Dragon Warrior

by Shéa MacLeod

  “I’ll get the cart.” She wheeled it closer and the two of them struggled under the Warrior’s massive weight until they were able to get him loaded into the cart.

  Though he moaned in pain, the Warrior didn’t regain consciousness. Rain poured a little water into his mouth.

  “He swallowed it. That’s good,” Padre Pedro said.

  “Should I give him alcohol? For the pain?”

  Padre Pedro shook his head. “It will just dehydrate him. If he wakes up, we can give him some, but let’s leave it for now.” He glanced at the sky. “We better get moving. It’s nearly sunset.”

  Rain nodded as Padre Pedro moved to the back of the cart. She took up the handles at the front of the cart and began pulling it while Padre Pedro pushed. Despite the fact it was one of their lightest carts, the weight of the Warrior made it hard going. They had to pause for several breaks.

  They were less than a mile from the compound when Rain heard it. The shriek of a dragon who’d spotted its next meal.

  “THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE.” Padre Pedro stood beside her, squinting against the setting sun. “The dragons don’t come out until full dark.”

  “They prefer full dark, but sometimes they’ll come out at twilight,” Rain said.

  “But it’s sunset.”

  “Yes.” It was way too early for a drag to be out. And hunting, no less. Still there was no use arguing facts. They could both see it plain as day, flying toward them much faster than either of them could run.

  “We won’t be able to make the compound.” Padre Pedro’s voice was grim.

  “No. We make our stand here.” It was as good a place as any.

  “That pistol isn’t going to work against a dragon, Rain.”

  “No.” She smiled a little. “This might, though.” She pulled out the grenade and handed it to the Padre.

  “This is what you used to kill the dragon at the compound.”

  She nodded. “I tossed one down its throat. Only problem is they tend to explode.” And kill anyone nearby in the process. “Fortunately, we also have this.” She slid the Warrior’s sword from its sheath. The diamond edge turned ruby red in the dying light.

  “A dragon blade? But you don’t know how to wield that.”

  She shrugged. “How hard can it be, Padre? It’s a blade. I’m a Tracker.” Trackers and blades went together like ... well, two things that went together. Sutter had been a genius with a blade.

  Rain pushed the thought aside along with the accompanying pain. She’d need all her concentration to fight the drag. The dragon blade was ridiculously heavy, thanks to the folded steel and diamonds. Every movement would have to count.

  “Here it comes.” She saw Padre Pedro’s hand tighten around the grenade.

  “You know how to use that thing?”

  He smiled at her, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “I may be a man of peace, Rain. But this isn’t my first rodeo.”

  Whatever that meant.

  Rain turned back to the dragon rapidly drawing closer. Her own fingers tightened around the hilt of the dragon blade. This was a fight she had no intention of losing.

  Chapter 11

  THE DRAGON SWOOPED down out of the sky, strafing the ground with fire as it went. Rain sprang to one side, the heavy sword slipping out of her grasp.

  She noticed Padre Pedro had somehow hauled the Warrior off the cart and managed to roll them both underneath it. She wasn’t sure the thin metal floor of the cart would give them much protection against dragon fire, but it was the only place to hide. The drag had caught them out in the open.

  At sunset.

  She frowned but didn’t have time to contemplate the ramifications as she lunged for the dragon blade. The drag was coming around for another pass. This time there wasn’t any fire. It hadn’t had time to recharge.

  Rain let the dragon get in close before dodging out of the reach of its claws and teeth. She managed to take a swipe at the beast with the sword, but she wasn’t fast enough, and it only opened a shallow cut along the drag’s flank.

  The dragon screamed in rage, wheeling toward Rain. Dark red blood seeped down its side from the cut. Great. All she’d done was piss the thing off.

  A little spurt of fire barely missed turning Rain from blond to bald as she ducked out of the way. She thrust up with the sword just as the dragon passed over her, the diamond edged blade catching the drag full in the stomach, ripping open the soft underbelly.

