Let Sleeping Dragons Lie (The Modern Dragon Chronicles Book 1)

by Ty Burson

  “Yeah, so what? Come on, Larry,” Ramone yelled over the wind. “We know almost everybody here. We got to split, bro.”

  Ignoring his best bud, Larry knelt and shook Joy. She was mumbling and there were dried tears on her face. Whatever was bouncing around in her head had to be pretty painful. Larry knew enough about her home life to know whatever she was locked in with had to be totally uncool. Despite the painful stings of the needle darts, he cradled her head in his arms and called to her. “Hey little dally, I mean Joy, come on Joy, it’s T-man, I mean Larry, you know, Justin’s brother. Come on Joy, open up those pretty blues! Wake up!”

  Chapter 36

  The humans groveled in the mud, their negative thoughts, images, and feelings bombarding the dragon—many had led very difficult lives, or done things that they were not proud of. It was too much. The dragon’s magic waned as it sought to connect to them all, to save them from their terrible memories.

  The dragon could sense the demon, Mammon, and knew it was causing all this; however, the knowledge did it no good. The dragon’s consciousness, tied to the humans, suffered as they suffered. In the part of his brain that could still reason, the dragon knew waking up was inevitable, and that, when he did, his pain would overwhelm him, and then he would lash out, causing more harm. The dragon dreaded the idea that he would be aware of his actions, even as his magic dimmed and, eventually, died. And, thanks to Mammon, he would die with it.

  And yet, the dragon sensed all was not lost, that among the ocean of pain, three minds—like tiny islands—had resisted Mammon’s influence. Three minds that were not mired in darkness and despair. The dragon reached out to them, grasping for a lifeline, and saw the ocean, clean and bright. The dragon suddenly felt such freedom, excitement, and just pure joy. He focused on these emotions, and, though it was like a small flame amidst a blizzard, it gave a little warmth, a little hope.

  The dragon stretched out a golden thread of thought, his aura, and enveloped the three surfers. He realized one was trying to revive Steve’s friend, Joy, but instinctively flinched back; her pain was substantial. But the same instinct that led him to protect the fishermen drew him back. He lent his magic to Larry, infused Larry’s words with magic. The dragon sought out the link he’d established with Joy before, building upon that, soothing Joy’s mind. The dragon lingered among the dreadful events of her young life for just a moment, then, with a gentle nudge, sought out the best memories—memories of Steve, and Justin, and Joy’s father, and even her mother.

  Joy opened her eyes. “Larry…why are you touching me?”

  Larry flustered, “Huh? What? Oh,” a little embarrassed, “you were, ah, kind of hurt. Do you remember anything?” He pulled her up to a sitting position.

  The air surrounding them suddenly calmed; all the tiny flying missiles dropped to the ground at once. Larry and his friends locked eyes and then looked around. The bodies of their friends and neighbors were covered with dirt and debris, and they were still rolling around on the ground. Larry shared a questioning look with his buddies, clearly out of their depth, and then Joy gasped, as if finally waking up completely, “Granny, and Steve! Larry, look over there; they’ve still got Steve!”

  “Duh,” Ramone replied, “that’s why we’re here.”

  “Quiet, Ramone,” Larry ordered. “Joy,” Larry leaned back on his haunches, “we know what was going on in your head. I mean, not exactly, but you know, we know. You woke up, but I don’t know about these other people.”

  “Wait,” Joy scrambled away and ran to Granny. She slipped once as the dragon again bellowed out in pain and shook the ground. The trio followed her to the old woman’s prone body. Granny jerked this way and that, her expressions contorted.

  “Larry,” Joy asked, “what did you do to wake me up?”

  Larry shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess I just started talking to you. But I, naw, that’s…” He looked to his friends for help. They just shrugged, so Larry continued, “You know that feeling you get when you’re on a wave?” Joy shook her head. “No? Well, anyway, I was thinking how I felt when I on a major wave, or maybe like something like that. And I just sort of, um, you know, talked to you about it.”

