Structophis

by Joseph Lallo

  “… Fine. It was going to be the mascot for the pizza delivery wing of the bistro franchise.”

  “… Mascot.”

  “Sure! A real live pizza dragon, helping to sell pizza? People would come from miles around to see it. The thing would be a national phenomenon. Not only would I push more product, I’d be able to sell merchandise! Hats, T-shirts, mugs, the works! It worked for Domino’s with the Noid.”

  “Setting aside the dubious claim of success regarding a forgettable corporate icon of a bygone age, how precisely would you hope to publicly profit from the ownership of a creature that is illegal to own or acquire? The moment you revealed the Structophis gastrignae, at least three state and national agencies would demand you be placed behind bars.”

  “… I’d… I assumed I would figure that part out afterward. There’s no problem too big that a little ingenuity can’t solve it.”

  Hearst took a slow breath. “Very well. A moderately successful national campaign, beginning with a single location. Assuming a well-developed franchising plan initiated simultaneously, one can comfortably imagine two hundred national locations inside of five years. Extrapolating from your current location’s revenue, projecting the revenue increase post-campaign, and integrating merchandise sales over that five-year period gives us what, Elizabeth?”

  “One moment, sir…” said a voice over the phone.

  “You are wasting your time, Hearst. I am a man of principle. I cannot be bought,” Dimitrios said.

  “Post-tax net income estimates fall between eight and fifteen million dollars, Mr. Hearst.”

  “Utterly incorruptible and—” Dimitrios continued.

  “I’ll give you thirty million dollars for the Structophis gastrignae.”

  “Sold,” Dimitrios said. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Right now, nothing. My accountant shall wire the first half of the payment to your account, following the application of your signature on the appropriate paperwork. Said paperwork will require you to provide any available and pertinent information required to locate and transfer ownership of the Structophis gastrignae.”

  “Mmm, yes. Fine, fine. But I’ll be getting fifteen million up front and the rest after you get the thing, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Good. Let’s do that.”

  “Once again, I admire your principle, sir.”

  Chapter 5

  “Gale,” Markus wheezed. “Are we there yet?”

  “We’ll get there when we get there,” Gale grumbled from the driver’s seat.

  The trio had been on the road for a few hours, and as road trips go, Markus had been on better ones. When he had been six they’d taken a family road trip to the Grand Canyon, for example. On that trip he’d gotten food poisoning from a bad waffle, stepped in a pile of donkey flop, and gotten a terrible sunburn. That had been vastly superior to this journey because, while miserable, he had not been in mortal danger the whole time. At this moment, two things were competing for the honor of being the most bizarre cause of death to be recorded in a Colorado obituary. The first, and odds-on favorite, was Gale’s driving.

  A catering van is an unwieldy vehicle for the most experienced of drivers. A catering van loaded up with several hundred pounds of skittish pizza dragon is a good deal more difficult to handle. Gale was not only an inexperienced driver, she’d never even driven a manual transmission. The result was a swaying, veering, swerving journey punctuated with worrisome grinds, jerky acceleration, and assorted colorful phrases assigning blame to the other drivers. That they hadn’t been pulled over for reckless driving was nothing short of a miracle.

  All of this jarring motion had a fairly deleterious effect on the mental well-being of their primary passenger. Blodgette, who took up most of the available space in the hastily cleared rear portion of the van, had been in a state of wide-eyed panic for the duration of the drive. Markus had thus been called into service as her security blanket/teddy bear. She hugged him tightly against her in an embrace that made breathing a nontrivial endeavor. Every sudden jolt brought an additional squeeze and a warble of dismay. Her skin was very hot, and the metal of her pizza-oven–turned–suit-of-armor was only a few degrees short of sizzling.

  They made a turn sharp enough for Blodgette to stumble aside, which almost certainly caused the whole vehicle to pitch onto two wheels.

  “Is there time for me to dictate my will?” he said.

