Dragons vs. Drones (7 page)

Chapter
9

D
ree trudged down the street toward city center, disheartened and bitter. She had spent yesterday flying on the back of a dragon, and today she was going to go back to the forge to grovel at Master Wilhelm for her underpaid job back. Well, that or beg someone else to take her on instead. She had a feeling Wilhelm wouldn't be overly forgiving.

Even though I'm twice the welder he is
, she thought.

Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn't even thought to grab breakfast before she left. There wouldn't have been much to choose from: stale bread, moldy potatoes, or a mash of wheat and grains called lavash that her mom made, but it was better than nothing. She certainly didn't have the money to go buy anything from one of the
merchants or vendors in the market. And that was before she was fired.

As she approached downtown Dracone—the raucous morning noise already echoing around her—she looked around, envious of her surroundings. Dracone became progressively nicer as one headed downtown, where the houses were large and manicured and every now and then an enormous mansion was perched on the side of the street, gleaming and palatial. Metal was the new trend now, forged into massive doors and pillars or slapped against wood and brick for no reason. It was the hot new material—it was the future.

The mills and forges were churning out new products, and the people loved it.

The mansions Dree passed housed the wealthy citizens of Dracone. These were the new capitalists who invested in roads and bonds and traded in the thriving dragon market: fangs and scales and even great black hearts, which were thought to bring power to those who ate them. It was disgusting, but it was the way things were now.

It didn't used to be like this. Dracone's elite used to be royals or generals, and especially the old dragon-rider families, like Dree's, whose riches had been passed down for generations. They were respected and generous—they cared about the poor and built schools and hospitals. There was a thriving middle class back then, and the ancient families felt responsible for the city and its people, working with the king to ensure that food and water were available for everyone. Now Dracone's most powerful citizens were the
businesspeople who cared only about money. The downtown core thrived, while the poor slums were forgotten. For the downtrodden, there was nothing but rats and fetid lake water.

Dree watched as a woman walked past, wearing an onyx chest plate and twin fang earrings. Half of her hair was shaved off, and the other half was dyed crimson. If she noticed Dree, she didn't show it. The rich didn't look at the poor, unless it was with disdain or annoyance, like how they might look at an inconveniently placed puddle.

Dree scowled, her mood darkening. Why should she be the ignored one? She could ride dragons and had fire in her skin—she should have been a rider instead of a beggar.

Her eyes fell on the great mountains in the distance. If it wasn't for Abi, she would leave right now. She would live with Lourdvang in the mountains and forget about everything down in Dracone. But she had a family to take care of.

As she walked, Dree looked with disdain at some of the wooden stands that had been set up in the more suburban areas—obviously by merchants hoping to catch the wealthy citizens on their way to work. Her eyes fell on one large stand in particular, and she stopped immediately. Without thinking, she stormed over, enraged.

A bowl was perched there, catching the rays of the morning sun and sparkling magnificently. It looked to have been forged of several pieces of gold, overlapping one another, not quite creating a smooth surface. When she picked it up, the bowl was extremely heavy and as hard as iron. She knew it. It wasn't made of gold, it was made of dragon scales.

“Do you have the money for that bowl, girl?” the merchant, a grotesque older woman with heavy eyeliner and no eyebrows, asked, rising from her chair.

“Is this new?” Dree asked quietly.

“I should hope so,” the merchant snarled. “They killed the dragon three days ago. Cost me a fortune for just a few scales, which is why I will be selling it for a fortune as well. Now hand it over, girl. You look like a stray dog in clothes—you can't afford that.”

She snatched the bowl out of Dree's hands and carefully put it back in its place.

Dree stood there, bristling. She longed to put her hand on the haphazard wooden frame and burn the entire stand to the ground. But she would just end up in prison, and the scales wouldn't even be touched. What did it matter anyway? The Sage was already dead—killed because of human greed. It probably hadn't even fought back. Dree felt sick.