  “Do that. Just talk to Granny. I think, for some reason, you and your friends, and this mind thing, whatever the demon’s doing, doesn’t affect you guys. Talk to her, okay?”

  Larry started to lean down to the old woman. “I really don’t know her. Think she’ll mind me holding her? She’s kind of old.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Joy assured him.

  Larry looked again at his friends, who both nodded. Ramone reached out and brushed the woman’s forehead, trying to clear some of the dirt off her face. Larry closed his eyes and started to talk, but was quickly interrupted by Fred hollering.

  “Look, look, they’re getting up!” Fred yelled.

  “Yeah,” Ramone joined, “look, they’re all getting up. Cool, cool, they’re going….”

  One of the large fireman reached over and grabbed Ramone by the arm. “Hey, dude, what are you doing?” Another guy, one of the few men the boys didn’t recognize, grabbed the other arm. “Hey, Larry, Fred, help!”

  One by one, their friends and neighbors converged on them, their faces still twitching, shifting from one pained expression to another. It was Joy who got it first and screamed to get the others’ attention, “It’s the demon! It’s controlling them. Run!”

  Larry went to Ramone’s rescue, leaping on the back of the fireman, while Fred tackled the other guy. The men were both good-sized, but the surfers were uncommonly strong—despite their questionable diets—and were able to free Ramone after a few minutes of struggling. Unfortunately, by the time they got him loose, the rest of the rescuers had already surrounded them.

  “Man,” Ramone said, “this sucks, this is not the way zombies are supposed to move.” He started to shuffle forward, “They’re supposed to move like this,” Ramone emulated the Frankenstein walk. “This is so bogus.”

  Before anyone could confirm his theory about proper zombie behavior, the crowd had effectively circled them, a wall of outstretched arms. Joy dipped and dodged as best she could. It freaked her out most when first Steve’s mom, and then Dani, tried to grab her—her eyes had been open, staring into the distance.

  Out of nowhere, she heard a voice, echoing oddly, distorted. Joy looked at the surfers, but they were busy smacking at the reaching hands, occasionally using their feet to push away anyone who got too close.

  “Joy,” the voice said, “help Steve. Steve can save us all.” Joy knew—she knew—it was the dragon. It was trying to talk to her. But how could she help Steve? She slid out of reach of Craig, the owner of the hardware store, and looked for an opening—but there was none. If only she could get away, make a break for Steve. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her, something she couldn’t explain, almost like when you realize you can do something in a dream that you could never do in real life. Joy squatted low, then, without a second’s hesitation, leapt into the crowd. She leapfrogged over Craig, who fell into the mud, then hopped off another adult’s shoulder, then off the back off yet another, like skipping across rocks at the creek. Before she knew it, she was on the other side, sprinting toward Steve.

  She could see him clearly, now, not to mention the two big guys holding him hostage. The dragon’s head protruded from the hole, but she couldn’t afford to waste time, so she bolted around the edge, leaning her shoulder into the turn like her track coach always told her.

  Joy did not hesitate. She did not question. She could see what the dragon wanted. She felt its strength, its magic flooding through her. She couldn’t describe it, not even to herself—part of her realized that would be a waste of time. She was all instinct, all motion.

  She ran flat out at the two men once she was on their side of the hole. She targeted the taller man first, sliding between his legs through the mud, flinging her arms out to hit the back of his knees as she passed—he flopped back with a yelp. She roll
ed out of the way and grabbed the other brother’s arm to help herself up. She yanked his sleeve back and wrenched at his forearm, giving him a wicked Indian burn, and he let Steve go. Joy reached for him, mere inches away, but his eyes were locked on something behind her. Joy ducked, instinctively.

  Mammon shot past, a foot above her, then doubled back. It swarmed around her, trying to block her from the brothers. A familiar memory began to take shape: her mother, lying on the couch, all the lights in the house off, refusing to answer Joy, no matter how much Joy cried. Meanwhile, the older brother got to his feet, clutching his lower back. The younger massaged his arm, which was already bright red. Joy sank to her knees, smothered by a cloud of smoke.

