The meat puppets kept their guns trained on her, and the Dragon said, “You are persistent, child. I give you that. I have listened to so many beg for mercy that it surprises me when someone does not. What is it you want? What keeps you fighting?”
Georgia didn’t plan on answering, but the words spilled out, surprising her. “You killed them.”
“I have killed many.”
“My father. My mother. Zack.” She was breathing hard. Her hands shook. Her knee felt like it was going to crumple.
“It is the way,” the Dragon said. “Your bloodline. You. Me. We are a knot. A tangle from which neither can break free. It has always been this way.”
Her cheeks felt hot. She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the tears rolling down her face. “I don’t care. You took everything from me!”
“So it is vengeance you seek? Am I not entitled to defend myself against those who hunt me? Who wish me dead?”
“Just show yourself!” she shouted. “You want to end this so badly? Come out and let’s end it, face to face!”
“It is the right of every living creature to feed. To survive.”
Georgia shook her head, and when she spoke her voice sounded cold even to her. “Not you.”
“No?”
“You were supposed to die. George of Cappadocia — ”
“He was a halfwit who could not see his own hand in front of his face,” the Dragon said. “He thought his cross would protect him, but the silly trinket meant nothing to me. It is no surprise he failed. But ask yourself, child, why was I supposed to die? By what law was it decreed? Is it so terrible that I live? Is it so wrong to want to be whole?”
Georgia frowned. Whole? What did that mean?
“Tell me this, child. If I was supposed to die when that fool tried to spear my breast with his lance, why was I created at all? What would be the purpose of such an imprudent destiny?”
The same story told throughout time, she thought. No one knew why. Not even the Dragon, it seemed.
“Have you ever wondered, child, how long I have actually lived? Or do you really believe it all started with half-blind George and his terrible aim in the Fourth Century?”
The meat puppets on both sides moved closer, still training their guns on her. Her whole body trembled. She felt weak. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her arms extended with the guns growing heavier by the moment, or how long her knee would hold.
“Call them off! Now!”
“The game is finished,” the Dragon said. “You lost. If destiny is so important to you, the time has come to accept yours.”
Georgia pulled the trigger of the gun in her left hand. One of the meat puppets fell backward, but she’d only hit it in the chest. It would get back up, but at least she’d bought herself a few extra seconds. She turned and fired the gun in her right hand. The pistol gave a sad little click.
Shit.
She tossed the empty gun away and tried to run for the exit. All she could manage was a pathetic, hobbling limp.
This is how it ends, she thought. And then she thought, I’m sorry, Dad. I tried. I really did.
A gunshot cracked behind her. The bullet grazed her arm, stinging and hot. She struggled to stay on her feet and keep moving toward the open warehouse door, but her knee finally gave out, and she fell. Her chin hit the cement floor. Her teeth jangled in her mouth; her brain was a car slamming into the divider. She tried to get up, but it wasn’t just her knee anymore. Now her whole leg had stopped obeying her, hanging off her body like dead weight. She put her palms on the floor and pushed herself up, but she was too weak and fell again.
In front of her was her overturned purse, its contents spilled on the floor, and beyond it was the exit. She’d been so close. She reached one shaking hand for the shaft of sunlight shining through the doorway. Then her hand fell to the cold cement with a slap.
Four pairs of sneakers entered her field of vision, walking toward her. Had someone come to rescue her? A moment of hope sparked in her chest, and she thought of Grace Kelly coming to Gary Cooper’s aid at the end of High Noon. But then she blinked, focused, and saw the sneakers were spattered with blood. The meat puppets. No one was coming to help her. There was no cavalry on the way.
Her mind reeled, and she thought, The walking dead in sneakers. That should be a commercial. And then she thought of long dark tunnels with bright lights at the end, and wondered if her parents would be waiting for her.
One meat puppet grabbed her hair and pulled her up onto her knees. She winced and sucked air through her teeth. Then she lifted the loaded pistol still in her left hand and put it under its chin. If she was going to die, at least she’d take one last grey-skinned motherfucker with her. She pulled the trigger, and the bullet blew through its head. She laughed, or thought she did. The noise that came out of her mouth sounded desperate and crazy.
The twitching corpse let go of her hair. She pushed herself off the floor, forced herself to stand, favouring her injured leg.
She looked down at the gun in her hand and wondered if she had enough bullets to get out of there alive after all. More guns littered the floor near the meat puppets she’d shot. If she could reach them —
Movement caught her eye, and when she lifted her head she saw one coming at her, holding a small metal table by two of the legs. She was too slow bringing up the gun. The meat puppet swung the table, and it slammed against her, knocking her backward into the wall. The back of her head struck the cinderblocks. She slid down and landed on her knees. Fireworks exploded behind her eyes, and she collapsed.
The floor was cold against her cheek. Other than that she couldn’t feel much. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but sticky blood covered half her face, sealing one shut. The blood was definitely hers this time. She felt it oozing out of a cut in her scalp.
She saw the meat puppets’ sneakers again. She decided she hated sneakers. She would never buy another pair. Something about that made her want to laugh her crazy laugh again, but she was too weak to do anything except watch the sneakers and wait for the sound of the final gunshot.
