(1995) The Oath (65 page)

The moment he rose to full height, the dragon shied back. It was a small, almost imperceptible move—but it was backward.

Steve raised a hand and gestured a push-back as he said quietly but firmly, “I won’t bow to you. You don’t own me, not anymore.”

He could see the front foot push into the dirt, the stump gouging in. The head shied back as the neck curled.

That move was obvious enough for Harold Bly to see it. He came out from behind the loader, shotgun in hand, his indignity far outweighing his fear. “What’s going on there? Why doesn’t it take him?”

“Harold!” Bernie cried from behind the wrecked patrol car. “Harold, don’t go out there!”

“Shut up!” Harold snapped back. Then he turned to the dragon. “Take him! He’s the one you want, we brought him to you. Kill him. What’re you waiting for?”

The dragon inched forward, the head lowering, the eyes glaring at Steve, staring him down. Clack. The belly moved over the lance just one more scale and stayed there.

Steve stood his ground and glared right back. “You see Jesus in me, don’t you?”

The dragon started backing up.

All right! We need more of that. Steve started forward with bold, deliberate steps, staring the dragon down. “GO ON! I’M THROUGH WITH YOU! YOU’VE GOT NOTHING ON ME!”

The rear foot stepped back off the truck cab. The dragon pushed with its front leg and stump. The head turned far away from the little man coming at him.

Steve felt a thrill course through him. This was working! There was a God! He started taking big, determined steps to be sure the dragon could see each one.

The dragon saw them, all right, and slid backward over the lance. The lance was slightly crooked; it jumped a scale, then another.

Steve kept coming. “YOU’RE WASHED OUT OF MY LIFE, AND YOU KNOW IT. NOW BEAT IT!”

The dragon lunged backward. The lance jumped a scale, jumped a scale, jumped a scale—

Caught!

Steve could see the broad tip slide up under a scale just below the rib cage.

Okay. Now to settle accounts. “CLIFF BENSON!” Steve shouted into the lizard’s face. “TRACY ELLIS! LEVI COBB!” The dragon cringed at the sound. “MAGGIE BLY! CHARLIE MACK! VIC MOORE!” The dragon would not look at him.

Okay, Cliff, this one’s for you. With a new rage giving him strength, he ran forward in a suicide charge, hollering like a madman, “YAAAAAAHHHH!”

The dragon jerked its head in and wriggled backward over the truck.

The lance went in.

Fireworks! Lightning! The scales flashed and rippled like a neon display as the dragon’s neck shot skyward and its lungs emptied an agonized gush of air. It groped about its belly, the truck, the ladder, then curled its head down and back under, looking for the wound, trying to see what had happened.

Harold Bly ran forward, horrified, incredulous. This couldn’t be happening!

Andy Schuller stayed behind the loader, peering from around a big tire. Kyle Figgin ran back as far as the entry tunnel and peeked from inside. Carl, Bernie, Elmer, and Joe didn’t know what to do or where to go, so they just ran back and forth in little panicky circles until they finally returned to cower and cling to the loader. They were spellbound, their eyes blinking and squinting at the flash of the scales, and the dragon’s rumbling, crashing struggle with the ladder truck the only sound they heard.

They didn’t hear the approaching sirens or see the flashing lights coming through town.

The dragon heaved its body forward, pushing with its forelegs against the truck, trying to get loose.

The lance wouldn’t budge.

The dragon rocked to one side, then the other, pushed with its hind legs, slammed its head against the ground and pushed with its neck. The truck bounced on its springs, rocked, skidded sideways.

He’s going to tear up his insides, Steve thought.

“You dirty dog! You’ve killed my dragon!” Bly screamed, raising his shotgun with shaking, fumbling hands.

The gun discharged, almost leaping from Bly’s hands, before he could aim. Some of the shot pelted the dragon’s neck and head, and it flinched in pain as sparks flew from its scales. Hopelessly impaled, the dragon shifted its gaze toward the screaming, fumbling Harold Bly. The eyes of the creature narrowed, the breath hissed through clenched teeth.

Bly was still holding the gun when he caught sight of the dragon’s hateful glare. He took a step backward. He started to tremble.

“H-Hey now,” he stammered. “It wasn’t me. I’m on your side!” Bly pointed toward Steve. “He’s over there! Over there!”

