioned the mystery girl,” Mr. Hamilton said. “Her name is Bonnie Silver, and we have reason to believe she was on the plane.”
“Bonnie Silver?” He rolled his eyes upward in thought. “I’ll call that in and see what Missing Persons says.” He opened the car door again and slid into the seat. “We did assume that the mystery girl was on the plane.” He looked back at Mr. Hamilton. “And you’re sure that Agent Devin couldn’t be FBI?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure what to think anymore.” He then pointed discreetly toward Agent Devin. “But that man is the Castlewood Middle School principal who calls himself Whittier. There’s no doubt about that. I’m a teacher there, and I know him personally.”
The patrolman nodded and grabbed the radio. “I’ll try to get a photo faxed over here. If that really is Whittier, we’ll find a way to keep him off that mountain.”
Walter stepped forward to address the officer. “If they jumped, any idea where?”
“They’re mapping the possibilities now. Get back with your search unit and you’ll find out.”
Walter took another step closer to the open car door and bent over to look the patrolman in the eye. “I’m sure Bonnie was on the plane. I bet it’ll help if everyone’s calling out her name, just in case.”
The patrolman gripped Walter’s shoulder. “You can count on it, son.”
Walter and Mr. Hamilton reunited with their team, which had been joined by new search groups. The number of people was growing dramatically as the morning progressed. Walter guessed that the locals had already heard about the finding of the plane. A lot of people probably listened to police scanners or something, and now with the news reporters and their TV cameras showing up, the whole world would soon know about it.
The search leader spread a map out over a car hood and began explaining the color-coded highlights painted on it. “The red area is the most likely jump zone,” he said, pointing at the map. “We’ll start there and work our way back to the orange zone and then to the yellow.”
Walter tuned out the rest of the explanation while trying to move closer to Devin. Keeping his head turned so the principal wouldn’t recognize him, he tried to listen in on what he was saying to his cronies. His usual gruff voice was unmistakable.
“ . . . with the team closest to the crash site. If you find Clefspeare, radio me. I have a good idea where the witch is, so I’m going after her.”
Walter’s eavesdropping was interrupted by the sounds of shouts from far away. “They found someone on the mountain!”
Cheers went up all around, and the buzz grew so intense Walter could no longer hear the announcer’s voice. Walter stood on tiptoes and saw a big man raising his hands to quiet the swelling crowd, his panting breaths blowing clouds into the breeze.
“A woman,” he said, still panting. “The chopper spotted a woman near the very top of the ridge, and they were able to pick her up a few minutes later. She’s fine. Very cold, but she’ll be fine.”
“Who is it?” about a dozen voices shouted out. Several microphones pushed through the tight throng to catch the rescuer’s answer.
“The pilot’s wife. And, man, what a story she told! Anyway, a boy and girl are still out there somewhere, and the pilot went down with the plane. The boy’s trying to find his way back, and some maniac named Whittier has the girl. Parachuted out of the plane with her in his arms. Whittier caused the crash and wants to kill the girl.”
Walter looked for the patrolman to see his reaction, but he wasn’t at his car. Then he looked back toward Devin, but he was gone, too. Walter’s eyes darted in every direction, trying to find the principal while listening for more news.
“The woman refused medical help,” the messenger continued. “They’re taking her to the crash site to join the search parties.”
There was no time to lose, but could Walter convince the patrolman that Devin had gone out to try to kill Bonnie? The police already knew that Whittier tried to kill her back at Castlewood, but would they believe this FBI agent was really a maniac who was now hunting for her again?
Wait! There he is! And he’s alone.
Walter spotted Devin slowly easing away in a large, black pickup truck. Walter didn’t have time to plan or go back to find Mr. Hamilton. He sprinted to the truck just as it turned out of the parking area and onto the field, and he leaped into the payl
oad bed. He hoped Devin didn’t feel the bounce he made. Maybe he would think it was just one of the many rough bumps from the trail’s parking area. Walter slid toward the front of the bed and into a corner, out of the rearview mirror’s line of sight.
So far, so good. He’s still driving.
Walter rode out the bumps, struggling to maintain a hold on the metal frame. The truck must have been a four-wheel drive. It pulled through the snow without much trouble, but Devin ran it like a tank, ignoring run-off ditches and any other obstacle. It was full speed ahead, it seemed, and Walter felt every painful bounce.
