Prairie Fire (12 page)

THE VOMITING CORNER

Isagani stepped up beside Porter and began to tell us the proper way to dispose of this type of dragon. At the core, all dragon disposal is similar, though each species has a specific chemical makeup that sometimes changes the routines. I was dreading the Wapiti lessons when we got to them, because I already knew their internal chemistry was especially pernicious. After a brief lecture, the rest of the crew paired up with each of us, and we set to work.

It was easily the most uncomfortable few hours of my life, leaving aside the time I'd waged chemical warfare on a bunch of unhatched dragon eggs. I did not have to use the vomiting corner, because Manitoulin had hardened my stomach, but two of the firefighters and Courtney, to her eternal shame, did. To be fair, they were all working around the dragon's gut, which was much worse than the head, where Owen and I had been stationed.

We began by dousing the dragon's scales in water, which ran off into a drain in the courtyard floor. Isagani warned us that in the field, we probably wouldn't be using water, because there wouldn't be much on hand. Next time, we would switch to chemicals only.

My hands were already sweating under the rubber gloves we wore, and the sun hadn't yet cleared the top of the building that overlooked the courtyard. I was glad we got to do this in the morning. The idea of more chemicals on top of work in direct sunlight, even in late September, was unappealing. At least in the field, we'd likely as not have tree-cover, assuming the dragon didn't destroy it all before Owen slayed it.

After the water bath, we moved on to the truly unpleasant parts. Armed with a foaming chemical suppressant whose formula was so long it would've taken me days to memorize it, I stood by while Isagani directed Owen through the process of slitting the beast's throat. As soon as the blade cut, noxious fumes began to waft in my direction, and I laid down the foam in the wake of the blade to keep it under control. This was when Courtney puked, because she was holding the knife and Dorsey wasn't quite fast enough to put down the chemical foam.

“I'm sorry!” he shouted as Courtney bolted for the corner Lieutenant Porter had indicated.

“Keep going, Dorsey!” Porter shouted from his vantage point, well above the worst of it. He looked down at Courtney. “Speed?”

“I'll be fine,” she said. Then she threw up again.

From his spot near the dragon's tail, Davis looked over. I could tell he was itching to help her. I guess four years of premed will do that to a person.

“Eyes on target, Davis,” Porter reminded him. “That's not your job right now.”

Privately, I thought that was kind of dumb. If we were in the field, it would be his job, and Ilko's. But neither of our medics moved from their places.

Courtney finished throwing up and moved back to Dorsey, who looked like he was expecting to get punched in the face.

“We're good,” Courtney told him, and reached for the knife to get back to work.

“The first one is always the most difficult,” Isagani said quietly to Owen and me. Then he spoke up so the others could hear him. “The gut is the worst place during disposal. Note how we have concentrated most of you there? That is because that is where the dragon can cause the most damage. You must always make sure to cover the gut first. We are only working on the neck and tail at the same time because there are so many of us. A single crew does the gut first.”

I had an entirely new appreciation for the Trondheim disposal units by this point. They had to do this on farmland. Owen slipped the knife a bit too far and swore in Spanish. Isagani brightened immediately and asked in Spanish if Owen was fluent. When Owen confirmed that he was, the two fell into rapid-fire discussion that I couldn't follow, except I heard Owen say his mother's name and assumed he was telling Isagani why his Spanish was so good.

At last, the dragon was completely sliced from weasand to, well, where its navel would have been if it had a navel, and the body cavity was filled with foam. While we waited for the foam to disperse, Isagani described the chemical reaction that was taking place, and I started to wonder if maybe we shouldn't be wearing masks in addition to the gloves. Between dragon fire and cancer, dragon slayers rarely die of old age. When the foam finally settled, we moved on to something even more unpleasant: dismemberment. This was done by means of cleaver and two-handled boning knife. It was much like cleaning a fish, Gratton informed us, though on a significantly larger scale. By the time we were done, I was doubting that I would ever eat anything again, and the dragon was in several pieces that we could lift in teams of four.

“It is safe to burn now,” said Isagani, “which is what you will do when you are in the field. Try to use the trees that the dragon has brought down, because chopping them down on your own takes too long. On the prairie, you will have to wait for a helicopter to come and take the remains back here, where we have an incinerator.”

We carried the pieces to the drop for the incinerator, and then watched as Porter hosed down the courtyard, sluicing more water into the drain. We definitely would not be doing that outside of the fort, but for now I was just glad to see our morning's work disappear.

“I'm starving,” said Courtney.

“I hate you,” said Anderson, who had thrown up not long after she had.

Porter laughed and directed us all to a special shower room where we could be decontaminated before rejoining the others for lunch. There were extra uniforms, but they were all standard issue, none of the ones I had altered for my own use.

“I've got it, Siobhan,” Laura said when I stood with a towel around me, looking in despair at the clothes I was supposed to put on. “Just do what you can.”

She waited with me after Annie and Courtney left, pointedly looking at the wall while I wrestled into my underwear and then the uniform trousers and shirt. I managed the zipper and button on the trousers well enough, but then Laura came and stood in front of me, and I gave up.

“I hate this,” I told her. “But thank you.”

“We'll make sure you've got your own things here next time,” she told me, fingers fastening the small buttons that were on the standard uniform shirt like they were nothing. God, I missed being able to do that. “And no one minds. At least, not once they know you.”

“Getting to know people isn't exactly why I signed up,” I reminded her.

“No,” she agreed. “You signed up so people would get to know Owen. Eventually, you're going to realize it's the same thing.”

I hadn't thought of that. It made me feel a bit awkward. Laura moved to my tie and smiled impishly.

“So, Courtney and Porter,” she said. “What should I put you down for?”

“What?” I asked.