The dragon seemed to gain strength from its boiling rage. Its eyes locked on the bold, loudmouthed ruler of Hyde River as it pulled at the lance.

The truck rolled, bounced, and screeched forward out of the tunnel. The dragon’s body cascaded over the top of it and to the ground, twisting and finally snapping the ladder off.

As the dragon lay on its side, it craned its neck to and fro in search of Harold Bly. When it spotted him, the neck reached like a serpent, the head moved low to the ground, the breath sucked in, the left front leg reached out, claws extended.

Bly started backing away, his face contorted with horror and disbelief, his hands chambering another round in the shotgun. “No! Now come on, you don’t want me . . .”

The dragon’s burning eyes said otherwise as it slowly inched and slithered toward him.

Andy and his buddies fled in terror back through the first tunnel, followed by Kyle, Carl, Bernie, Elmer, and Joe.

The dragon pulled itself closer to Bly, its chin only inches from the ground.

Bly aimed the shotgun directly at the dragon’s face and fired. A myriad of sparks and flashes exploded from the dragon’s face, but it didn’t flinch this time, and it didn’t turn away.

The head rose from the ground; the dragon gasped a short breath.

Bly’s hands were shaking as he chambered another round. “Get back . . . get BACK!” He aimed the gun and fired.

The dragon’s face lit up like a fireworks display, but it kept crawling, clawing, slithering toward him. It opened its mouth and exhaled a blast of air, but there was no flame.

Bly prepared to fire again, chambering a round, aiming the shotgun. He waited this time, feeling some confidence. He could see the dragon was fading.

As if spurred on by Bly’s cockiness, the dragon gathered its strength, raised its head high, and drew in air for one more try.

It couldn’t hold the air in. Its last breath escaped, and a very small flame appeared but quickly burned itself out. The beast stared at Bly, its neck swaying like a tree in the wind.

Bly started to chuckle as he looked up at the gnarled face. “Not today, buddy. You’re finished. You can’t touch me!”

The dragon’s fiery eyes dimmed, flickered, then went dark. Slowly, the neck went limp, began to sink—and then, in a long, slow arc, it flopped to the rocky ground with an earthshaking thud as Bly leapt and stumbled out of the way.

Bly recovered his balance, ready to run, but then saw no need. The big, scaly head was flat upon the ground; the eyes still looked his way, but no longer saw him. There was a long, silent, motionless moment in which Bly stared into the dragon’s face, breathing hard, shotgun aimed, still shaking, needing time to believe the dragon was dead. Then a grin spread over his face, and he began to laugh defiantly. “There! There now!” He looked around for any witnesses to his triumph. “You see? You see that? This is Harold Bly we’re talking about! I’m still on top! Still on top!”

He looked everywhere, wondering what had become of his followers. “Hey! Hey! Where’d you all go?” But no one remained in that vast, empty place except Steve Benson, battered, bruised, and exhausted, standing very still among the small fires and lingering smoke. It was just the two of them now, and Benson had to have seen everything.

Bly’s jubilation soured into pure malice. “You!” He raised the shotgun. “Guess I still have one piece of unfinished business.”

Steve sighed, his shoulders drooping with dismay. He’d survived so much. Would it all end this way? “Mr. Bly.” He knew his argument would sound weak. “I did save your life.”

Bly sneered and shook his head as if he’d just heard the dumbest statement ever made. “Weren’t you watching?”

Steve could look past Bly and see the lance rammed up the dragon’s belly. He’d fired enough rounds at the dragon to know a shotgun would never kill it. But Bly saw only what he wanted to see; it was that way with this town.

Bly raised the shotgun and sighted down the barrel at Steve’s heart. “I don’t owe you a thing, Benson, except what you’ve got coming, right now. Nothing’s ever gonna kill Harold Bly—”

THUNK! Three silver spikes skewered Bly from behind and sprouted from his chest with a spattering of blood. He quivered, his face contorted with shock, pain, disbelief. The shotgun fell from his hands.

The dragon lifted Bly from the ground. His body hung on the claws like meat on a fork, his legs dangling. Then a claw sank like a needle through the black stain and into Bly’s heart.

Through the wisps of smoke drifting over the rocky ground, Steve could see a slight, yellow glow from one half-open eye. The beast was alive, if only to finish the work the Hydes had begun so long ago. Slowly, mechanically, the dragon opened its jaws, flipped Bly’s body across the rows of teeth, and bit down.

