by Ripley, Ron
Groaning, the man tried to sit up. Mel watched in horror as the thing that had hit the man became fully illuminated in the moonlight.
It was a dragon.
A red dragon that looked like it should have been in an anime show.
Except there was nothing cartoon-like about the dragon.
Nothing whatsoever.
This thing was real.
And even though it was nearly twenty feet away, Mel could smell the alienness of it. A fear settled into his stomach, and Mel fought the simultaneous urge to vomit and void his bowels. Vaguely he felt Kaitlin squeezing his hand. Several of the bones broke.
That pain still couldn’t drag his attention and his focus away from the dragon.
The red beast advanced steadily on the man who lay on his back, seemingly frozen as he watched the dragon.
Then the dragon was upon him, smelling him, and pushing him onto the cold grass with one leg. The man groaned, and the dragon seemed to smile.
“Please,” the man whispered, and Mel could hear it clearly in the cool air.
The dragon looked as if it were laughing, and it sank its teeth into the man’s shoulder. A scream erupted from the man’s mouth, echoing off of the headstones and rolling out across the lake. Lights in some of the houses down on Lake Road burst into life. The dragon twisted to look directly at Mel and Kaitlin.
Consider yourselves lucky, a voice said directly in Mel’s head, so loud and painful that it twisted his stomach and caused him to pitch forward, vomiting. We’re hungry, and there is hardly enough meat on the two of you to compare to this fine, fat fellow.
The laughter that followed drowned out the sounds of Mel’s and Kaitlin’s screams.
***
Doctor Kyle Bennett stood in her personal library at home, arms crossed over her chest and all of the lights on. The library wasn’t large, but it was filled to well past capacity. She had everything from hand-typed manuscripts sent to her from colleagues around the world, to the most recent editions of various Asian language and English dictionaries.
All of them were well used.
She once had a desk in the room, but that had been moved out years ago to make space for several small barrister bookcases which stood back to back. These protected some of her most prized scholarly possessions.
Kyle walked to the far barrister and knelt down, lifting the protective glass door, so she could remove her copy of Dragons of the Orient, written by John Robert Hall. While her copy had certainly seen better days, it was one of the few that existed outside of an academic facility.
Closing the glass door carefully, Kyle walked out of the library, absently leaving the lights on as she made her way to her study. The study was barren except for a few books and the desk which had once populated the library. The desk had her desktop computer and various other essentials, such as her scanner, her printer, and a hot-plate for the coffee she constantly forgot to drink.
A green-shaded banker’s lamp stood on one corner, and her phone charged on the other. Holding the book, Kyle sat down in the tall leather chair and looked at her monitor.
The email from Professor Kuribayashi Tadamichi, at the University of Tsukuba, was still on the screen. In it, her old friend had recommended that she look in Hall’s book, knowing full well that she owned a copy.
Kyle minimized the email, revealing a still image from the video Officer Henderson had given her a copy of. The picture dominating the monitor was that of the dragon, a full, perfect shot giving exquisite detail of the beast.
Letting go of the mouse, Kyle leaned back in the chair and opened the book onto her lap. The book, which had been published in 1876, was made of heavy-stock paper and was rich with powerful illustrations of various types of dragons, as well as specific dragons.
Kyle moved carefully through the book, looking first at the illustrations. All of those that weren’t red, she ignored and moved past. Others that were red were given a closer examination. She would look up and examine the photo on the monitor, comparing. The Chinese dragons had four toes, she noticed, while the Japanese had only three.
The dragon on the monitor had only three toes.
It was, as she had suspected, a Japanese dragon.
She continued through the book and then stopped, feeling her eyes widening.
There was a near perfect drawing of the dragon on the screen. A feeling of excitement rushed through her, and she leaned down to read the name of the dragon.
Ka-Riu.
“Ka-Riu, one of only three Dragon Kings in the land of the Nipponese. It is said that he has what is known as a vitriolic attack. He is, in the vulgar way, an acid spitter. It is said, as well, that his coloring ranges from red to scarlet, and at times his form is made of fire itself.”
A dragon king, Kyle thought, placing the book open on her desk. A dragon king.
She looked at the monitor, of the frozen image of Ka-Riu on the screen.
“How the hell did a Japanese dragon king get to New Hampshire?” she wondered aloud.
After a moment she shook her head, opened the desk’s center drawer and took out Tom Henderson’s card. Picking up her phone she dialed the number and waited for him to answer.
Chapter Six
Israel’s Farm
Tom walked out of the station as Dr. Bennett pulled into the lot at three thirty-five in the afternoon. She parked her silver Camry and got out of her car, waving to him.
Tom smiled, waving back.
“How are you, Professor?” he asked.
“Fine, fine,” she answered. “Call me Kyle, though, okay?”
“So long as you call me Tom.” He grinned.
“Fair enough.” She laughed. “Now, do you want me to follow you out to Mr. Porter’s farm?”
“No,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I think it would be best for you to either ride with me or vice versa. Israel lives up and out there. And I’d actually rather you ride with me if that doesn’t bother you too much.”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” Tom said, sighing in relief. “I’m a little worried that this Ka-Riu might be prowling again tonight. It’s been two days since the last person we know of, had disappeared. We’ve had some rangers and a few professional trackers go over the ground, and they can’t even find a trace of any of the missing.”