“You know,” she said, finishing the knot and making a suggestive gesture. “Extracurriculars.”

“I don't think—” I started, but then I stopped. I remembered all the insinuations Lottie and Hannah had made about their time in the Oil Watch. And, you know, the fact that Owen existed at all. “Two weeks,” I told her. That would be just before the time we started actually leaving the base on missions. Team player, that was me.

“You're much more optimistic than Owen was,” Laura told me. “And the buy-in is twenty dollars.”

There were thirteen of us, assuming Courtney hadn't been allowed to participate, and assuming they hadn't thrown it open to the base at large. That was not a small amount of money if I won.

“Do you want cash, or are you taking markers?” I asked. “Also, this feels a bit like I am in a terrible heist movie.”

Laura laughed and told me that markers were fine. She passed me my hat, which I could put on by myself, and we headed towards the mess. Owen grinned when he saw me, and I tried really hard not to make eye contact with Courtney as I reached the trays.

Once I had my food, I sat down with Owen. It was difficult to have private conversations, but he'd secured us seats next to Kaori's firefighters.

“I talked a bit more with Isagani,” he told me.

“And?” I said, clasping my fork and knife like a barbarian, but determined to at least attempt to cut something up.

“He and most of his coworkers came here for jobs, it turns out,” Owen told me. “Apparently the province of Alberta is recruiting overseas to fill in some of the jobs that were left vacant by those who went to the Oil Field.”

“You mean the gross jobs that no one wants,” I told him, stabbing my knife gracelessly into the margarine.

“Well, yes,” he said. “It does seem that way. Isagani told me he has a bunch of cousins in Fort McMurray, and they all do similar things.”

“Why aren't they in the Oil Watch, though?” I asked. “It would be more efficient. Plus, I know there are Filipino dragon slayers enlisted.”

“Money, probably,” Owen said. He stretched down the table to snag the pepper shaker from in front of Kaori's smith, and smiled at her companionably. “I mean, the Oil Watch doesn't pay them. The province does.”

“I don't like it,” I said. “If they work with us, they should be part of the team too. Your dad has an arrangement with the Trondheim crews, and they only took a one day course.”

“Siobhan,” Owen said, and I realized that my voice had gotten a bit loud. I slouched back in my chair and gave up trying to use the knife. “You're preaching to the choir,” he went on, changing the pepper shaker for the salt. “I already agree with you. I'll e-mail my aunts tonight and see what they think. And in the meantime, you do what you always do.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I said, twisting my fork in my hands. “Write a song and put it on YouTube? I don't have any software to play with or record. And the Internet isn't that great here.”

“Well, no,” Owen said, leaning back to salt his mashed potatoes. “I meant that you would get more information about it and then come up with a brilliant plan, like in the Guard back home, but I guess there will be a song eventually. It always seems to end in singing with you.”

“You're the worst,” I told him.

“The worst what?” Nick said, plunking down his tray beside mine. It was absolutely stacked with food, and I knew that somehow he would eat it all and still manage to filch half of what was on my tray. I snuck a glance at Laura, who was smirking, and realized that Courtney was probably not the only one people were betting on. I wasn't sure why anyone thought Nick might try something. All he ever did was steal my lunch, but maybe that was enough to pique general interest. It wasn't like we were spoiled for entertainment. I made a note to myself to have Owen bet a lot of money on my never having a moment of weakness with Nick. Theoretically, that was cheating, or at least insider trading, but still: money was money.

“Never you mind,” I said. “What did you guys get to do this morning?”

Nick launched into his morning's lesson, which had centred on forest tracking, while Kaori put in pointers about what she'd learned about prairie slaying. I took Owen's advice and put my curiosity about the Filipinos aside for now. As he'd pointed out, there wasn't a lot I could do yet, and there were plenty of other dragons in our particular corner of the sky.

SONGS NEVER WRITTEN

It was four days before we got to try our hands at a Wapiti. Dragon disposal couldn't really be scheduled, after all. Nick's team had yet to get their turn at all, because there was one 'Bascan Long for Kaori, and then our Waptiti, which Nick couldn't tackle until he'd done the first. I was a bit envious, to be honest. We did get masks for the Wapiti, but it was very unpleasant, and definitely not the sort of thing to be immortalized in song.

Lottie replied to Owen's e-mail the day after we did the Wapiti. We got thirty minutes of Internet time every second day, during the week. I dashed off a quick note to my parents the day we heard from Lottie and spent the rest of my time researching the Philippines. It was pretty easy to get the basics. Despite its relatively small size, the islands housed enough species of regular animals and dragons to qualify as mega-diverse, which meant they had a strong dragon slaying tradition. Their dragons were primarily semi-aquatic, though they did have three non-swimming species, and their dragon slayers were best known internationally for their multiculturalism. Like Canada, the Philippines was a colonial holdover, though their economy was not as stable as ours was. That explained why the province of Alberta was able to employ so many people from that country.

There was nothing—that I could find, anyway—about discontent due to their exclusion from the Oil Watch in Canada. There were several dozen active Filipino dragon slayers in the Oil Watch, with their own support squads, but if the statistics I found were reliable, then there were at least as many “independent contractors” in Fort Calgary alone. I didn't have enough time to dig further though, so I sent an e-mail to Emily. I knew she'd probably be excited to tackle it. The whole thing made me uncomfortable, though I wasn't entirely sure it was my place to judge. People more qualified than I was had passed legislation and made it possible to get visas, after all, but there was no chance at residency, let alone Canadian citizenship. Since the disposal crews didn't work for the Oil Watch, their medical coverage, which they would undoubtedly need someday, was spotty at best. It was the exclusion I didn't like. I wanted to think Canada was better than that, or at least that we were trying to be better than that.