  “Stop being so dramatic. We’ll be there in an hour or so.”

  A smash outside caused Blodgette to release a startled peep that was downright adorable.

  “What did we just hit?” Markus croaked.

  “A mailbox.”

  “A private one or one of the big blue ones?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I just want to know if it was a state or federal crime.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Sarcastic laughter is only appropriate”—Blodgette clutched him a little tighter, reducing comment to a strangled wheeze again—“when I’m joking.”

  “How’s Blodgette doing back there?”

  “I’d say she’s about eighty percent of the way to a full-blown phobia of driving, and with good reason.”

  “I mean temperature wise.”

  “Feeling a little toastier than usual, but she’s not fidgeting or reaching for one of the bottles.”

  “And how are we set for water?”

  They’d learned early on in the trip that the five-gallon water bottles they’d brought along for keeping Blodgette’s temperature down needed to be very securely strapped to the walls of the van lest Gale’s distinctive driving habits turn them into ballistic projectiles to batter and club Blodgette and Markus along the way. He swept his eyes across them. Most were empty now.

  “Looks as if we’ve got one left, and it’s only about half-full.”

  “Okay, it looks as if we’re heading for some mountain roads. From the map, I’d say this is our last chance at civilization before we hit the quarry. I’m going to stop so we can top off the water and maybe grab some snacks.”

  She took another sharp turn to enter a parking lot. The way the whole van lurched upward and practically bashed Blodgette and Markus against the ceiling suggested she either accidentally or purposely jumped the curb rather than using that pesky driveway. After an attempted three-point turn ended up closer to a twenty-five-point turn, she hopped out of the driver’s seat and pulled open the doors.

  “Okay, everybody. Time to stretch our legs and get some fresh air.”

  Blodgette didn’t need to be told to step out of the truck. The instant she saw daylight her eyes widened and she bolted for the doorway. The sudden motion of a massive beast making a desperate bid for the relative safety of the outside world caused the whole van to slide forward a few inches. She knocked Gale out of the way and thumped down onto the pavement, Markus still dangling from her embrace. Once she was on solid ground, she trembled lightly in both relief and the lingering stress of the many hours of hazardous journey so far.

  “Oof. Both of you look like you could use a break,” Gale said.

  It was an understatement. Markus looked as if he’d been in a wrestling match with a bear. His hair and clothes were in utter disarray. Pure exhaustion showed in his expression, and every inch of his outfit was drenched with sweat from being wrapped in the doughy, crusty arms of an increasingly warm creature. Blodgette’s expression, which came through surprisingly well considering the steel “mask” that covered most of her face, was rattled and ragged.

  Markus looked at her wearily. “Tell me the truth, Gale. Have you ever driven before?”

  “Hey, I just drove stick for the first time in my life, and it was for four straight hours with a squirmy, unrestrained load. I think I did pretty good. I didn’t even get pulled over.”

  He glanced at the van. “There’s a yield sign hooked on the rear bumper,” he said.

  “Ah…” S
he shrugged. “Well, still pretty good. Let’s take a look at you, Blodgette.”

  Gale kicked the offending sign off the bumper and climbed into the back to fetch her tools of the trade. She had pulled the catering truck into the parking lot of what probably counted as the city center of this little mountain town. The standard small-town triumvirate of a barbershop, a café, and a post office stood across the street, along with a hardware store, a big box store, and assorted other mom-and-pop shops. The parking lot they’d stopped in wrapped around a fairly well-equipped garage and gas station. A pine forest grew steadily thicker behind the garage, climbing the slope up the frosty mountain beyond. Gale had strategically positioned the van such that Blodgette’s hasty escape left her between the windowless rear of the garage and the forest, hidden from the road and all but the most dedicated busybodies.