“They won’t,” Kyle said as they walked to Tom’s truck. Tom held the door for her, and she nodded her thanks as she got in.
“Why won’t they?” Tom asked as he got in and closed his own door.
“He’ll have a lair somewhere,” she answered as he started up the truck. “He’ll be bringing his kills there.”
Tom shook his head.
“What I want to know, though,” she said, “is how a Japanese dragon king made its way from Japan to the US.”
“That’s a fair question,” Tom replied. “If anyone can give us a hint as to why, I think that it’ll be Israel.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, buckling up. “Let’s go see a man about a dragon.”
Tom glanced at her but didn’t say anything. He didn’t think she fully realized what was actually happening. He, himself, still didn’t have a firm grasp on it.
Tom guided his truck casually up through the sideroads, making his way towards Israel’s farm. The old man was expecting them, and Tom hoped the man had at least tucked away some of the weapons that he had stashed around the house. And that Turk wouldn’t react to Kyle strangely.
The dog did alright when Israel was there, but as much as Tom loved dogs, Tom was nervous around bigger dogs. Especially dogs the size of Turk. Even for a German shepherd, Turk was a big dog.
A short time later, they were pulling into Israel’s barnyard, and Tom parked the truck close to the back door. The sun was close to the horizon, and Tom felt distinctly uncomfortable. He hated the idea of driving back to the station and then driving to home in the night. Ka-Riu, the dragon king, seemed to prefer the night for hunting.
He took a deep breath and sett
led his nerves as he and Kyle got out of the truck and headed towards the back door.
Israel was there, holding the door open and giving them both a tight smile. When they walked into the kitchen, Tom saw that Turk was lying on the floor by the stove, seemingly asleep, but Tom could see the dog’s ears moving slightly. The dog heard them and kept track of them all.
“Dr. Kyle Bennett,” Tom said, “this is Israel Porter.”
“Hello,” Kyle said, extending her hand.
Israel smiled, shaking her hand. “Hello. Thank you for coming. Seems we have a bit of a problem on our hands. Would you care to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the kitchen table.
Three chairs sat around the old wooden table, and Israel had set up a trio of cups, saucers, milk, cream, sugar, and a carafe of coffee.
“Thank you,” Kyle said, sitting at the table.
As Tom sat down, Israel said, “Did you hear about Sam Balin?”
“That photographer?” Tom asked. “The one that lives over in West Lebanon and comes over to shoot Mascoma all of the time?”
“Ayuh.”
“No,” Tom said as Israel sat down. “What’s going on?”
“Alex Leer said he had to tow the man’s car away from the old skating rink that’s next to Lake View.”
“First I heard of it,” Tom said. “When did this happen?”
“Last night, when the trooper was covering,” Israel said. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Kyle said.
Tom nodded.
Israel filled all three cups, leaving just enough room in each in case anyone wanted to add cream or sugar. When they had all finished preparing their coffees, Israel said, “So, you figured out this dragon?”
“I found out its name,” Kyle said. “Ka-Riu.”
Israel grunted and took a sip of his coffee. “He’s a devil. Do you know how to kill him?”
“No,” Kyle said, shaking her head.
Tom felt his stomach drop a little.
“But,” she continued, “I’m waiting to hear back from my friend in Japan who put me on the right track.”
“Well,” Israel said, “at least that’s something.”
Kyle nodded. “It is at that. Now,” she said, pausing, “Tom said you might know how a dragon got here, to New Hampshire?”
“Ayuh,” Israel said, taking a drink of coffee. “The way I heard it was that when Teddy Roosevelt brokered the peace between Russia and Japan, there was the belief that maybe the Japanese had brought something with them. Left it in the hunting lodge where the President had entertained the Japanese.”
“How did they figure that?” she asked.
“Disappearances,” Israel answered. “Lots of folk who went past that lodge disappeared, and they never found anything afterward. My grandfather and some other folks got together, tore out the road that went to it, made sure as few people as possible even knew it was there.”
“And the disappearances stopped?” Kyle asked.
The old farmer nodded.
“But why did they start up again?” she asked. “Why is the dragon out here, hunting?”
“The storm,” Tom said.
“The storm?” she asked. “The one that happened last week?”
Tom nodded.
“You see,” Israel said, “that storm ripped a straight path through the forest, and it showed the lodge to the world again.”
“So someone must have set Ka-Riu free,” Kyle said.
The two men nodded.
“Who?” she asked.
“That’s what we don’t know,” Tom said.
“We went to the lodge,” Israel said, “and a sign had been left, warning off trespassers.”
“What sort of sign?” Kyle asked.
“Skulls,” Israel answered. He finished his coffee and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Skulls.”
Chapter Seven
A Screaming Lodge
Behind Holt’s Auto, the mechanics had fired up the grill after closing the shop down for the night. Brian had brought half a rack of Budweiser, and Joe had brought a keg that had three-quarters left in it from the other night. Nate doubted the three of them would finish it all off, but they were going to make a go of it.