Leaving the stand, she started for Wilhelm's Forge, scowling and muttering.

“You people make me sick,” she said, looking around. “All of you.”

She hadn't made it far when a sudden gust of wind picked up, blowing a cloud of dust across the road. Dree frowned and covered her eyes as the wind grew even stronger, pushing her sideways. Dirt and trash roared past Dree, and she heard people shouting, though she could barely open her eyes to see them. Just as she was stumbling toward the far side of the street, looking for cover, she heard a startled
gasp and caught a glimpse of a boy rolling hard across the cobblestone street. The howling wind stopped instantly, as if it had never been there, and Dree lowered her hands.

Her eyes fell on the boy, lying sprawled out on the road and soaked to the bone. He was dressed unlike anyone she had ever seen: a green short-sleeved shirt, dark blue pants that seemed a bit too tight, and orange shoes that looked like striped flowers. He had unusual gray eyes, and his mop of ebony hair matched the thick frames of his glasses, while his face was pale and peaked, with light freckles on his nose.

Marcus looked around, his eyes wide. He turned to Dree and frowned.

“Am I dead?” he whispered.

“Uh . . . no,” she said.

He quickly climbed to his feet and tried to walk, but instead did a little wobble and almost pitched backward onto the street. Dree grabbed his arm and steadied him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, still examining his strange attire.

“Not . . . sure,” he managed. “How can this . . . I knew it! But who are you? Where am I? How is this possible?”

Dree raised her eyebrows, examining the clearly insane boy in front of her. She was tempted to just leave him there, but he seemed helpless and lost. Sighing, she pulled him toward a back alley where he could lean against the wall and get his bearings without people constantly bumping into him. The crowd was already hurrying past again, shooting him bewildered looks when they saw his clothes and then continuing on.

Dree led Marcus to the alley and straightened him up. He started to regain his composure, and he scanned over the chaotic street. Shops and homes were tucked closely together, brick and gray stone, while the people wore a mixture of bizarre outfits and wool peasant clothes. The smells assaulted his nostrils: smoke and sweat and worse.

“Interesting,” he said. “It's like the Industrial Revolution here. Is that a smokestack?”

“Who are you?” Dree asked.

Marcus turned back to her, and for the first time took a closer look at the girl standing in front of him. She was wearing coarse brown clothes and hide boots, while her exposed arms were sun-kissed and formed like tempered steel. Normally, a girl like that would have caused him to go as red as a fire hydrant and forget how to speak English, but he was a bit preoccupied at the moment. She was very pretty though—like a warrior elf character out of Dungeons & Dragons. Brian would have passed out.

“Marcus. Where am I? What's your name?”

“Dree,” she replied, watching him closely as he took an object out of his pocket and checked it. “And you're in Dracone.”

“An alter-world? I knew it! Do you know a George—”

He suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing.

“What's wrong?” Dree asked.

Marcus stepped past her, still staring up at the sky. “Impossible.”

Dree followed his gaze. Far ahead, just below one of the
scattered clouds that was lazily drifting across the morning sky, were two black dots. They seemed to be floating. Each had a red eye blazing like a furnace and watching the city below, unblinking. Dree instantly thought of dragons, but the objects didn't seem to be moving. Instead, the clouds just rolled over them like water over a stone. As she squinted for a better view, she saw three more shapes, as white as the clouds and almost invisible in the daylight. They were larger than the red-eyed ones, though they had the same triangular shape and seemed just as motionless. They were all just waiting above the city. Watching.

“What are those things?” Dree asked.

He never got a chance to answer. A streak of light filled the sky, and then one of the shops across the street exploded into a massive fireball.

Dree and Marcus staggered backward as a cloud of debris swept over the block, spraying the busy street with fragments of wood and brick. There was a brief moment of silence as the darkness blocked out the sun, and then screams erupted everywhere as people picked themselves up and saw the massive crater where a shop had once been. Dree looked up and saw the black and white shapes dropping toward the city, moving in a perfect triangle. They moved gracefully—no flapping wings or tails or feet. Just silent death.