  The pizza dragon, now that the trauma of the rocky ride had begun to lose its edge, was realizing, for the first time, that she was outdoors. Not just outside the back room where she’d spent the first decade of her existence. Not just getting a glimpse of the sky out the window or while being coaxed into the truck. She was really and truly outside. Her luminescent eyes widened and she raised her head in wonder, gazing up at the piercing blue of the cloudless sky. She took a deep breath and released it in a scalding-hot sigh of contentment, then released Markus from the hug and instead grabbed his wrist to toddle along toward the trees. She burbled and warbled quietly, happiness and fascination evident even without language.

  “Hey, let’s not go too far,” Markus said, casting nervous glances about. “We’ve come an awful long way without you getting noticed. I don’t want to push my luck any further than I have to.”

  Blodgette crouched down and delicately plucked a wildflower from the ground. She held it up and turned it about, marveling at its color.

  “Yeah. That’s a flower. Give it a sniff,” he said.

  She chirruped and furrowed her brow.

  “Like this, sniff,” he said, leaning in to take a whiff.

  Blodgette did the same, then chirped again more loudly and thudded off toward another cluster of flowers, dragging Markus along behind her.

  “Hey! What did I say about not going too far!” he scolded.

  She slowed down but didn’t stop, looking him in the eye and slowly shuffling along as though if she did it slowly enough, it wouldn’t count.

  “Temperature check!” Gale said, marching up with her temp-gun and thermometer.

  Though this was the first time they’d actually gotten out to do it, Gale had taken great care to have Blodgette’s internal and external temperature measured at regular intervals. By now, Blodgette knew the drill and went through the motions while keeping her attention roughly on the cluster of flowers. She raised her arm, and Gale got a reading, then gave a good hearty “aaaah” for Gale to stick the thermometer in her mouth.

  “Good job, buddy. You’re getting good at that,” Markus said, raising his hand for a high five.

  To this Blodgette was willing to give her full attention. She gave his hand a good firm slap and peeped gleefully. She then started pulling flowers up by the handful. Big clumps of dirt hung from the roots as she held them to her snout to breathe in the scent. Once she’d sampled a bunch, she’d hand them to Markus and pick a new group to investigate.

  “This is… odd…” Gale said, glancing over her notes.

  “Yes, thank you, Blodgette,” Markus said, accepting a third mound of flowers. “Odd good or odd bad?”

  “Remains to be seen… but all the data I’ve seen suggests a Structophis gastrignae at her stage of development should be eagerly seeking quenching at about nine hundred degrees Fahrenheit internal. Blodgette’s up over nine hundred fifty and seems happy as a clam. No discomfort, no active searching for water. That’s well outside the typical range.”

  “Oh man… I knew it. We screwed her up, right? She’s sick. Body temperature running too high? That’s a fever,” he said, anxiety fluttering in his voice. “She’s gonna die and I’m gonna go to jail…”

  “In most creatures, sure. But the Structophis gastrignae isn’t even close to being like most creatures. They’re so variable in their physiology that all we can really work from is rules of thumb.”

  She pointed the temp-gun at Blodgette and took some surface measurements. “Her skin’s right where it should be. Hence you not having first-degree burns from her hugs.” She scratched her head. “Evidently Blodgette here is tolerant of much-higher temps than most at this stage of development. But there’s still the question of where the heat’s going. She’s far too young to have developed heat vents for self-regulation…”

  “Can we maybe look into this when we’re somewhere that a cop probably won’t wander over and ask me a bunch of uncomfortable questions?”

  “Right, yeah. I’m going to take the van and fill her up. I see a deli. Do you want a sandwich or something?”

  “No, please, don’t waste any time. Just hurry up.”

  “Bah. You’ve got to eat something. I’ll get you a sandwich while they’re filling the truck.” She started unloading the water jugs. “I see a hose over there. You fill these up while I’m out and about. And don’t get into trouble.”

  “Okay, good, just please hurry!”

  She hopped into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Illustrating the sort of driving skill that had made the trip thus far such an adventure, Gale managed to produce an echoing grind before finally getting the van in motion.

