Snow held herself almost like a former military officer would, with a ramrod-straight back and purposeful steps. She’d tied her dyed hair back in a bun at the top of her skull, but little wisps hung down over her forehead. Her glacial eyes scanned the treetops and then filtered down towards the ground in a never-ending cycle as they continued on.
They’d been hiking for close to half an hour when Jack finally spoke up. “Hold on. I think I’ve got something on the tracker.”
The three of them formed a circle around him and peered down into the dragon tracker’s screen. Jack angled himself to the east and the corresponding beep became constant, chiming once every five seconds. There were two dots on the screen: one representing them, and a larger one representing their target. It calculated the distance at two and a half miles in that direction.
“How accurate did you say this thing was?” Fry asked.
“Faye knows her stuff,” Jack replied. “If it says she’s there, she’s there. Is there a cave in that direction?”
Fry pulled out a map and examined it. “Yep. Snow?”
She stepped off the path into the brush and pointed up. “Up there. The canopy has a hole in it and there are furrows in the trunk of that cluster of trees.”
Snow hopped over a fallen tree and made her way over to an area that had a pile of broken branches and trampled dirt. “This is where she landed, so it’s likely that Dr. Jackson’s device is correct.”
“Alright,” Fry said. “Eyes open and stay close. Let’s go.”
They continued hiking, following the unruly path the dragon had made after her descent into the forest. Once they were about half a mile from the entrance to the cave, Fry had Jack silence the dragon tracker. “Snow, give us some intel. What should we be expecting in the dragon’s lair?”
“She’ll be in a corridor that is closed off,” Snow said, checking the settings on the nozzle of her cold gun. “They like small, secluded spaces because it makes them feel secure. They ne'er sleep where they eat, so if you find the den of her victims, keep goin’. She’ll smell us first. Dragons don’t roar until they’re cornered. They hiss. It’s partially to scare off whatever’s comin’ towards her, but also so that the sound can bounce back and she can figure out where you are. If she’s asleep, we need to create a distraction to draw her out.”
“Why?” Fry asked. “You said she’ll be in a corner. We can box her in and hit her all at once so that she goes under.”
“Dragons go berserk when cornered. She’d kill us long before we even tried to subdue her. One of us must serve as bait while the others wait outside the cave to surround her.”
“So we go in, find which cave she’s in, and then lure her into the open to hit her with everything we’ve got. Fine. At least it presents the chance to retreat if needed. You three stay put while I head in—”
“No offense,” Jack said. “But I think that’s a bad idea.”
Fry eyed him. “Why?”
Jack gestured to the firearm nestled at Fry’s hip. “You’ve got the hand cannon. What if things go sideways and, God forbid, you get munched? No gun, no last resort, no one in command. We’d be back to square one.”
“Are you volunteering?”
Jack glanced nervously at the mouth of the cave and then cleared his throat. “Sure, why not? My last will and testament is all up to date.”
“Seriously?” Fry grunted. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the hero type.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be too impressed. I scream like a little girl when I’m scared.”
Fry spread his gloved hands. “Alright, Sir Gawain, you’re up. Keep the radio hot and haul ass once you spot her. Mark the trail with chalk to keep from getting turned around in those caverns.”
“Will do.” Jack paused. “Mind if I have a moment with my old lady?”
Fry rolled his eyes and wordlessly jabbed a thumb to the side. Jack and Kamala stepped away from the pair until they were out of earshot.
“Two things,” Kamala said mildly. “One, good idea convincing Fry not to be the one to go in. Two, if you call me your old lady ever again, I’ll turn you into a popsicle.”
Jack tossed her a lopsided grin. “Whatever you say, smoochie-boochie.”
Kamala shook her head. “Idiot.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Jack took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Are you going to be alright with the two of them? I’m not saying they’re conspiring against us, but you’ll be the sole voice of reason left in the group.”