  Blood and guts spilled from the open wound, splatting on the ground. The dragon shrieked as it tumbled over and over. It crashed to the ground and lay there, twitching a little.

  Covered in a fine mist of dragon blood, Rain stomped over to where the drag lay. Impossibly, it was still alive. Though barely.

  It was a small one. About the size of an elephant. Rain had seen one of those roaming through the streets of some town or other when she was a kid. Padre Pedro had said it probably escaped from the zoo when the dragons attacked. She wondered vaguely if there were any elephants still alive or if the drags had got them all. She’d like to see an elephant again.

  Reaching the dragon’s side, she lifted the Warrior’s dragon blade as high as she could then stabbed it down through the drag’s skull. The diamond blade parted hide and skull and brain like butter. The beast stopped twitching.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she realized Padre Pedro was beside her. “Well done, Rain. That thing would have had us for sure.”

  “I got lucky.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it my dear. You used your training and your intelligence to overcome this beast.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t have been able to defeat a full-grown drag. Nor one out at full dark. Without the sword, I’m not sure I could have killed it at all.”

  “Then Providence was definitely with us this day.” Padre Pedro made the sign of the cross.

  “Why didn’t Providence make sure the damn drag was asleep until we made it back to Sanctuary?”

  He sighed and shrugged. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She and Padre Pedro managed to wrangle the massive Warrior back onto the cart. They were both breathing heavily by the time they were done.

  “What do they feed those damn Marines? He’s nearly as big as the drag.” Rain shoved strands of sweat-soaked hair back out of her face.

  “He’s certainly bigger than any Marine I’ve ever seen,” Padre Pedro agreed. He was bent over, trying to catch a breath. “He would have made a great football player in the Before.”

  “Better get moving before we’ve got more of those things on us. Don’t think I can kill another one.”

  Padre Pedro nodded. Together they got the cart rolling and headed toward home.

  “HOW IS HE?”

  It was the third time Rain had asked that question in as many hours. She’d been stopping by to check on the Warrior every hour for the last three days.

  She and Padre Pedro had made it back to the compound just after full dark. They’d left the Warrior in the capable hands of Clara Davis. Clara had been a young woman studying nursing at college before the Dragon Wars. Now she was the closest thing they had to a doctor.

  Clara looked up from some medical text or other. She was always reading medical texts or practicing stitches. She said it was to keep her mind sharp and her hand steady.

  “The same. Unconscious, but stable. His breathing, heart rate, all good.”

  “Are you sure he’ll wake up?”

  Clara sighed and closed her book. “As sure as I can be. Even before the Wars, we didn’t know much about the human brain. Like I told you before, most of his wounds are superficial. The deeper lacerations are healing nicely. There is no infection. Now it’s down to his brain healing itself. There is nothing more I can do.” She turned back to her book.

  “I’ll just ... look in on him.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Rain slipped into what Clara called
“the ward.” It was a small room with just four beds. The Warrior was on the bed in the back corner. He was so big his feet hung off the end of the bed. Someone, probably Clara, had put a chair with a pillow on it under his feet.

  She pulled up a stool and sank down next to the bed. He really was massive. She figured he had to be around 6’4” or so and broad as a barn. Not an ounce of fat on him, either. He truly was a marvelous figure of a man. She’d never seen his like.

  Her eyes roamed across his body, appreciating the sheer maleness of him. For the first time Rain saw the Warrior’s face free of blood and soot. What she saw froze her blood.

  “No way.”

  She leaped up, sending the stool skidding across the floor until it crashed into the nearest wall. Clara spun to glare at her, but Rain was already running hell-bent-for-leather through the halls of the compound.

  She slammed into her room and grabbed a book off her bookshelf. Hauling ass back through the compound, she skidded to a stop beside the Warrior’s bed, Clara still gaping at her.

  Rain flipped through the pages of the book and pulled out a photograph. She studied it closely then studied the face of the man unconscious on the bed.

