This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. © No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Copyright © 2015 by Allison Maruska. All rights reserved.
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Advance Praise for Drake and the Fliers
“Drake and The Fliers is a fun and exciting story of a young man, Drake, finding his way through a world where the vast majority of the population has been wiped out by a virus and those who remain are forever changed. Maruska does a stellar job of creating believable characters that are flawed and relatable, but also admirable in their determination to live their lives in a way that seems right. Touching on questions of morals, ethics and values, exploring self-discovery, and creating (or re-creating) oneself, it is easy to place yourself into the situation that Drake and his friends are in. To imagine what you would do in the face of something so different. She fashions a new world, in a familiar setting, where you never quite know what is going to happen next. It’s an intriguing world and situation to think about. I look forward to sharing this book with friends (and the children of friends) that I know will love it!”
– Allison Gammons, author and blogger for Eclectic Alli
“Allison Maruska’s fearless rendering of a post-apocalyptic fantasy about a teenage boy braving a strange new world is original and compelling. It is a mesmerizing, coming of age journey of forgiveness and redemption that tackles timely and relevant issues.”
– John Darryl Winston, author of IA: Initiate
“Drake and the Fliers is storytelling at its best. Maruska has crafted a fine tale in the tradition of both fantasy adventure and post-apocalyptic fiction.
After a virus wipes out most of the people on the planet, the handful of teenagers who survive must deal with a new normal. Their reality turns out to be anything but normal, however, when they discover they're able to shift into flying creatures of different shapes and sizes.
Issues of leadership, survival, and forgiveness are life-and-death concerns in a world running low on food and electricity, and as Drake comes of age, he must help his group make the right decisions.
This book is full of adventure and plot twists, with a wonderful cast of characters who are both real and engaging. The plot moves along to its climax at the perfect pace. My recommendation: Curl up in front of the fire and read this book.”
– Al Macy, Author of Contact Us.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my sons, Nathan and Silas. May worlds of fantasy and adventure fill your young lives.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
Drake glanced over his shoulder and entered the office tower through the broken window. Dirt and glass crunched under his shoes, and he stole another look behind him when he reached the stairwell.
No one followed.
He adjusted his backpack, exhaled, and clicked on his flashlight as he took the first step to the twenty-eighth floor.
It was as good a place to live as any. Though after the power quit, and leaving the building required hiking down and back up three hundred ninety-two steps, he’d considered finding a home closer to the ground. He stayed on the upper floor because no one knew he lived there.
Plus, it was the last place he and Kelsey had been together.
He hustled up the switchback staircase, pausing on the west landings, each one brightened by the sun shining through a small window. Pointing his flashlight up the stairs towards each east landing, he prayed the beam would fall on an empty space. The possibility of finding someone hiding there made his heart race at every turn.
When Drake neared the tenth floor, a bang echoed from the base of the stairwell.
He froze, then clicked off the flashlight, leaned over the rail, and strained to see anything in the dark half of the stairs. Motionless, he held his breath and listened.
Silence.
Must not have shut the door all the way.
He exhaled and continued up the stairs. The soles of his Converse sneakers made a soft scraping sound, frustrating his attempt to listen for more unusual noises.
He reached his floor and entered the office, bright from the late afternoon sun shining through the large windows. After he opened a bottle of water from his backpack and took a drink, he tossed the rest of the bottles into the closet where he kept his rations. He scowled at the mess and spent a few minutes organizing it. Satisfied with his work, he grabbed a packet of beef jerky, shut the door, and turned around.
“Hey, Ponytail.”
Drake yelled and fell back against the door.
The black-haired guy stood before him, flanked by the skinny blonde girl and the pimply brown-haired guy. “I knew we’d find you eventually.”
Drake’s heart pounded, but he stood taller. “What the hell do you want?” The shakiness in his voice betrayed the confidence he tried to fake.
“What kind of greeting is that? Didn’t your mom teach you any manners?”
The other two laughed.
How did they sneak up on him? He’d watched out for them since they terrorized a girl on the street a few days ago. They must have stationed themselves near the building and waited for him to return.
To Drake’s surprise, the guy held out a hand. “I’m Zeke.” His collared shirt and neat hair made him look like the leader of his school’s chess club, not the leader of a street gang.
Drake glanced at Zeke’s hand and stepped forward to cut through the group.
Zeke blocked his path. “Come on, man. Why hang out here by yourself? You’re not the only survivor.” His proximity and tone reminded Drake of that jerk in ninth grade who’d tried to pressure him into sharing test answers.