Then Steve was blinded by a sudden, unexpected flash of light. He turned away, his eyes tightly shut, expecting an explosion, but none came. He opened his eyes and slowly turned back toward the dragon and Harold Bly. He was still blinded. All he could see was a vague, serpentine spot in front of his eyes. He could hear no sound except sirens approaching from across the river and far down the valley.

Finally his vision began to clear, and he could vaguely see the corpse of Harold Bly lying crooked and mangled on the rough stones. He could make out the wide, empty expanse of the old loading yard and the last, dying remnants of the dragon’s fires. The huge articulated loader was still sitting where Levi had parked it.

But the dragon was gone without a trace. It had vanished as if it never existed.

Gone.

Steve’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his strength gone. He was lying on hard, broken ore, but he didn’t feel it. He was slipping away, falling into the sweet oblivion of a dead faint.

HE FELT
a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him, waking him up. He stirred and tried to open his eyes. How long had he been out? Where was he? Was the nightmare over?

He looked up and saw Evelyn staring down at him. The pink light of dawn was just over her shoulder.

There were other lights, too: headlights, flashing blue lights, flashing red.

“Steve? Are you all right?”

He sat up slowly. The world began to spin, and he lay back down. Evelyn was instantly beside him. She cradled his head in her arms. “Take it easy.” Now he could see the police cars that had come through the access tunnel, and an aid car. Cops. Badges. Paramedics. Flashlights and headlights and people moving around shouting orders, questions, answers.

He tried to sit up again, and this time he made it.

“So how’re you doing?” she asked.

“I—I’m not sure.”

“Where’s Tracy?”

Steve was sitting, but as he probed his beleaguered mind for an answer to Evelyn’s question, the thought of Tracy pierced his soul, and he felt he would collapse again. He could see her face, young, pretty, and so intense at times. He loathed the sound of his words. “Tracy . . . is dead.”

Evelyn looked so tired, so beaten down, and this news was one more cruel blow. He touched her shoulder to steady her.

“Was it the dragon?” she asked.

He nodded and knew he could say no more. He could not bear to recount or describe that horrible scene. But of course Evelyn had been there herself, was still there. She understood.

Steve looked across the loading yard and saw state troopers and fire fighters examining Harold Bly’s body with their flashlights, muttering to one another in amazement. Bly appeared to be in two halves. From up here Steve could see the town and thought he’d never seen so many flashing lights in one place. Fire trucks, patrol cars, aid cars, private vehicles with emergency flashers. The whole valley had turned out, maybe the whole county.

“Where’s the dragon now?” she asked.

“It’s dead,” he said simply, noticing how different it felt to share some good news for a change.

Good news had been in short supply for Evelyn as well, and she was glad to receive it. “Are you sure? Did you kill it?”

He looked across the yard at the nearly demolished telephone truck and the broken, mangled ladder. “No. I would say God did that—God and Levi Cobb. I just helped.” He struggled to his feet with her assistance. “It died—it died with Harold Bly in its mouth, right over there . . .”

Evelyn was puzzled. “Where?”

The area Steve indicated was empty except for the police and medics now bagging up Bly’s body. They walked over for a closer look, Steve leaning on Evelyn for support.

They found Levi’s lance, still welded to the end of the ladder but now bent several ways in several places. The tip was intact, razor-edged, and clean—no trace of blood or flesh or scales. “Heh—look at that. Levi was right. He was the last one anyone wanted to listen to, but the old fanatic was right.”

“Who is Levi?” Evelyn asked.

Steve didn’t want to share more bad news. “A good friend. He saved my life. He built this lance—”

“Where is he?”

Steve knew he was telling the truth. “He’s safe. He’s out of harm’s way for sure.”

He carefully retraced where he remembered the neck had fallen. He didn’t expect to find what he was looking for, but was pleasantly surprised when he did.

“Here,” he said, stooping down. “Recognize this?” He picked up a piece of metal, sharp-tipped, sharp on one edge, and broken off. It was the tip of Evelyn’s hunting knife. He handed it to her. “In case you ever have any doubts . . . you were there, all right. You stood up to the dragon, and he couldn’t whip you.”

They would never have to prove to themselves what they’d been through, but this special token brought Evelyn such assurance that tears came to her eyes.