After a few minutes, the truck started climbing, and when it would go no farther, slipping in the melting snow, the driver turned off the engine. Walter curled up in the corner and listened for the sound of the door closing. He then waited a minute or so before poking his head up to try to find Devin.
Walter spotted him trudging up the side of the mountain on a narrow, snow-covered foot trail, and he scrambled out of the truck to follow. Devin had a good lead, but that was okay. Walter knew he could follow Devin’s footprints, and he didn’t want to alert him with the sound of crunching leaves that each of his own footsteps would bring as he pushed through the snow.
Walter dashed from tree to tree, hiding himself and then watching for a few seconds until Devin moved out of view behind a rock or over a rise. After stopping behind a massive oak in a dense part of the forest, Walter was unable to find him again. He rushed ahead, searching the snow for the principal’s trail. At least eight lines of footprints scattered in every direction, and none looked any fresher than the others. Walter kicked at the snow and hundreds of glittering specks rained all around. He couldn’t wait. He had to guess.
Wake up, Bonnie. It’s morning.”
“Huh? What?” Bonnie yawned and turned toward the voice. “Oh. Good morning, Billy.” It was still pretty dark under Bonnie’s homemade canopy, but she could see Billy’s face, tired and dirty, yet more rested than the night before. She smiled sweetly. “Are you ready to face the weather?”
“Yeah. I’m itching to find Mom and Dad.”
Bonnie spread her wings out, opening the shell and exposing them to the glistening morning sun. Her eyes drank in the sparkling glitters on the blanket of snow. “It’s a beautiful day!”
Billy got up and stretched his legs, kicking away the nest of leaves. “Beautiful, but still cold.” He reached his hand down to help Bonnie up. “C’mon. We’d better get moving.”
Bonnie took his hand and pulled, but her right knee gave way again. “Ouch!” She had to balance on her left leg and hold tightly to Billy’s hand to keep from falling, and Billy lowered her to a sitting position. “My knee’s stiff as a board. There’s no way I can get down the mountain, especially in the snow.”
Billy clenched one fist and let out a frustrated sigh while cocking his head upward. “Can you fly?”
“Good thought.” She held out her hand. “Help me up again.”
Billy pulled Bonnie to her feet, and, standing on one leg, she began flapping her wings. She grimaced as she flapped, and she started rising, an inch or two at first, then almost a foot, but she dropped back down to her good leg and reached out for Billy’s hand again. He was quick to catch her.
“My left wing’s a lot better, but it’s still too weak. I think I could get off the ground, but it would be impossible to steer or stay up for more than a minute or so.” Bonnie eased her right foot down and let go of Billy’s hand. She was able to stand, but painfully.
Billy raised his hands to his hips and frowned. “Look at you. You can barely stand. I can’t leave you here by yourself.”
“Why not? I’ve got my wings. I’ll stay warm enough until you come back with help.”
“I don’t know. I think—” Billy turned his head suddenly. “What was that?”
Bonnie craned her neck to listen. “It’s an engine of some kind.”
Billy ran to a fallen tree and stood on tiptoes on its horizontal trunk, trying to see over the treetops. “I think it’s a helicopter! Maybe someone’s looking for us!”
Bonnie turned her head one way and then the other. Because of her lame knee, she didn’t dare try to turn around. “Which way is the sound coming from?”
Billy pointed toward a dense cluster of tall oaks. “Upslope.” He jumped off his perch and helped Bonnie sit back down at the tree they had used for their overnight stay. “Okay. Wait here, and I’ll try to find the helicopter.” He stood and scanned the entire area. “There,” he said, pointing to a tall, rotting tree about thirty feet away. “I’ll use that old snag as a marker to find you again. I think it’s tall enough to see from anywhere around here. If I don’t come back pretty soon, do you think your wings are strong enough to get you up in a tree to try to flag down a helicopter?”
Bonnie sighed. “I’ll just have to do what I have to do.”
Billy walked backward a couple of steps, holding his hand out as if he were telling a small child to stay. “Okay. I’ll be back. I promise.” He hustled away, slipping against the snowy incline. Within seconds he disappeared into the forest.
Bonnie folded her knees up to her chest and listened for a moment to the faint chopping sound of the distant helicopter. Yes, it’s definitely quite a bit higher up the mountain, but Billy’s bound to find it.