But they didn’t come toward her. They backed away instead. Foolish of her to think the meat puppets would finish her off. The Dragon would want to do that with her own hands.
Then she heard it, the sound of something heavy moving across the floor. A pungent odour hung in the air, growing stronger as the steps came closer. The scent of an ancient creature, it smelled of dust and earth and corruption. A long hem of frayed brown cloth glided into view before her, dragging along the floor. The odour was overpowering. Uncontrollable fear shook Georgia’s body. She felt something sharp touch her cheek. A talon.
She squeezed her eye shut and felt tears run down her nose. Oh God, Daddy, I’m sorry!
With a lover’s intimacy, the talon traced lazy circles on Georgia’s cheek. “Do you know what I love most about this modern age, child?” Coming from the Dragon’s own mouth instead of through the meat puppets, her voice sounded strange, like an orchestra suddenly reduced to a single violin. “Humanity has finally learned what I have known for centuries. You have learned patience. You have learned to wait. Once upon a time, you were in such a rush. It made sense, I suppose. Your lifespan was shorter than it is now. Now you can wait for just . . .” the talon tapped against her cheek, and Georgia flinched, “the right,” another tap, “moment,” a third tap, and Georgia let out a terrified moan.
“Now you wait until you have everything in order — a job, a home, a stable marriage — before you decide to continue your bloodline. Did you know when your great-greatgrandfather was your age, he had already sired five sons?” The Dragon sighed, and Georgia felt hot breath blow against her. “Succulent as lambs, all of them. They tasted of pepper and steel. And your father, when he was your age his wife already carried you in her womb. But that is not the case with you, child. You are the last of the bloodline. There will be no more after you. No one left to stop me. It ends here, now, in this r
oom. And no one will ever know.”
She felt the talon leave her cheek and saw the Dragon’s long, yellowing claws, crusted with dirt, pick through the spilled contents of her purse.
“I feel you when you dream,” the Dragon said. “Perhaps you did not know. Every night, when the part of me that is inside you spreads through your veins, I taste the despair in your thoughts. And when that despair turns to desperation, I taste something else. Something that is at first chemical and sharp, then sweet. As warm and smooth as honey, yet something I have never tasted before.”
The Dragon’s claws closed around the rolled-up leather pack and lifted it from the floor.
Georgia heard the Dragon fumbling to open it and moaned, “No. Give it back!” She started shaking again. An insistent itch spread over her skin. One more fix, just one more before I die.
“Our minds are linked,” the Dragon said. “The knot I spoke of. The tangle from which we cannot break free. I know you look through my eyes when I kill. I feel you inside me, and I take a great deal of pleasure in the thought that you are forced to watch the agony of my prey. And so it is only fair that I am inside you in return. It is hazy and confused, yes, but this bag, I see it often. It intrigues me how its contents make you dream. How it holds you in its grip so firmly. It must have a very powerful taste.”
“Give it back,” she tried to say, but what came out of her mouth was a desperate animal bleating. She wanted to snatch the pack out of the Dragon’s grasp, but her arm only flopped at her side.
“You see? Even in your last moments, you can think of nothing else. You cannot even pray. It must be a powerful taste indeed.”
Georgia heard the leather pack roll open and saw the hypodermic fall on the floor in front of her. It bounced, and the blue plastic cap came off the needle. The hypodermic rolled to a stop by her hand.
“What is this?” the Dragon demanded. “Nothing but useless trinkets. There is no meat. No marrow. Show me, child, and you will live another few minutes. Show me how to devour this.”
Georgia snatched the hypodermic off the floor. With the last bit of strength in her body, she jammed the needle through the brown cloth and into what she hoped was the Dragon’s foot. She definitely hit something. She’d meant it only as a final act of defiance, but to her surprise the Dragon howled a high-pitched wail of pain that she thought would split her skull. The meat puppets threw back their heads and echoed the Dragon’s cry. The floor shook. Cracks tore in the walls.
And then the Dragon was gone, a blurred shadow disappearing through the warehouse door and into the brilliant sizzle of sunlight.
The bright doorway dimmed along with everything else.
I got her, Georgia thought, even as she wondered how something as small as the needle could cause the Dragon such pain. I made her hurt; that’s all that matters. She’ll remember that. She’ll always remember how bad I hurt her before I died.
Then she fell into the dark.
6.
THE EARTH CRUMBLES WHERE SHE TREADS
Georgia thought she might be dreaming. She thought she might be dead. She was sure someone was standing in the middle of the warehouse floor, watching her. She could tell it was a man from his silhouette, but he was as dark as a shadow. She couldn’t see his face. He held something flat and square in his hands.
“Get up,” he said. The familiar voice raised goosebumps on her arms.
Dad?
“Get up, Georgia,” he said. He stepped forward, and the shadows fell back from her father’s face.
Is it really you?
“I need you to get up.”
Daddy?
She trembled. She thought she might be crying.
What he was holding was a folded blue blanket, as bright and fresh as the day he’d bought it for her.