  “Not possible. It’s just not possible.”

  There were footsteps and then Clara stood beside her. “Rain? What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”

  “Here,” she thrust the photo at Clara, “tell me what you see.”

  Clara smiled. “Why this is Micah Caine. Everybody who was alive during the Dragon Wars knows about Micah Caine. How did you get his picture?”

  Rain shook her head. “Not important. Now look at the man lying on that bed.”

  A frown puckered the fine lines between Clara’s brows. “Goodness. I hadn’t noticed. He certainly looks a lot like Caine, doesn’t he?”

  “He doesn’t just look like him, Clara. That man is Micah Caine.”

  "I HAVE TO AGREE WITH Clara. What you’re saying sounds ... unbelievable.” Padre Pedro stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “However, he does look a great deal like the pictures I’ve seen of Lieutenant Caine.”

  “Perhaps this is his son,” Clara suggested. “Or a nephew.”

  “Please,” Rain snapped. “He doesn’t just look like Caine. He’s identical.”

  “Not exactly.” Padre Pedro’s tone was at once both placating and disagreeing. “He’s much bigger than Caine. Taller, more muscular. Even you admit that.”

  Which was true. She’d seen Caine’s files as well as his photos. He’d been tall and muscular, but nothing like the physique of the man now lying in their medical ward.

  “What about the birthmark? Caine’s records describe a heart shaped birth mark on his left ... uh,” she glanced at Padre Pedro, “... butt cheek.”

  “My patient has the same mark, but it’s not usual to have similar birthmarks in families.” Clara wasn’t budging an inch. Not that Rain could blame her. Even to herself she sounded like a lunatic. A man did not grow six inches in height. Not to mention the fact he looked exactly the same age as the day he died. Twenty-five years ago.

  And, oh yeah. The dead thing. Still.

  “Fine, then how about this? According to Caine’s records he had a crescent shaped scar on his right hip. He got it during the war in Afghanistan. Something definitely not genetic.” She flipped open his file so the two of them could see Caine’s chart.

  Then Rain marched over to the patient and flipped back the sheet covering the poor man’s modesty. There, across his right hip, was a crescent shaped scar.

  “Clara. Padre Pedro. Meet Lieutenant Micah Caine. United States Army.”

  Chapter 12

  “HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE?” Clara was the first to snap out of the shock.

  “My guess? Some kind of genetic alteration.” Padre Pedro frowned as he studied the prone man. “Before the Wars I heard rumors of the military experimenting with DNA manipulation to produce super soldiers. Maybe this man is a result of that.”

  Rain crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at the man who’d haunted her dreams for years. “When I was at the compound there was this scientist. Dr. Barnes. I didn’t understand half of what he was talking about, but he tested my blood to see if I was “suitable.” And he kept talking about DNA and his research. I think maybe he’s responsible for making Dragon Warriors.”

  “You think Micah Caine survived that last battle and they’ve been monkeying around with his DNA?” It was clear Clara was appalled by the thought.

  “No. I think they’re taking dead men and altering their DNA somehow to ... I don’t know. Bring the dead back to life. Or maybe make a clone of the original person. But better than before. Stronger. Faster. I mean, look at him. The man should be in his sixties, but he looks just the same as his picture. I’m sure that’s why they took Sutter’s body, too. To see if they could turn him into a Warrior.”

  Padre Pedro crossed himself. “Abomination.”

  “What?” Rain felt shock course through her. Padre Pedro had always been the most accepting and loving person. To have him call Micah ... Lieutenant Caine an abomination. She couldn’t have heard him right.

  “What they’ve done to this poor man. It’s an abomination.” The Padre shook his head.

  “It’s disgusting, is what it is,” Clara snapped. “These scientists and their damn experiments. If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times, it’s scientists did this to us in the first place. They brought the dragons. Destroyed the planet. No doubt in my mind.”

