Raising Dragons (22 page)
Chapter 17
Driving up the primitive mountainside, Billy and his mother coaxed their borrowed SUV as far as it could go on the rough forest road. This was normally a restricted footpath, reserved for hikers of Shavers Mountain, but because of the plane crash, the forest ranger left the gate open to allow search vehicles to enter. Finally, when the path narrowed to only a few feet across, they set out on foot, carrying a map and compass and following the sniffing nose of a champion hound.
Billy wished for a helicopter to lift them over the dense trees and rocky slopes, but cold wind answered his feeble prayer, whistling across the mountain range and biting through his garments to bring a chill to his bones. Billy felt more sorry for the dog than for himself. He wore a heavy coat with double layers underneath. Hambone had only his natural coat and bare paws.
After a couple of hours of guessing the correct route, the scenery became more familiar. Billy pointed to a flat clearing in the distance. “That’s where the helicopter landed. It’s not far now.” A few minutes later they arrived at the crash scene, and Billy planted both feet and nearly dropped the leash. “It’s all cleaned up!”
His mother walked over to the main fuselage and kicked it with her boot. “You mean burned up!” She pointed all around the plane. “The metal’s charred, all the bushes are either gone or blackened, and even the blood’s been scorched away.” She picked up a mangled, unreadable soda can and threw it back down. “What’s Devin up to now? Why would he try to burn the evidence of his crime when we already know who did it?”
Billy ran over to where he had stacked the Bibles. “They’re gone!” He picked up a scorched canvas blanket from the ground. “Only the tarp’s still here.”
Billy’s mom put her fists on her hips and huffed. “Then Devin really did deliver that Bible? Why would he steal all of them?”
“I’m not so sure it’s Devin, Mom. C’mon. Let’s get Hambone started.”
She tilted her head forward. “Do you know how to lead a tracking dog?”
“I was hoping he’d be smart enough just to lead me.” Billy felt a jerk on the leash. “Here we go!” He raced ahead, trying to keep Hambone in check.
Billy’s mother ran behind, and they jogged to keep up with the veteran tracker. The dog obviously knew where he was going, having followed this trail before, and he tugged at the leash, apparently anxious to get on with it and get out of the cold.
Hambone led them across the face of the mountain ridge and then down a slope toward a valley for about a mile before finally emerging onto the valley floor. They stepped cautiously into the open and surveyed the grassy field, a stone’s throw in width and at least a couple of football fields in length. The dog, still with his nose to the ground, proceeded to the middle of the field and stopped at the edge of a creek, lifting his head to stare at the upslope on the opposite side of the valley floor.
The bubbling creek wound through the open field of tall, snow-speckled brown grass. The long, winter-worn blades looked like trampled wheat sprinkled with sugar, and a winding channel cut through the middle in a two-foot-wide highway of steaming water. On the other side of the valley, green fir trees bordered the field, making the quiet meadow a secluded sanctuary.
Billy pulled up the leash and patted the dog’s head. “There’s no cave here, boy. What’s the matter?”
Billy’s mom caught up and tried to catch her breath. “He must smell something.”
They both looked around, stone silent. They listened. They sniffed the air. Billy heard the creek’s gently running water and the wind whistling through the naked trees at the edges of the field. His nose detected the musty aroma of rotting leaves the wind had blown into the clutches of the thick grass. After a few seconds he sensed something else, not a sound or a smell, just a feeling. “Mom, do you feel something weird?” he asked in a whisper.
His mother stared straight ahead and kept her head still. “No.”
“I do. Maybe I feel what Hambone’s sensing.” Billy scanned the trees while rubbing his thumb up and down the leather leash. He felt naked out in the open field, and they weren’t close enough to the forest edge to make a dash for it. “Remember what Dad said about dragons?” he asked, still whispering. “He said we can sense danger.”
“But you’re not a—” she started, but then she paused. “Well, I guess you are . . . sort of.”
A gunshot rang out. Billy and his mother jumped, and both fell to a crouch. Hambone bayed wildly and strained at his leash. Billy searched the trees for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
No, wait. He did see something, a flash of movement behind a big trunk.
“Who’s there?” he called out. Billy’s mother squatted by his side and looked down his line of sight. With a choked snarl, Hambone strained at the collar.
A man stepped out from behind the tree, a rifle raised to his shoulder, his eyes looking down the long barrel. Billy pushed his mother farther into the tall grass and covered her with his body. Hambone jerked away and rushed at the man, but with a heart-stopping crack from the rifle, the hound snapped backwards and fell to the ground, motionless.
“Nooo!” Billy yelled, and a stream of fire spewed forth toward the assailant. The flaming surge crossed the grass and nearly reached the forest, but it stopped well short of its target, igniting a path of grass and leaves on the valley floor. Billy didn’t move. He kept himself sprawled over his mother.
“Billy,” she whispered from underneath. “What is it? Who is it?”
“Some guy with a rifle,” he said, his voice trembling. The burning sensation had returned, but it wasn’t as bad this time. “I’ve never seen him before. He’s already shot Hambone. Stay still. He won’t dare come near us.”
The man shouted from the tree. “It’s not your mom I want, Dragon Boy. It’s you! Now get up and take your medicine, and I’ll leave her alone.”