“I know that.” Drake stepped sideways to walk around the group again.
Zeke nodded, and the other two grabbed Drake’s arms. Drake pulled against them, giving more force to the girl’s side, thinking he could pull free. Pain shot up his neck when she squeezed a nerve near his elbow.
“You should hang with us now,” Zeke said.
“What for?”
Zeke walked to the desk and crouched behind it. Moments later, he popped up holding a computer tower.
“You’re stealing that? It’s useless.”
“I’m not stealing it.” Zeke lifted the tower over his head, walked to the window, and threw it.
The glass shattered, and Drake held his breath. Weren’t these high rise windows supposed to be unbreakable?
Zeke stomped towards Drake. “How about now?”
“How is breaking my stuff supposed to convince me to go with you?”
“You
r stuff?” Zeke grabbed the leather chair from behind the desk and grunted as he heaved it through another floor-length pane. Jagged shards of glass remained in the top of the frame. “We’re just offering easy access.”
“Easy access to what?” Drake tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
The other two thugs laughed again. Maybe Zeke kept them around for this purpose.
“I tried being friendly, but you didn’t want to play it that way, Ponytail.” Zeke looked at the broken pane before he approached Drake and leaned in; his gross Cheeto breath wafted over Drake’s face. “The world’s started over, and someone needs to take charge. Might as well be us.” He plucked a marble paper weight from the desk and tossed it in his hand like a baseball. “You changed yet?”
“Changed?” Drake scowled. He didn’t survive the virus to be bossed around by this jerk. “Screw you.”
Zeke hurled the weight through the next window. Drake hoped he would run out of ammo before breaking all fifteen windows in the corner office.
The pimply guy planted a fist in Drake’s gut, sending a bolt of pain through him. Drake doubled over and coughed, unable to pull in an adequate breath, as the trio took his things and broke more windows.
Drake could only listen to the destruction. His eyes burned at his inability to stop the vandals, but he pushed back his frustration. His injury didn’t give him an excuse to look weak.
The girl approached him as he hunched over. “Give us something that matters, and we’ll stop.”
“Matters? What difference does that make?” He pulled a breath into his tight chest.
“You want us to stop, or–”
“Nothing matters. Just finish and get the hell out.” He coughed again and crouched over his hip, resisting the urge to bring his hand to his pocket. If she found what he hid there and destroyed it, his statement would be true. Nothing would matter.
Before rejoining the guys, she pulled the elastic band from Drake’s short ponytail. His wavy, brown hair fell around his face.
Drake’s hands balled into fists, and his nails dug into his palms. If he could breathe, he might have thrown the girl out the window.
Hot wind blew through the office. Zeke kneeled next to Drake and held something out to him: a black feather. After a moment of hesitation, Drake took it. The moving air shook its thin fibers.
Zeke stood. “Give it a few days. I think you’ll change your mind.”
“Yeah, he’ll change more than his mind.” The girl tossed the hair tie next to Drake’s feet as the other two laughed. They returned to the stairwell.
He’ll change more than his mind.
What did that mean? Drake stared at the pieces of shattered glass and willed himself not to cry.
He dropped the feather and picked up the hair tie. After redoing his ponytail at the back of his neck, he pulled his sister’s dead iPhone from his pocket as he walked to the first broken window. He sat on the floor and studied the orange butterfly that decorated the phone’s protective case.
Kelsey had loved butterflies. He traced the wing with his finger.
Find the others. Figure out why you survived.
How could she want him to hook up with those jerks?
Maybe Kelsey was wrong. Maybe he was supposed to be alone.
He looked out at the decrepit city and pretended the building across the street was full of employees finishing their work days. Abandoned cars littered the street below, relics of a time when people cared about things like traffic lights and gas mileage. The wind carried both the garbage that hadn’t yet found a permanent place and the rotting stench Drake barely noticed anymore: the stench of food, waste, and the countless bodies of those who died too late for anyone to bury them.
No one cared how they left things, even as it became obvious that a few, like Drake, were immune. And why would they care? They weren’t the ones dealing with a decaying world.
Drake had counted eight survivors, including the thugs. But the others had run away before he could talk to them.
He wasn’t like Zeke. It would be nice if they cared to learn that about him.
Drake spun the phone around in his hand and listened to the silent remains of Denver. The sky glowed orange as the sun set, too early to go to bed in his old life. Now, he spent most of his time fitfully sleeping. He’d read through the last stash of comic books he’d taken from the library, and until he went back for more, there wasn’t anything else to do.