She nodded. “Worry about yourself for once, you great useless pagal. Watch your back. And your front. Basically watch everything.”
Jack gave her a mock bow. “As my lady commands.”
She kissed him softly, leaning her forehead against his for the briefest of moments. “Be safe, my dragon.”
“Always, angel,” he whispered back.
Jack then straightened up and strode into the dragon’s lair.
For once, Jack was grateful for the cold. He could use it as an excuse for why his hands were shaking so hard.
“Shit,” he muttered as he stepped beyond the threshold of the cavern. “It’s colder than a tin toilet on the shady side of an iceberg.”
Once he was sure the dragon wasn’t lurking anywhere near him, he tapped the settings on the suit until the thermal gel activated. Warmth flooded over him from his neck to his ankles and soon his teeth quit chattering.
The caves were frequently visited by tourists, so Jack could see evidence of its well-traveled path in front of him, with footsteps in the dust and small signs poised near formations in the walls. For now, there were only three sounds: dripping water, his breathing, and his own footsteps. No telltale hissing. Yet.
The daylight spilled through the open mouth of the cave for quite a while, and it was only when Jack met his first turn that he actually needed the flashlight. The area wasn’t as dark as the images he’d conjured up in his mind, instead lit with spotlights to guide the visitors further in. The walls were muddy-brown mixed with beige, and formed pockets in the stone that gaped open like mouths above his head. The path was mostly flat and smooth as he continued further in, drawing a little arrow every few hundred feet with the glow-in-the-dark chalk. Silent minutes stretched by. He had to check the suit’s internal clock to see how long he’d been walking now.
Then Jack’s radio squawked and he yelped like a kicked puppy.
“Jesus!” he gasped, fumbling for the radio setting in his forearm and activating the mic. “Goddammit, I hope these suits are insured, because you just made me shit my pants.”
Fry’s voice came through slightly garbled, but the sarcasm was clear. “Sorry, I’ll be sure to alert Dr. Friedman that you’ll need to be hosed down when you get back to camp. How’s it coming so far?”
“All quiet on the Western front,” Jack said. “I’m still in the highly traveled area of this first cave. I think there’s a staircase up ahead that’ll lead me further in.”
“Any signs that she’s been there?”
Jack glanced around. “Not especially. No claw marks, no burn marks either. For all we know, she entered through another part of the cave system.”
He steadied his hand on the wooden guard rail and descended the stone steps, checking the outcropping of open air that peeked out into the forest to his right. “In fact, there’s a giant hole on this side that I’m passing now that she could have crept in. This place is huge. No wonder she wanted to seek shelter here.”
Water swished and gurgled a few feet below, wrapping around the outer rim of the stairs as he continued downward into the cold, dry air. “There’s one thing I don’t get, though. She’s cold-blooded. Wouldn’t it be dangerous to live in an ice cavern?”
“Dragons store thermal energy,” Snow replied. “Think of her body like a solar panel, where it absorbs what it needs and stores what it doesn’t. That’s why they hibernate and then go topside to gather what energy they’ve exhausted during their dormant period.”
“My family believes in tradition. Oral history. Besides, no good will come of sharing these damnable facts, aside from what you’re doin’ right now.”
Jack paused. “Is she sneering right now? Tell me she’s sneering.”
“Yes,” Kamala answered.
“Had a hunch. I think that’s her default setting.”
“Bite me,” Snow said sourly.
“Sorry,” Jack sniffed. “I’m a taken man. Ask Fry.”
The CIA field officer sighed. “Would you just concentrate, please?”
“I’m at a central area where the caves connect. There’s a map on the wall.” He examined the key and then took a step back. The cave had four branches that split from the hub he’d found himself in. The furthest one went almost a full mile beneath the forest, while the other three branches were smaller, but had lengthier paths with some routes that weren’t labeled and charted. He started to ask for advice over the radio, but then glanced down and noticed familiar chemical burn marks on the path to his right.