  “No Joy,” a voice retreating down a long hallway. “You are strong,” it said. The memory began to change. Joy walked, slowly at first, and then picking up speed, from light switch to light switch, turning them all on. Now she could see pictures on her walls, images of happy vacations, of good times. The cloud of smoke became less dense. Joy rose, steadily, to her feet.

  The older brother took a step back, winced, and yelled to his brother, “The gun!”

  As soon as Joy confronted the kidnappers, most of the zombies forgot about Larry, Ramone, and Fred. They turned, all at once, and made for the other side of the pit. Larry pointed as Joy attacked the two big guys holding Steve and proceeded to free Steve. “Bros, you seeing this?” Larry exclaimed. “Oh, no, it’s that smoke thingy! Come on, we’ve got to help her.” He pulled Mrs. Jones off his two friends, and all three ran to help. They zigzagged through the crowd to get to the other side, trying to avoid the uncoordinated efforts of the zombies to grab at them. They were almost halfway there when a big chunk of the pit dropped away. Larry, who was the fastest, almost toppled in before his friends pulled him back to safety. Together they watched a huge jet of fire erupt from the dragon’s maw. The flame shot up into the air while the dragon’s head whipped around like an unattended water hose.

  Chapter 37

  Steve slipped and fell when Mammon flung himself at Joy. The instant John released him, his mind had become clearer; that is, he could sense the dragon’s presence reaching out to him, surrounding him. It was getting stronger now, and he was able to push all the negative thoughts aside and focus on freeing himself. He growled through the tape on his mouth as he tried to free his hands, but stopped when he heard Frank yell. He gave up on freeing himself and threw himself at John, slamming his tethered wrists into John’s gut. He got a satisfying “ugh” but not much else. John was a pretty big guy and Steve wasn’t able to do much more than distract him. He was about kick him when John shoved him back into the mud.

  Steve saw the rescuers and felt a rush of hope, but then he noticed they were behaving strangely, trying to snatch at Larry and his buddies as they ran to help They were nimble, but between the shaking ground, jets of flames, and slippery mud, they were having difficulty. A lifetime of athletic surfing had served them well, however, and they were able to whip around the final few and manage to get ahead of the front edge of the mindless crowd. Steve rose to his knees and sought out Joy.

  Despite the demon swirling around Joy’s head, she was holding her own. She must have made a move against Frank, because he was already on the ground, pinned beneath Joy’s foot. John had retreated, holding a pistol. He hadn’t yet pointed it at her. Joy released Frank, feinted one way, and then ran another. Before John could even raise the gun, she got inside his reach and knocked it away. She hopped back, prepared to strike again, but a hand latched onto her shoulder and spun her around. Anthony, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, pulled her toward him.

  Ramone and Fred sacrificed themselves, tackling those in the front of the crowd, but others were already slipping by to get to Joy and Steve, who was struggling to get to his feet. Larry cocked his arm back to punch the nearest zombie, but stopped short. It was the mailman, or mailwoman, a sweet lady who had been delivering their mail since he was a baby. He couldn’t punch her and his hesitation allowed her to grab hold, along with two others, and drag him down.

  Joy, riding the dragon’s magic, was a lot less hesitant. She took hold of Anthony’s arm, then fell backwards, thrust her feet into his midsection, and let him roll right over her. His grip loosened when he landed, and she spun away. But then Frank, no longer flat on his back, grabbed her pant leg. While she fought to free herself, several hands got hold of her, and no amount of crisp elbow strikes could break her free.

  Steve watched all this happen, backing away slowly, finally tearing off the tape on his wrists. He searched for help, and saw that the dragon, meanwhile, had completely emerged from his lair. From tip to tail, he had to be a hundred feet long. He was still spewing fire, though fortunately for everyone on the ground, he was aiming into the air. His eyes had not yet opened, but his wings were beginning to unfurl. Steve watched in amazement as each opened, spread like a giant oriental fan. They were beautiful, a mass of swirling rainbows, like gas sitting on the surface of a puddle. But they were terrible too. They stretched and stretched, making the huge dragon even larger. Mammon darted around those wings, dancing among them as if taunting the dragon, which it probably was.