He should leave. Zeke knew where Drake lived; it would be smart to find a new place to hide.
His stomach turned at the thought. Here, he at least had the memory of Kelsey. He’d be truly alone if he went somewhere else.
He walked down the hall and into the dark, interior office, put Kelsey’s phone on the desk, lit a candle, and settled on the couch that had been his bed since she died a month earlier. At first, he slept there hoping he’d catch the virus from the place she’d been. When that didn’t work, he stayed because sleeping elsewhere felt unnatural.
In the flickering light, he studied the paintings he’d set on the floor and leaned against the desk. His favorite showed a young woman in a green dress patting the nose of a red dragon. The dragon looked peaceful and strong, while the woman appeared gentle and kind. Drake extinguished the flame and imagined standing next to her, touching the dragon’s scaly skin.
The sensation of falling into cold water yanked him from his sleep, and he blinked several times to get his bearings. Something pinched his back when he tried to roll onto his side.
“What the hell?” He reached around for the offending nuisance, but his tight skin hindered his flexibility. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes but could hardly feel anything with his fingers. They were like gloves, but tougher, less pliable. He ran his long nails down his cheeks, tracing distinct, hard bumps. Holding his breath, he moved his fingers to the top of his head, following sharp protrusions. Horns.
He shot up from the couch and knocked the phone off the desk.
That didn’t make sense. The desk was in the middle of the room, out of his arms’ reach. His eyes focused in the darkness, and he barely made out the end of the thing that had pinched his back: a wing.
He gasped and spun around, yelling when his tail smashed into the desk.
His tail?
His heart rate skyrocketed. He lumbered from the office, scraping his sides as he squeezed through the doorway.
The moonlight shining through the broken windows offered a dim illumination. He stopped running and shook his head to wake up.
This had to be a dream.
He held his hands – his claws? – in front of his face. Pointed nails jutted from the tips of his fingers. The moonlight glinted off his scaly arms and torso. His gaze drifted to the wing, then he jerked his head around to an identical wing on the other side.
Though the possibility terrified him, he willed the wings to move.
He yelled, but it didn’t sound or feel like a yell. Centering his energy in his chest, where the sound came from, he opened his mouth and released a roar that echoed off the building across the street, startling him.
He froze and refused to move or make any other noise. He’d wake on his couch as a human at any moment.
Eventually, the rising sun brightened the sky. He’d stayed by the window, lying on his belly so his tail wasn’t in the way.
This didn’t feel like a dream anymore.
Chapter Two
Drake paced on all fours along the wall of broken windows and looked out at the city, as if he’d find answers there. He’d spent half a day trying to figure out why this happened to him and had nothing to show for it.
He sped his pace and jumped as anxiety filled his gut. Stomping around the office, he knocked over lamps and chairs and whatever else got in the way.
If he’d had trouble reaching out to other survivors before, it would be impossible to talk to anyone like this.
He roared and collapsed onto his belly as his eyes bu
rned. A tear hit the carpet, sending a sizzle and thin line of smoke into the air.
Drake gasped and backed away from the newly formed hole.
He scanned the rest of the office. How could he live here like this? He’d already added to the destruction Zeke caused, and not intentionally. Should he find a cave now?
His gaze fell on the black feather.
He’ll change more than his mind.
If Zeke and the others changed into something, they obviously had a way to change back into humans. Maybe there was a way for Drake to change back, like the Hulk became a monster and then a man again. But how would he do that?
He stood in place, closed his eyes, and imagined being a teenage boy. He opened his eyes.
Still a dragon. He gritted his teeth and trudged to the desk where he kept some of his food. Eating something would help him think.
He opened the drawer with his nails, but he couldn’t get his nose into it to retrieve any food. Unable to grasp a single item, he removed clawfuls at a time.
After setting a pile of snacks on the floor, he dragged a package of jerky in front of him. He put a foot on one end of the package while scratching at the other end, shredding both the package and the jerky.
He groaned, again sounding a thunderous roar.
There had to be a way to reverse this.
He’d experienced a cool tingling when he woke as a dragon. Maybe if he had that feeling again, he’d reverse the process. Closing his eyes, he imagined falling into a cold pool as he dropped back onto the floor. He concentrated on the sensation of floating on the water, calming him.
How long would this take?
After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and glanced at his scaly torso.
Okay, so that wasn’t it. Or maybe he didn’t do it long enough.
He tried again, this time dozing as he floated in his mind. When he opened his eyes, he flexed his claw in front of his face.
He rolled onto his feet and jumped, rattling the furniture, then shook his head.
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