by D. H. Dunn
Dragons of the Interstate
D.H. Dunn
Contents
Dragons of the Interstate
Also by D.H. Dunn - Under Everest
Free Short Story - Cracks and Crevasses
Dragons of the Interstate
One:Merge onto I-293 S/NH-101 E toward Exeter/Portsmouth.
* * *
She wasn’t supposed to be there.
Drake the King stole a glance through the darkness back at the Princess, snugly secured into the backseat with her head slumped against the safety strap of her child seat. A small line of saliva trickled from her mouth. Her chest rose and fell, the thin fabric of her Frozen pajamas shifting faintly.
Just once. He only needed to see her breathe once, then he could turn his eyes back to the road. He had to get her to the Queen, to Maine. Whatever was now inside him, scrambling things in his mind--it was in her too. He may have been confused, but the King was not confused about what he needed to do.
They needed to keep moving. The Dragon was coming.
He hit a bump, causing the empty passenger-seat belt to rattle. The Princess stirred behind him.
“It’s okay, Sarah,” he said. Maybe for her, maybe for him. He wasn’t sure. The words sounded so small in the cramped cab of his mount.
His neighbor’s mount, actually. Full tank of gas, all-weather tires and most importantly plates registered to Fred Thomason. Fred might understand why he stole the Bronco, or he might not. Drake supposed it was not likely to matter in the end.
He pushed his steed forward, twin glowing eyes piercing the darkness of the New Year’s morning. The roads were bare, the snow still unblemished by tire marks. He took the exit onto NH-101, the red haze in his mind growing. He could still see the pills swirling in the vaporizer. The crimson mist flowing into his lungs, and then into hers.
She wasn’t supposed to be there!
The King knew even though the roads might be empty now, the Black Dragon would be coming for them. He had left the Dragon smoking and thundering back at the castle, in Merrimack. Back there with two dead men. Back where it all went wrong.
Before tonight, in the days before the pills and mist, Drake hadn’t known he was the King. Kings, princesses and dragons were just artwork on the wall, miniatures to be pushed across card tables alone in his basement. Kings and dragons were just a way out, an escape, if only for a few hours.
The red pills he had been had offered were a way out too. A solution from the tragedies Drake couldn’t hide from in his basement. An escape from the hole of debt, mistakes and broken chances.
Ten thousand dollars to take two pills, Mr. James. At our instruction, time of our choosing. You will tell no one. We will call you and you will follow our instructions. We will come to observe and record the results.
The men bearing the pills had worn matching suits. Suits and badges, ones which they flashed too quick. They made Drake nervous. Men in suits always did.
He had said yes and accepted the pills, knowing it might be another mistake. All his choices seemed to be, but maybe this one would be different. His luck had to change sometime.
They’d left with a quiet warning. Follow all instructions. Tell no one of the pills, or there will be consequences. Take the pills when we call. We will come to observe.
A week later, the phone had rung just after Sarah had gone to sleep. She was only there for the weekend, Drake had explained. The suits didn’t care. The graveled voice on the phone was insistent. The red pills had to be taken now, there would be a truck from the agency by in fifteen minutes to observe his results. The same black semi-truck the suits had delivered the pills in earlier that day. It had been loud enough to shake the castle, from the front porch to the basement.
Drake had not liked the black truck, and he had not liked the suits. The money though--the King had needed the money.
Once they observed the results, the suits explained, he would be given the money. The money would let him keep the castle a few more months. The Princess would have somewhere to visit, and he would have more time. Time to try again, to find a way to fix things and make the royal court whole once more.
Drake had watched the pills swirl in the vaporizer he’d bought at Wright’s Drug, the exact make and model the suits had instructed. They fizzed inside the machine like antacid, dissolving and staining the water blood red. The crimson mist filled the room, much faster than Drake had expected. As instructed, he inhaled deeply, keeping his breathing calm. They wanted him calm, the suits had said. That was important.
Why? Why hadn’t he locked the bedroom door?
He had heard the cough behind him, tiny and small. He turned just in time to see her crumple to the floor, her Elsa doll still clutched in her hand. Drake felt his heart accelerate, every muscle seizing. His breathing came in short gulps, his pulse visible in his vision.
As he fell to his knees, Drake’s world began to melt away, as if a red curtain had passed over his sight. When it cleared, he was the King. A King with a Princess to save.
Soon the Black Dragon had returned, with two riders. He could hear its angry roar as it drove up the driveway. Clutching Sarah like treasure in his arms he peeked out the window, his chest pounding with fear.
They were here for the pills. They would know he messed up--the Princess had breathed in the mist as well.
There will be consequences.
The King had done something wrong again, and again the forces of darkness wanted to make his loved ones pay for his mistakes.
Drake had held the Princess tighter as he pulled the weapon from the drawer of his desk with his free hand. It may have been a crossbow, or something stranger--something more of metal and powder. His brain had become fuzzy on the details, they blurred and shifted like stirred coffee, but he remembered how good it felt in his hand.