Jack gulped. “I, uh, I think I know which direction she headed in. It’s east of here. She left a bit of a trail.”
“Take it slow,” Fry said. “Radio silence until you’re heading out of where she is. Understood?”
“Ten-four.” He heard one last crackle from the radio and then gripped the nozzle in both hands, wringing them slightly.
“You’ve got this,” Jack mumbled. “Time to show this bitch who’s boss.”
He walked into the tunnel, one step at a time, always peeking around the corner before making himself fully visible. In this particular system, there were bare bulbs every thirty feet, leaving darkened areas between them like patches on snake skin. Jack breathed light and shallow, concentrating on anything other than the whisper-quiet footfalls he made and the sound of water dripping from the icicles formed on the cave ceiling.
“No big deal,” he continued. “It’s just like Ghostbusters. The funny guy totally makes it to the end. You’re just the Peter Venkman of the story. You’ll get slimed, we all have a good laugh, and then triumphant 80’s music plays.”
Jack stopped dead as he heard the unmistakable sound of something hissing.
He swallowed hard. The lump in his throat made it feel like a steak knife had slid down his esophagus and into his stomach. He was in the middle of a long, narrow corridor with limited line of sight. He glanced behind him and calculated how far he’d walked from the center of the cave system. Less than a mile, but it wouldn’t be an easy trek on the way back. Good thing he’d been up on his cardio.
Jack cranked the knob on the side of the cold canister just to be safe, said a mental prayer, and continued forward.
The hissing got louder. It wasn’t a snake’s hiss. To him, it sounded more like a cat’s, where it was largely a warning exhale that was usually followed by a growl. There were broken pieces of stalactites and stalagmites that he had to carefully step around, no doubt knocked off by the dragon when it had crept into the cave. He pictured the map he’d seen, remembering that there was a curve to the left that led into a large open area with a high ceiling. The path would spit him right out in the middle, so he’d be able to look down or up to find where she hid. Hopefully, anyway.
At last, he could see the barely-lit opening to the area and took the dragon tracker out of his pocket, tapping it awake. The black screen showed a large green blob to the immediate right of the cave entrance, like Baba Yaga was curled up in the corner. According to the tracker, the dragon wasn’t moving, at least. He had a chance to make an appearance and then run like hell out of there.
Every breath was light and trembling. The warmth from his suit was burning him alive now. Cold sweat beaded along his upper lip, his spine, turning his hands icy beneath the gloves. One step after another. Slow. Careful.
The lone circle of light from his flashlight only illuminated the far wall, smoothed out by water and time over the years. At some point, long ago, someone had built a wooden guard rail around the rounded outcrop. Hunks of wood still stood, but they were barely intact and had greyed with age. He crept towards the ledge, said a prayer, and glanced over the edge.
Only to see an enormous pile of fresh dragon droppings.
Jack stared down at it. “Literal what the shit.”
He checked the dragon-tracker again, pointing it straight at the mound, and internally groaned as he realized it hadn’t been entirely wrong. All fecal matter contained genetic material from the host.
Jack tapped the radio. “False alarm.”
“What do you mean ‘false alarm’?” Fry demanded.
“Tracker picked up the dragon’s…leavings. She’s not in this cavern.”
“I don’t understand. What about the hissing?”
“Yeah, I can still hear it, but the sound must’ve bounced.” He turned with the tracker to head back towards the tunnels. He took a few steps and then stopped dead.
There was another blob on the screen…and it was moving straight towards him.
Frantic, Jack switched off the radio and looked over the edge again. It was a twenty-foot drop onto a hard stone floor. Odds were good that he’d break his ankles, possibly his legs, and then it was game over. Unless…
He hurried to the other side of the outcrop and saw that there was another tunnel at the bottom of the cavern. Possibly another way out.
“Shit,” he rasped, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, this is stupid and it’s never gonna work. You’re dead, Jackson. Put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye.”