  He shook his head and started to gather up the water jugs, muttering to himself. “You know, a little bit of anxiety would not be out of place, Gale,” he said. “We are in the midst of… some kind of crime… There’s probably a name for it. Owning an endangered species.”

  Markus realized half of his difficulty was that he was still holding the flowers Blodgette had given him, so he set them down and finally wrangled the jugs over to the water faucet. It was too much to hope for that the spigot be on the back of the building where he could fill it without fear of being seen. It was right on the side, where he had to stand more or less in direct view of the street.

  “Okay, Blodgette, listen. … Blodgette… Blodgette!”

  The distracted dragon finally realized she was being beckoned and turned to thump over to him. Every step rattled the ground, and it was clear she wasn’t terribly concerned about staying out of view.

  “No, no, no!” he said, raising his hands. “You stay right there! Just, don’t come over here.”

  Again she furrowed her brow, confused. She took another step.

  “No! Down! Sit down. Look, see? Like this!”

  He hastily demonstrated, taking a quick seat on the ground. She scratched her head. Then the realization dawned. She raised her tail a bit and flopped down onto the ground.

  She’d not yet mastered the nuances of subtly, and thus her heavy flop felt as if someone had dropped a ton of bricks. It shook some needles from the nearby trees, and only through sheer luck did it fail to break the nearest window of the garage.

  “Hey! What’s going on back there?!” called a voice from the main building.

  An elderly woman in a flannel shirt and overalls threw open the door and started to march over to where Markus was sitting.

  “Crap! Uh, uh…”

  He glanced about. There wasn’t much time, and the van ride hadn’t left Markus in a particularly clearheaded state. A dozen ridiculous ideas floated through his brain. He could bonk the lady on the head and be gone by the time she woke up, but assaulting the elderly wasn’t high on his list of valid solutions. He could throw a tarp over Blodgette and pretend she was a piece of machinery, but that would require things like getting Blodgette to understand she needed to stand still, keeping the old lady from actually looking under the tarp, and having a tarp to throw over her.

  In the end, he decided to do what had worked for five-year-olds for hundreds
of years.

  “Run! Hide!” he yelped.

  He rushed to Blodgette and tugged her arm, “helping” her to her feet as best he could. She didn’t quite understand what was going on, but had a firm enough grip on the concept of abject panic to realize that if Markus was running from something, she should run too.

  The pair sprinted into the forest. At least, Markus sprinted. Blodgette’s locomotion was better suited to verbs like “thundered” or “chugged.” She wasn’t built for speed, but once her pudgy legs got her moving she quickly transitioned from “immovable object” to “irresistible force.” Trees swayed and trembled as she thumped by. Bushes unfortunate enough to be in her path were utterly flattened.

  A small gulley lay ahead, a few dozen steps away. Over the rumble of Blodgette’s strides he could just hear the babbling of a small brook. As they crested the hill between them and the brook, Markus slid to a stop and dropped down. Blodgette charged by him, noticed he was missing, then skidded to a stop and plodded back.

  “Down! Down!”

  The previous lesson still fresh in her mind, Blodgette was happy to oblige. She plopped to a seat again, dislodging one of the smaller branches from a nearby tree. It thunked down beside her.

  Markus crawled up the hill and peeked over the side. Blodgette’s path of destruction was hard to miss, tracing a line of craterlike footprints and pummeled greenery right to their hiding place.

  “Craaaaaap. We may as well have drawn her a map. She’s going to find us,” he hissed to himself.

  The woman rounded the corner and took a step back. She kicked one of the five-gallon jugs, then gave a wary glance at the devastation leading into the woods. She murmured something too quiet to be heard, then looked nervously in their direction before retreating back toward the garage.

  “What? Why would she… heh… heh heh…” Markus laughed deliriously. “She thought you were a bear or something. And because she’s not a crazy idiot like me or Gale, she actually knows to stay away from large, dangerous animals. I guess no amount of planning trumps dumb luck, huh, Blodgette?”