The Riders in the castle had called out to Drake. Just as he had predicted, they were not there to ask questions, they were not there to understand. They did not want to help the King or the Princess. They knew of his mistakes, they were angry and they had to be dealt with. The Princess had to be protected.
Sometimes, a King must be a knight.
Two: Merge onto I-95 N toward Portsmouth/Maine Pts (Portions toll)
* * *
Dawn was just peering over the trees when the King saw his first dragon. He knew once he left NH-101 and joined I-95 North there would be more traffic. More of the metal beasts, small and large. Some part of him suspected he was judging things wrongly, but the clouds in his mind refused to obey him. The world stayed murky, mixed and swirled.
Behind him the road seemed to melt between ground and sky, the snow billowing in all directions. The dragon’s eyes crested first. Rows of yellow orbs, not orange like the Black Dragon’s had been. Not the same beast, the King reminded himself, but a beast all the same. Kin of his enemy. Hungry, and able to smell his terror if he let it.
He gripped the wheel of his mount so hard he heard his fingers crack. Eyes front, he reminded himself. Keep your breathing steady, don’t show the fear. Lessons the King learned in prison, a lifetime and a reality ago. More punishment for past mistakes.
The dragon came up behind him quickly, the snow flying in its wake. Dark smoke boiled from its nose as it pushed forward. The rumbling of its roar was strong enough that Drake could feel the vibration in his teeth. Stealing a quick glance at the back seat, he let a small sigh slip past his lips. The Princess was still sleeping, still breathing.
The dragon was about to pass him, pulling to his right and kicking up a huge cloud of white as it did so. Drake kept his gaze forward, his hands frozen like vices. The beast thundered by in the fast lane, a blur of red and brown scales.
“Shit,”
the King said, glad the Princess was too far gone to hear him.
That had not been the Black Dragon, but it would be coming. He had slain its riders, defied the suits from the wizard. He hadn’t seen a sorcerer, but the suits had to work for someone. It made sense to Drake that an organization with magic pills and dragons would be run by a wizard.
If there was a wizard, he must know what had happened by now. He might even have agents in Maine, waiting for him. There were other thoughts in his head, thoughts of his old world, but the red thoughts from the pills were louder, pushing his doubt away like the snow off the Bronco’s bumper.
There was a wizard, and he was sending the Black Dragon after him for his defiance. He had to keep moving, to get the Princess to the Queen. The fear in the red thoughts gave them power, strength. The King pushed his foot down on the accelerator harder.
To his right, the city of Portsmouth slid by as he pushed his mount towards the Piscataqua River Bridge. His eyes caught a glimpse of the land locked submarine--the USS Albacore, now a museum. He, the Princess and the Queen had all gone there last year. Before the latest mistakes, before the breaking of the castle. Now the Queen was in Maine, and he only saw the Princess two weekends a month.
The Piscataqua River Bridge was now visible, dark-green steel against the pink and blue of the morning sky. Hope and fear lay on the other side, both the entrance to Maine and a choke point where the agents of the wizard might be waiting for him. An opportunity to save the Princess or fail her.
Drake had failed his families before.
Many years ago, there was the first Queen, who had been so young she was really just a Princess herself. Together, they had created a small Prince, who later watched him head off to prison.
A young King, Drake had made mistakes that cost decades of his life. Years and people. He had shed too many of both.
The emerald girders of the bridge began to pass overhead, the cold river running below into the sea. Looking behind him, past the Princess, he could see a small black shape entering the highway miles back. Orange lights and dark smoke against the early dawn. The Black Dragon had found them.
Drake pushed the pedal harder as he reached the bridge’s midpoint, his mount squealing in protest. He needed to stay ahead of the Dragon, just to Biddeford. With good snow traction and good fortune, they might just make it.
Sarah moaned, Drake could hear her shifting in her car-seat. A quick glance showed moisture building on her forehead, paleness in her cheeks. He reminded himself the Princess’s mother was a healer, she would know what to do. He just had to get Sarah there.
Clearing the bridge and entering Maine, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, the King saw the red and blue flashing lights before he could make out the mounts, announcing their presence in front of him, just before the exit to Kittery. Perched upon a hill, they waited for him just as he had feared, bows drawn. Not agents of the wizard but local constables, good men of Maine who had been lied to by the wizard.
The King blew the horn of his mount even as he spurred it for more speed, praying to the gods the men would leave his path. There had been too much death already, these men were merely civil workers. More innocents to be hurt in his wake.
The men seemed to hear his pleas, diving to the side as he crashed between them. The Bronco shuddered with the impact, but still pushed the smaller mounts aside. Drake could hear glass breaking as the constables fired their weapons in his direction. His right arm exploded in a familiar pain as one of their projectiles passed clean through it. Red spatters covered the speedometer as his arm throbbed, his blood flowing freely.
He kept his injured hand on the wheel while gripping the wound with his other, stealing another glance behind. The Princess was unharmed, his heart settling back into his chest. He was shot, but he had been shot before. He could not remember when, but he was familiar with the pain. He could block it out.