He checked the tracker again. She was around the corner. Thirty seconds and she’d be upon him.
Jack gritted his teeth. “Fuck it.”
He pulled on his hood, jumped off the outcrop, and landed in the pile of dragon shit.
The smell and sensation were beyond description. The mound had been easily taller than he was, perhaps seven feet high, and was composed like horse feces: in large, damp cylindrical chunks. The mask thankfully covered his nose and mouth, but nothing could protect him from the overwhelming stench of filth and excrement. He dry-heaved a couple of times and his instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to stay put because he could hear the slither of the dragon’s scales across the outcrop and the deadly rasp of her claws over the worn stone.
Jack didn’t move a muscle as he heard the air stirring as the dragon flapped its wings and glided down to the cavern floor. The ground tremored as she landed and the hissing became so sharp that he swore his ears popped. He’d landed almost exactly in the middle of the pile, so none of his limbs were visible, and he’d counted on it. He heard the dragon’s breathing as it stalked over to the slightly disturbed pile of droppings and then the sound of inhalation. He endured nearly a minute of nothing but the dragon’s low hiss and its chemical-tainted breath as it sniffed, searching for him.
Then, mercifully, the ground shook with Baba Yaga’s footsteps as she walked away.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Thirty. When he was sure he couldn’t hear any movement, Jack slowly took his left hand and poked a hole in the dung heap so that he could see the cavern floor.
Baba Yaga had curled up fifteen feet away. Her massive chest rose and fell in steady intervals and a thin grey film had darkened her yellow eyes. She was asleep.
By now, the group had to be making a backup plan since he’d gone radio silent. It would make the most sense to send in someone else to see if he’d failed, or to try the same thing he was supposed to have done, probably Fry this time. He needed to get clear of the cavern and find an alternate route out so he could communicate with them. That meant leaving the disgusting safe zone he’d found himself in.
Jack shut his eyes and concentrated on the facts he’d learned in Dr. Hudson’s presentation about the dragon as well as what Snow had told them about her ancestor’s hunt. Baba Yaga was currently in hibernation season, w
hich implied that she’d be a heavy sleeper. He’d have several seconds to creep out to the tunnel before the smell of the dung wore off and she could realize he was there. With any luck, he’d get a head start and try to ward her off with the cold gun once she started to pursue him. Terrible odds, but he couldn’t stay here forever. She was bound to catch him sooner or later if he stayed, and he had no inkling of when the dragon would leave again.
To test how deeply the dragon slept, Jack flicked a piece of dung across the cavern floor. It hit the ground and rolled, not making much noise, but enough to gauge a reaction. The dragon’s breathing didn’t change, nor did it open its eyes.
Inch by inch, Jack shifted in the pile and began to scoop it out from around him, trying his best not to topple it. His eyes watered, tears streaming down his face. His lungs burned with the urge to cough and sneeze from the foulness of what was stuck to his suit, but he beat the urge down until he could move his limbs.
Slowly, he stuck his booted foot out and put some weight down. Dung squelched underneath it. He flinched and watched the dragon’s sleeping form. Nothing.
He wriggled himself out of the dung heap and wiped off the nozzle of the cold gun, making sure the barrel wasn’t plugged, and took small, delicate steps towards the open tunnel across from him. He left dark, damp footprints in his wake, and the eerie silence of the cave made every step sound loud to him. Jack kept his back to the tunnel and watched Baba Yaga as he inched towards the exit.
Just as he reached the threshold, he turned his head to see around the corner, and a clump of dung slid off the top of his hood onto the floor with a loud splat.
Click. Click, click, click. Snort.
Heart in his throat, Jack faced forward to see the dragon shifting in her sleep, her claws scratching white lines into the ground. The grey film over one eye began to lift.
Jack ran for his life.
7
OF PRINCESSES AND KNIGHTS
“Dr. Anjali,” Fry said mildly. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged with that pacing.”
Sirens and Scales Page 466
