by Paul Cude
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Although he had no idea where he was, he knew for certain that the van he was in had just turned off the main road and was now negotiating a very bumpy track full of potholes, every one of which he could feel.
'This,' he thought, 'does not bode well.' A track off the main road almost certainly meant he was very near his final destination, and he was not nearly warm enough yet. Once again he tugged frantically at the handcuffs that bound his hands, but he knew even before he did that it was doomed to fail. Still he hadn't recovered enough to break free.
Moments later the van stopped. Peter lay wrapped in all the layers, as frightened as he'd ever been. Voices from outside once again resounded through the thin van walls. They seemed impatient, edgy almost. A fierce rage started to burn at him from the inside, bubbling up out of nowhere, threatening to consume every last part of him. It was so overwhelming, that all he wanted to do was go and destroy these... criminals. How dare they imprison him?! Even with the help of Theobald, Casey and Fisher, he should not find himself in this situation. Dark, desperate thoughts of what he could do to these men if he managed to change into his dragon form engulfed his mind. One powerful swipe of his wings would trash their sorry van. He'd scare the living daylights out of each and every one of them, so much so that all the therapy in the world during their prison stay would not be nearly enough to counter their fear of him.
A fresh sound jolted him out of his wishful thinking. Another vehicle had arrived. No, make that two other vehicles. As he waited for the tailgate to be lowered and the doors to burst open, more voices joined in outside. With the seconds turning into minutes, the doors did not open. A tiny ray of hope washed over him. All he needed was a bit more time. Clearly these humans knew nothing, otherwise they would have dealt with him whilst he was at his coldest, or when he was unconscious. Listening carefully, there was more talking, followed closely by a loud squeaking noise, a bit like a rusty gate creaking open. One by one, all the vehicles started up their engines, including the van that he was trapped in. As the van lurched forward, he found himself once again thinking of his friends, who by now would be waiting to see the fireworks. He would have given anything to be with them at that moment, that or any shred of warmth. Close, but no cigar.
Starting off, swaying from side to side as it dipped in and out of ever more potholes, the van, much to his surprise, went back to being on a perfectly flat surface again. If they were back on a main road, which clearly didn't make any sense at all, but if they were, that could only be a good thing, he mused optimistically. That thought, and any hope that remained, was shattered only a few seconds later when the van came to a halt and turned off its engine. He could hear doors being opened and closed again, but the sound that terrified him most, giving his shivers shivers of their own, was the tailgates on the other vehicles being lowered.
'This is it,' he thought. Mustering everything he had, and using thoughts of his friends as motivation in the hope that it might give him that bit extra, he fought to bring forth the magic that was rightfully his.
'Damn, still nothing.' Close, so close. He could feel his power bubbling just beneath the surface, soooo very close, but agonisingly out of reach.
'Just a few more minutes,' he mused. 'Please let them ignore me for just a few more minutes. That might be enough.'
With darkness surrounding him, he rubbed his limbs frantically, knowing that even a few seconds might make the difference. He could hear the voices again, and they weren't far away. It sounded as though there were at least six or seven of them. While he was listening intently, trying to glean anything that would help him later, he could just hear... something in the background. It sounded like a... concert or something like that, but try as he might, he couldn't make out the exact content.