Brian was at the grill and had set out a dozen bratwurst on the top shelf, while tossing some marinated steak tips on the lower.
It had been a slow day at the shop.
Nate lit up a cigarette, exhaled into the night air, and smiled. He could smell the snow in the air, just a hint of it. Another couple of weeks, and there’d be enough snow on the ground for them to take the sleds out. He had a new Polaris snowmobile that was probably going to be hell on gas, but more than worth it. For December, he was planning to go with Brian up to Brian’s cousin’s place just outside of Montreal, and they were going to ride the sleds the whole way.
“Yo, Nate!” Joe called.
“What’s up?” Nate asked.
“Is that Dave’s truck?” Joe asked, pointing to the old logging road that dumped out into the back of the lot.
A beat up little Toyota Tacoma, with more gray primer than black paint on it, came bouncing into the dull orange light of the parking lot lamps.
“Yeah, it is,” Nate answered. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
The truck came to a screeching stop, the brakes grinding more than they should, and Dave stumbled out of the cab.
Brian laughed, calling out, “Damn, you drunk already, Dave?”
Dave staggered to them, his eyes wild and his breathing fast.
“You okay?” Nate asked.
Dave shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, walking over with a pair of solo cups full of beer and handing one to Dave.
Dave took it with a thankful look and pounded it back, draining the cup in a matter of seconds.
“Dave,” Nate said, “what’s going on?”
“There’s a lodge out in the woods,” Dave finally managed to say.
“There are hunting lodges all over the place,” Brian said dismissively, turning over the steaktips.
Dave shot him an angry look. “‘Bout a mile in.”
“What?” Nate asked.
“There’s no lodge this close,” Joe said. “Somebody would use it if there was.”
“Never even heard of a lodge being this close to town,” Brian said.
“Me neither,” Dave said. “But it’s there. I went in to grab some more of that deadfall from the nor’easter that came down, and I saw a light a little further in. I walked up towards the light, and just when I got close enough to really see what it was, I heard a scream.”
“Nah,” Brian said. “You’ve been into that rotgut whiskey again, haven’t you?”
“Piss off,” Dave snapped at him, and all of them looked at the skinny man.
Dave rarely argued back, and he looked ready to go at it tooth and nail. Even Brian seemed cautious, and he was a big man who ran his mouth freely.
“There was screaming,” Dave said, looking at all of them. “I heard it, and I swear to God, I don’t ever want to hear it again.”
“You heard it just now?” Nate asked.
“Ten minutes ago, tops,” Dave said. “I ran to the truck and got out of there.”
“You didn’t check?” Brian asked with a sneer.
“I swear to Christ, Brian McCarthy,” Dave hissed, “if I had my shotgun I would have gone up there. Just like if I had it right now, I’d blow a hole in your fat gut.”
Nate felt his eyes widen in surprise, and Joe stepped close to Dave, handing the man the second solo cup.
“Easy,” Joe said, pulling Dave back a little. “Easy.”
“You said it’s a mile or so in?” Nate asked.
Dave nodded.
“Hell,” Brian said, “you want to see what the little pansy is scared of, Nate?”
“Sure,” Nate said. “No names, though, Brian. Something scared him.”
Brian shook his head, saying, “Joe, you want to wa
tch these while Nate and I check that out?”
“Sure,” Joe answered. “Dave, you want another beer?”
Dave simply nodded.
“Give’em one last turn,” Joe said to Brian, taking the cups from Dave.
Brian did so, and Nate finished his cigarette, dropping the butt to the pavement and crushing it under his boot. After Brian was done, the two of them walked past Dave’s truck to Nate’s Jeep. They climbed in, and a moment later Nate was shifting into gear, high beams on and heading into the forest. It was a cloudy night and the road was rough, even on the Jeep’s wide tires.
Nate moved the Jeep on steadily, though. He had done his share of night driving on back roads and this road wasn’t any worse than those. Neither he nor Brian spoke as they drove, and soon the road intersected the massive line of downed trees. Nate killed the lights and shut the Jeep down, both he and Brian rolling the windows down so they could listen and look.
“Damn,” Brian said softly. “He was right.”
Nate turned and looked out of Brian’s window, and there, in the distance, he caught sight of a pale light.
Someone was out there.
“Come on,” Nate said, getting out of the Jeep. As Brian climbed out, Nate reached into the back and took his twelve gauge out. It was loaded with solid shot, and it was a pump action, five quick shots. He thought about grabbing his vest with the extra ammunition, but decided against it. There weren’t too many people in the world who could hear the sound of a round being pumped into a twelve gauge and keep their cool.
Brian grabbed the Maglite LED off of the roll-bar and made sure the red lens was on it before turning it on. The red kept their night vision intact while still giving them enough light so they wouldn’t break an ankle or wreck a knee walking towards whatever was out there.
Walking side by side, they started to make their way through the downed trees, the light at the far end slowly growing. Soon a house took shape in the darkness. Light seeped out from around a door and a pair of shuttered windows on either side. The smell of death seemed to ride along the light out towards the men, and a sudden fear put a hint of hesitation in Nate’s steps.