“I can’t,” she said. Her voice was a sandpaper whisper. It hurt to speak.
I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to be like this. I just wanted to make you proud, but I did everything wrong. I couldn’t kill the Dragon. I couldn’t stop her from killing you and mom. And now I’m alone and I think I’m dying and there won’t be anyone left.
He bent over her and spread the blanket. It settled warmly around her, and suddenly the warehouse was gone and she was girl again, five years old and back in her childhood bedroom . . .
The morning sun streamed through the crack in the curtains. The blue Snoopy blanket was still bunched around her neck from the night before, when she’d been afraid vampires would get her in her sleep. Her father stood over her, trying to persuade her to get out of bed, but she wouldn’t. She was angry at him for disappearing for two whole days and making her mother worried and scared. Just last night, unable to sleep, she’d crept to the living room doorway and seen her mother sitting on the couch, comforting herself with one of her porcelain angels the way Georgia had secretly seen her do many times before. Her mother stroked its wings and whispered, “Bring him back to us. Please bring him back safely,” and then she’d noticed Georgia and snapped angrily at her to go back to bed. Now, in the morning, her father was finally back, and Georgia was punishing him the only way she knew how — by refusing to get out of bed.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” her father said. “If you want, we can spend all day playing tag in the woods out back, you and me and your mom. Besides, it’s the last day of the weekend. Tomorrow you have to go back to school. So you’d better get up already.”
She pouted and crossed her arms under the blanket. “I don’t like when you’re not here.”
“I’m here now,” he said.
“What about tomorrow? And the day after that? Are you gonna go away again and not even call?”
His jaw tightened and he got a funny, faraway look in his eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you worry about me. Someday, when you’re old enough, I’ll explain to you what happened, why I go away sometimes. I promise. But right now, I need you to get up.”
“No, I’m tired.” She pretended to yawn. In truth, she was wide awake and hungry for breakfast, but she didn’t want him to know that.
“Get up, Georgia.” He tickled her, and she laughed and kicked her legs under the blanket.
“Why should I?” she asked, trying to remain defiant.
“Because I said so. I’m your father and you have to do what I say. It’s the rules.”
She thought about that for a moment and said, “If I have to do what you say and get up, then you have to do what I say. Deal?”
He stroked his chin the way he always did when he was pretending to think really hard about something important.
“Deal. But just for a few minutes. Then I want you out of bed and at the breakfast table, missy.”
That was the day her favourite game, Do What Georgia Says, was invented. She looked up at her father and stroked her chin just like him.
“Clap your hands,” she said, and he did.
“Bark like a dog,” she said, and he did.
“Live forever,” she said.
“I need you to get up, Georgia,” her father said again as the warehouse came rushing back to her.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. Her body felt like a stone. Dead weight.
“Get up.”
She pushed her palms against the floor. Her elbows wobbled, gave out, and she fell. “I can’t!” The words came out in a scream.
Her father said, “You have to do what I say. It’s the rules.”
She pushed against the floor again.
“Get up, Georgia.”
Her elbows held this time, and she was able to slide her knees beneath her. The hurt one flared up for a moment, and she winced in pain. She forced herself to stand, one foot on the floor, then the other. She steadied herself. Her injured leg felt numb, her knee swollen. Her head hurt where she’d struck the wall.
“Now you have to do what I say,” she told him, but when she looked up her father and the blanket were gone. She took in the room around her and remembered where s
he was. Five meat puppets lay on the floor where she’d shot them. The three others were gone. They must have followed the Dragon out the door.
That was the second time the Dragon had nearly killed her, only to flee in pain before the final blow. Georgia still didn’t understand why.
She limped toward the open doorway, hoping her car was still outside. The morning brightness had dimmed to a murky twilight. She must have been unconscious for hours.
The Dragon could be anywhere by now, miles from Buckshot Hill, and Georgia would have to start the chase all over again. It was just as well. She was so tired she doubted she could do anything but flop onto the bed at the motel and sleep for days.
She accidentally kicked her purse, having forgotten it was there, and it slid a couple of inches along the floor. She bent down to retrieve it and noticed that the leather pack was gone. Then she remembered — the Dragon had still been holding the pack when she fled the warehouse. The heroin was gone. The needle she’d stuck in the Dragon’s foot was gone. Her addiction roared inside her, furious at being denied, and the image in her mind of dead grey skin spreading out from her hip caused fear to mushroom in her belly. She wanted to lose control, to kick the floor and punch the walls, but she didn’t have the energy. All she could do was stand there with a sinking heart. Without the heroin, she was as good as dead. The Dragon had killed her after all.
She pulled herself together, remembered where she was. The Inkheads’ stash house. The Inkheads sold drugs.
The floor suddenly swayed and shuddered beneath her. The cracks in the walls grew longer, sending chips of cement rattling to the floor. Entropy, the Dragon’s calling card. The warehouse could come down at any moment. She was lucky it hadn’t already, or the collapse would have buried her alive. If she was going to find more heroin, she’d have to be fast.
Chasing the Dragon Page 7