Although the snow had stopped falling, the fresh breeze from the north persisted. Bonnie remade her shell and closed herself in again, listening intently for a while but then wandering off in her thoughts. The searing pain still burned through her knee, but warm comfort flowed gently into her thoughts. She finally had a good friend she could count on, someone who really cared and could identify with what she was going through. Yes, he was a guy, but she didn’t feel like he was a boyfriend. He was what she imagined a brother would be. No, not like the mean brothers that a lot of the girls talked about; he was a real brother who cared. She knew he would do anything to help her.
With those thoughts waltzing through her mind, she dozed for a minute or two before being aroused by the sound of footsteps. Billy’s back!
She unwrapped her shell and opened her eyes. A large, bony hand slapped tightly over her mouth, and strong arms clasped against hers, wrapping her up like a crushing straightjacket. She grunted and tried to struggle, but it only brought a tighter hold and a brutal threat.
“Quiet, Demon Witch! One scream and you’re dead!”
Chapter 14
IN THE HANDS OF THE SLAYER
Devin slowly relaxed his grip on Bonnie, making shushing sounds as he let go. She stared at him with firm brow and lips, still seated with her knees drawn up. He unfastened his heavy coat and drew out a long, shining sword.
“And what do you plan to do with that sword?” Bonnie asked, trying to sound stern. She didn’t want to give away any hint of fear.
“For now, just get some of your hair.” He pulled several strands of Bonnie’s blonde-streaked locks, stretched them out, and with a deft stroke sliced them off right at her scalp and tucked them into a pale blue envelope. “I pulled out your hair once before, but I didn’t get to keep it.”
Bonnie scowled at him. “What kind of weirdo are you, anyway? You’ve been trying to kill me; now you just want my hair?”
The slayer slipped the envelope into his coat pocket and pulled out a glass test tube and a hypodermic needle. “Your hair, and some blood.”
Bonnie slid away on her backside, but when the slayer raised his sword again, she stopped. “Hair and blood?” She tried to appear confident. “I suppose you’ll want my autograph next?”
His voice kept its nasty edge. “I’m not getting samples for my scrapbook, Witch. The good doctor needs your blood for his research.” The slayer methodically went through the routine of drawing blood, sliding Bonnie’s sleeve up her forearm and pressing the needle into the soft crook of flesh. She watched the tube slowly fill with blood, and the slayer’s eyes seemed to sparkle with desire. “I see you’ve had blood drawn before,” he sa
id, pulling out the needle. He tucked the vial into a velvet-lined case before sliding it into an inner coat pocket. “Many times, perhaps?”
He was right. There had been many times, many blood-sucking needles. But that was a painful story she didn’t want to dredge up. She just pulled her arm back and examined the mark. “What doctor are you talking about? What kind of research?”
“If Doc never told you, then I’m not going to, either. I will tell you that I need DNA markings so I can find any more dragon mongrels that might be out there. I’ve never had access to that kind of technology before I met Doc. Who knows how many mongrels may have slipped through my grasp over the years?”
Bonnie had no time to ponder the slayer’s mysterious words since his next step would probably be to kill her, so she tried to stall, faking curiosity. “Mongrels? What do you mean by that?”
The slayer smiled, this time without his usual menacing sneer. He sat on his heels in the snow and held his sword in his lap. “A mongrel is a mix between two breeds, in your case, dragon and human.”
Bonnie rubbed the wound on her arm. “I know you hate dragons, but why do you hate me? I’m not really a dragon, and neither is Mr. Bannister.”
“No, you’re not. Technically, you’re both anthrozils, fully human and fully dragon. Clefspeare, or Bannister as you call him, was a real dragon who now happens to be in human form, but it’s not so much his presence I seek to destroy; it’s his potential.”
“His potential?”
“Yes, to bring a fulfillment to the prophecy and thereby the restoration of the accursed dragon race. If I eliminate him and any dragon offspring, the prophecy cannot be fulfilled.”
A tinny voice sounded from the slayer’s coat. “Devin. Agent Devin, are you out there?”
The slayer pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and answered. “Devin here.”
“This is Officer Caruthers. You asked for an update. They found the pilot. He’s alive and he’s with me at base camp. Do you want to talk to him?”