He peered back at the roadblock, seeing the Black Dragon smash past the remnants just before the scene slipped briefly into the darkness of the hill. The blur of a sign flying past told him all he needed to know.
Thirty miles to Biddeford.
The Black Dragon crested the hill, its orange eyes closer each time he dared look back. His foot was in full contact with the floor, his right arm trembling in time with the mount’s screaming. They might make it, they might not.
Sometimes, even a King needed hope.
Three:In two miles, take the ME-111 exit, EXIT 32, toward Biddeford
* * *
The Black Dragon caught up with them as they crossed into Arundel. Drake had tried every maneuver with the mount he could think of, everything from his former life--memories of being something called a wheelman pulled in and out of his mind, refusing to stay put. At times he was able to gain ground, but the unrelenting Dragon always closed the distance.
Now, pulling alongside them to their left the Dragon was revealed in all its horrible glory. The night-black scales that covered its oversized head, the smoke billowing from the corpse-gray horns. The silver teeth jutting forward, devouring the very road the beast moved upon. The smell of sulfur permeated the Bronco, the vibrations from the monster’s beating heart so powerful Drake’s mount felt like it would shake apart.
The beast bellowed its roar as it leaned into their lane, Drake unable to swerve in time. Sparks flew as the Bronco groaned under the assault, as he just barely managed to keep his mount on the road. His arm throbbed with dull pain from his wound, his grip on the reins becoming more tenuous.
The Dragon fell back slightly, losing its own footing on the slick surface. The flash of a green signpost to his right told Drake their last chance was coming up. The exit to Biddeford was only two miles away. At this speed his mount might not be able to handle the tight turn of the exit.
The dark bulk of the Dragon pulled back alongside, filling the air with thunder and the promise of death. Snow flew from the road in their wake, enshrouding the pair in a curtain of white. Like the Bronco, the Dragon flew down the road at incredible speed.
Too much speed, Drake realized. The Dragon couldn’t be planning to exit at Biddeford, it couldn’t possibly make the turn without flying off the road. The wizard knew about him, and probably knew about the Queen. Therefore they thought he was going to her, to Bangor.
There still might be a chance. The King smiled as he tapped the horn, looking for the Dragon’s attention. The beast’s rider peered over, his own face obscured by a mask as impenetrable as the darkness of the Dragon itself. Drake released his left hand from his arm, ignoring the pain. Raising his fist to the Dragon, he extended his finger in a gesture that held little meaning for him, yet gave him satisfaction all the same.
One mile to Biddeford. The exit would be there in seconds. Drake gripped the wheel with both hands as the Dragon bore into him again, willing his mind to ignore everything. Ignore the pain, the blood, the sparks and the metal. The Bronco slid to the right, coming close to the guardrail as the exit opened up. Eyes front and locked. Don’t turn until the last second.
Just as Biddeford was about to pass Drake yanked the wheel to the right, his teeth grinding as he did so. His feet took actions they had not used in years, his eyes darted and his hands spun. They skidded and swerved, but the Bronco held the road, two tires blowing in the process.
Drake didn’t slow for the toll booth, letting the mount’s momentum carry him forward. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him the Dragon barreling past the exit, unable to turn in time. Just as he had hoped, he had purchased a precious minute or two.
It would have to turn around and double back. He had no doubt that the beast would come for him, but now he might just have enough time.
If the Prince was here.
Drake had contacted him before leaving the castle, before the red mist had fully taken hold. There had been dead men on the floor and the Princess in his arms. The wizard would send the Dragon after him, and the wizard knew about him, about his life. He knew about the Que
en.
But only the current Queen. Drake didn’t think the wizard could know about the first Queen, or the Prince. The Prince was from another life, another time. Decades before, a whole different series of mistakes.
Drake turned the mount onto US RT-1, still moving as fast as the injured Bronco could muster. He had chosen this location carefully, a defunct shipping center close to the highway.
Already he could see the lone figure waiting for him, hands shoved into a denim jacket and curly brown hair blowing in the wind. Even at this distance he could see the worry in the man’s eyes.
He angled the Bronco into the lot, allowing the unplowed snow to bring him to a halt. The Bronco sputtered and coughed, and Drake said a silent prayer to the gods that the beast had served them so well. Fred would have been proud.
The King knew pride of his own, a father’s pride. The Prince was waiting just where the King had asked him to, his yellow mustang purring as he stood next to it. A mount no dragon could catch, Drake hoped. Not even the black one. Drake pulled out the scroll he had stuffed into his pocket as the Prince ran over, his boots barely keeping traction over the snow and mud.
Was his name John? Drake found he couldn’t remember. The name was lost somewhere in his head. The important thing was he was here, and the King needed to give him the note. He shoved the paper into his boy’s hand, the confused look on the Prince’s face so familiar. He had seen that look in prison, on the other side of the glass when a much younger Prince looked back at him.
Drake ran to the back of the Bronco while the Prince read the note. He could no longer recall exactly what he had written on it, but he knew it told the Prince what he needed to do. He had written when the world had only started to melt, when Drake could still see through the crimson mist.