Marcus heard a sudden burst of noise cut through the city like the frantic beating of a drum. The drones had switched to their machine guns, and they were leveling the neighborhood.

Marcus pushed past Dree, his eyes on the sky.

“What are they doing?” he said faintly.

As they watched, the drones continued their attack. Houses and buildings burst apart or collapsed. People were gunned down relentlessly as they tried to run away. The drones were laying utter waste to the city, and they were doing so directly on a path to Marcus and Dree.

“I would be more concerned with what they're
about
to do,” Dree snapped, grabbing Marcus's arm and pulling him into the alley. “We need to go.”

“Where?”

She looked around, trying to get her bearings. Her brother Rochin lived only a few blocks away, in an apartment building on the edge of the downtown core.

It would have to do.

“Follow me,” she said, starting down the narrow alley. She looked back and saw Marcus still staring out at the drones. “Now!” she shouted.

He jerked and took off after her, the sounds of screaming following close behind them. Dree hadn't heard screams like that in years. Not since the day of the fire.

Marcus looked back and saw the drones make another pass over the city, moving in perfect formation. Another brick house was cut to ribbons.

Why are they attacking?
he thought.
Are they searching for me?

Dree and Marcus rounded a corner and burst across a busy street, where people were running frantically in all directions to escape the onslaught. Armor-clad soldiers came
charging down from the local barracks, but as soon as they saw the source of the attack, they stopped and stared at the drones in obvious confusion, lowering their swords and spears with uncertainty. None of them moved.

“Get the dragon weapons!” the commander shouted.

That meant catapults and bows and snares. Dree doubted they would work against the flying machines.
Flying steel
. She had known it could work, but not like that.

She led them to Rochin's apartment building and threw the front door open, allowing Marcus to rush inside ahead of her. They flew up two flights of concrete steps before sliding to a halt in front of her brother's door, knocking frantically.

“Rochin!” Dree shouted. “Rochin!”

She hadn't seen him in months. She thought back to the day he'd left.

“It's not right,” her mother had said, wringing her hands together. “You're only seventeen, Roch. You don't even have a job. Your sisters need you—”

Dree was watching from her room with Abi, who was in tears. She loved Rochin.

“I won't stay here for another minute,” Rochin snarled. He already looked half-gone. His eyebrows were shaved into straight lines, his hair crimson.

Dree's father watched from his chair, not speaking.

“Why not?” her mother asked.

He laughed cruelly. “Why? Look around, Mom. We live in a shack. The world is building up around us, and we're sinking into the lake. This place is pathetic.”

Dree heard the pain in her mother's voice. “This is our
home
. It hasn't been easy.”

“It's
your
home,” Rochin said, opening the door. “I'm tired of hearing about how great our lives used to be. How Dad was some important dragon rider. What are we now? The dragons are being wiped out. That time is over. I'm ready for something new.”

Dree sat on the bed, her arm around Abi. It wasn't fair—her brother could just run away and leave everything behind: the cold that crept in through the floorboards, the constant fighting coming from her parents' bedroom, the father that was slipping away.

“Are you going to say anything?” Dree's mother asked, looking at Abelard.

He was silent for a moment. “No.”

“Of course not,” Rochin said. “I'd say I'll miss you, Dad, but I haven't seen the real you in years.” He hesitated, and his hard blue eyes softened when he found Dree and Abi in their room. “Goodbye.”

The door slammed as Rochin left, and the house fell into silence.

Now the door instantly flew open, Dree's disheveled brother on the other end looking like he'd just woken up, which he almost certainly had. From what Dree heard, all he did was sleep and party and scrape money together where he could, hauling steel and stone to the construction crews. He hadn't been back to the house once.

He looked at Dree with frantic eyes, and he had a bag
in his hand, half-packed.