  Steve tore at the tape on his face, finally getting it off just as Joy became completely subdued. “Steve.” It was his dragon, but his voice was strained, no longer calm and soothing. “Help, me. I mustn’t wake up!” Steve looked around, though he knew the voice was only in his head. He saw John searching through the mud, trying to find the discarded pistol, and thought maybe he could grab it first. “No, not that way,” the dragon instructed.

  Steve felt his heart hammering away in his chest. This was all happening too fast, and he couldn’t think! But, he realized, he wasn’t powerless, not really—he could talk. He began by consoling the dragon. “It-t-t’s ok-k-kay, i-i-t’s okay,” he stammered, repeatedly. His stuttering, the gibberish that had always tormented him, became in his mind the ancient language of dragons, and it strengthened the connection between them. Steve felt the dragon’s strength swell, and saw through gilded vision everything that the dragon could perceive through its own pain including all the little sparks of life that seemed to be everywhere.

  Steve realized they could reach out to these and, as one, thousands of little threads of invisible gold streamed out. They latched onto every living thing, to flying, swarming insects, to the birds that hunted them, to the bats that lounged upside down in the predawn light. Hundreds, maybe thousands of living things, were suddenly joined together for a single purpose—Steve told them exactly what to do.

  From every direction, the creatures swooped in and hammered Frank and John and their zombie allies. Beaks flashed and stingers pierced and fangs bit. Larry, Joy, and the rest stayed down, covering their heads as the living hurricane passed over them. Mammon, enraged, was whipped about by so many creatures that it couldn’t hold its shape, and worse for it, it could not seem to control all the people any longer. They began to close their eyes, and the expressions on their faces became calm. One by one, Steve saw the golden light spread over them, until each one slid to the ground and passed into a deep, contented sleep.

  Without the influence of negative energy to dampen the dragon’s magic, Mammon didn’t have the strength to stop the dragon, but that didn’t mean it had given up. The flying pests were not much more than an annoyance, passing harmlessly through his smoky body. Still, they had broken his control over the humans. But there was a simpler solution; he had to stop the boy, the one directly connected to the dragon. If the boy died, the dragon would be forced awake. And for that, he needed the brothers.

  He saw the younger brother cowering nearby, and made for him, passing through a woodpecker, a bat, and two or three thousand mosquitoes before entering John’s mind. The demon showed him where the gun was and what he should do with it, riding along as John retrieved it and aimed at the mumbling boy, who remained untouched by the creatures careening through the forest.

  John was lazy. Ac
cording to his father and the rest of his family, that was his flaw. And yet, while it was true he’d dropped out of every top-notch California school his father had sent him to, it was also true that there was not a malicious, mean, or nasty bone in John’s body. If friends needed someone to help them move, they called John. If a girlfriend broke down somewhere, she called John. When his pop grudgingly sent his monthly allowance, John always shared it with his friends and roommates.

  What the rest of the family did not know was that John had held down the same job, not missing a single day for the past two years, at the Arena Bowl. He fixed the pin reset machines, and the ball return mechanism, and he could troubleshoot the video games. He liked to hear kids laugh when they scored a strike, and he liked to flirt with Jenny, who worked the grill, where he spent way too much time. Away from the influence of his father, John was a funny, generous, hardworking, good guy, who sometimes had trouble making rent without a little help.

  So, when Mammon attacked his mind, it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that he would, or even could, shoot Steve. In fact, it wasn’t in him to shoot anyone. Still, Mammon urged him, and John watched in horror as his arm went up and then down, up and down. The dragon, sensing the danger, sent out a thread of light.

  John saw his father, heard the arguments, ached from the beatings that followed his mother passing away years before. He felt himself wanting to lash out, to make something or someone hurt the way he had been hurt. But there was something else, just on the edge of his consciousness—competing images. Jenny handing him the burger he hadn’t even ordered, his mom taking him and Frank to the beach before she got sick, barbecuing on his deck with his buddies. And so his arm wavered while demon and dragon waged a war inside his head.