  Rain and Padre Pedro exchanged a look. It wasn’t that Clara was a conspiracy nut. Exactly. It was just that she had strong opinions, very strong opinions, about the way things were and the way they ought to be. And she wasn’t afraid to share them with anyone and everyone. It was probably a good thing she spent most of her time alone with her medical books. Otherwise she’d probably have the entire compound in an uproar.

  “Well, now we know who he is and what was done to him, more or less, what should be our next course of action? Perhaps we should have a word with Elan,” Padre Pedro suggested.

  Clara let out a snort. “That drunken excuse for a man?”

  “He’s still our leader, Clara.” The Padre’s voice was firm.

  Clara just sniffed and stomped back to her desk and her books. Rain shook her head as she watched the woman go. “That mouth is going to get her into trouble one of these days.” She turned back to Padre Pedro. “It doesn’t sound like El is in any fit state to make a decision right now.”

  The Padre sighed. “Possibly not. He’s been drinking non-stop since Sutter died.” He shook his head wearily.

  Rain wasn’t surprised. Whatever their differences, Elan and Sutter were still brothers. Twins. She couldn’t even imagine a loss like that.

  She turned back to their patient. Micah. Micah Caine. Whatever he was, he definitely wasn’t some kind of copy. The scar proved otherwise. This was the real Micah Caine, altered perhaps, but it was still him. And he hadn’t aged a day in twenty-five years.

  “I think we should try to convince him to join us. We could use a fighter like him.”

  Padre Pedro seemed intrigued by the idea. “It’s certainly worth a try, though I imagine he’s been thoroughly brainwashed. It’ll be hard to undo decades of mental manipulation. Not to mention whatever they did to him physically.”

  “Maybe not. He’s got a concussion, remember? If we’re lucky, that already knocked something loose.” Though Rain was well aware they were going to need a lot more than luck. They were going to need a miracle. These days miracles were in short supply.

  THE WARRIOR SLIPPED from sleep to wakefulness in a single heartbeat. He lay quietly, breathing even. Neither twitch of eyelid, nor flinch of muscle gave him away.

  He knew he wasn’t on the base. That much was immediately obvious. He could hear the distant sound of children’s voices at play. There were no children on the base. In fact, he hadn’t seen a child since ... his mind shied away from the thought un
til the memory slipped from his grasp like snowflakes.

  He frowned. Rather he wanted to frown, but his training prevented such betrayal of emotion. For the first time he was troubled by his lack of memories. The other men, the Marines, they had memories. They mocked their pasts as full of softness and coddling, but still, they had memories.

  The Warrior had none. It had never bothered him before.

  He took a deep breath but kept it slow. Subtle. As a sleeping man might. He could tell by scent he was underground. There was a certain dampness to the air. The faint odor of bleach stung his nose. Wherever he was had been scrubbed clean. A hospital, perhaps? Did the civilian survivors have hospitals?

  The faint rustle of paper, a page being turned. Whoever was reading was far enough away they wouldn’t notice he was awake. He sensed no one else nearby.

  Slowly he opened his eyes. The room was dark, only a faint light from the lantern in the other room spilling into what was obviously some kind of medical facility. There were three other beds besides the one on which he lay. Each one had a curtain to pull around for privacy, though they were currently pushed back, making the room appear as though it were draped in ghosts. He shook his head at the fanciful thought and focused his mind. He was the room’s only occupant.

  He definitely had never seen the place before and had no recollection of how he’d gotten here. He cast his memory back. The last thing he remembered was the dragon attack. A blast of drag fire. The Humvee burning. Men screaming. Then ... nothing. A blank.

  “You’re awake. Good.”

  Startled, he turned his head toward the voice. He wasn’t alone after all. How had he not sensed her presence? Heard her breathing? Smelled the faint perfume of her skin?

  She sat in a chair on the far side of the bed facing the light from the other room. Her back was against the wall, like a good soldier. Unlike a good soldier she had tilted the chair back and propped her booted feet up on the end of his bed.