“You’ll have to come and get me,” Billy shouted back.
“You think I’m stupid? I’m not coming anywhere near you, not where your yap can spit fire on me.” He raised his rifle back to his shoulder. “I guess I’ll just have to shoot from here. I’m not that good a shot, so if I hit your mom, it’ll just be too bad. I’ll give you to five.”
Billy breathed heavily, and his eyes darted around.
“One . . .”
What should he do? Stand up and get shot? Let his mother get shot?
“Two . . .”
He was about to ask his mother for help when he noticed the ring on his finger, his Dad’s rubellite.
“Three . . .”
Seeing the ring brought a flood of images to his mind, his father’s strength, his bravery. Without a doubt, he knew what he had to do.
“Four . . .”
“Wait!” Billy shouted, raising one hand high. “Wait!” He rose slowly, first to his knees and then straight up. With trembling legs, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited.
His mother tried to pull him down, screaming, “Billy! No!”
The gunman cackled and taunted loudly. “Wait till I tell Devin that I killed one of the mongrel pups!”
Billy tensed his frame, resisting his mother’s frantic pull. She tried to get up, but he kept his foot on her back, pushing against her struggling body.
Just get it over with!
he thought as he waited for the bullet to tear through his body.
I don’t think it will kill me, but I bet it’ll really hurt!
But the shot never came.
“Aiieee!”
Billy’s eyes flew open, and he saw the man running in tight circles, covered with flames. After a couple of seconds, he dropped to the ground and rolled. Billy cupped his hand over his mouth.
That fire didn’t come from me, did it?
He pulled his mom to her feet, and they rushed toward the gunman. As he neared their assailant, Billy slowed down to search the carpet of leaves for the rifle while his mother kept running. After a few seconds he spotted it and snatched it up. When he turned back to the man, he saw his mother kneeling at his side. A thin swirl of smoke rose from where the man lay, but he couldn’t see his face; his mother blocked his view. He started to dash toward her, but his feet slipped, rustling the leaves, and he dropped to one knee.
Her wailing voice drilled into his ear. “Don’t come any closer!” Billy stood up, and his knees locked in place.
Her voice lowered, trembling as her breathy wisps joined the gray plume of smoke. “He’s—He’s dead!”
“Dead?”
He watched the back of her nodding head.
“You mean . . . I killed him?”
She nodded again. “I don’t want you to see this. Just turn around, and let’s go on.”
Billy obeyed and waited for her to join him, shivering from the cold and the terrifying thought of what he’d done. He felt her gentle arm around his neck and a reassuring squeeze.
“Mom, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I was just trying to—I didn’t even feel any—”
She tightened her grip. “I know. You were protecting me.”
Billy swallowed hard as they stepped away from the stench of death. “Yeah, I was, but it was more than that. I felt this boiling anger, and it just erupted like a volcano. I couldn’t control it. But after the first blast that missed, I didn’t feel another.”
She patted him on the back and then pushed on his shoulder to urge him forward while kicking the smoldering leaves into the mix of snow and grass. “I know, but we’ll talk about it later. Right now we have to see about the dog.”
Billy jerked his hands up to his face. “Hambone!” They sprinted toward the spot where the dog had fallen, but a loud flapping sound made Billy jerk his head up toward the sky.
What greeted his eyes was easily the most wonderful and the most terrible sight he had ever beheld. An enormous winged creature was flying away, its long tail waving and its armor-like scales shimmering in the bright sun.
Billy jumped up and down. “Dad!” he screamed. “Dad!”
His mother looked up and stared at her son, her head cocked to the side. “Dad? What are you talking about?”
Billy pointed to the sky. “I didn’t kill that guy after all.” He jumped up and down, waving. “Dad! Come back!”
His mother stood up, and her eyes froze on the huge flying shape. She clutched her coat and gasped. “Heaven help us!” She fell to her knees, and her eyes followed the amazing sight as though hypnotized by the rhythmic beat of its wings. Billy rushed over to help her up while trying to keep his eyes on the majestic creature in the sky. It wasn’t flying away; it just sort of glided in a small circle.
“Is Hambone dead?” Billy asked, still looking up.
Billy’s mother shook herself out of her daze. “What? . . . Oh. . . . No. It looks like a pretty bad wound in his shoulder. I think he’s in shock.”
Billy threw down the gun, tore off his outer coat, and covered the injured hound. “C’mon! Let’s follow Dad!”
“You mean the dragon?”
“Exactly!”
Billy scooped up Hambone with both arms, coat and all, and jogged toward the dragon while his mother carried the rifle. He had to be careful, looking up, running on mountain terrain, and carrying a heavy dog at the same time. But nothing would stop him now.
Once Billy arrived at the dragon’s shadow, the dragon flapped his massive wings and glided to another spot, using his shadow to guide Billy and his mother to the next destination. Billy had a hard time seeing the shadow when the dark undulating shape fell on treetops and barely filtered to the ground. But the dragon flew in tight circles, and the shadow moved around, as if waltzing on a stage until he could spot it again. Finally, they traveled into a dense part of the forest.
“Can you see it anywhere?” Billy asked, his arms hugging Hambone close.
“No. Let’s just keep going in the direction we were heading and—” She stopped.
“What? What is it?”
She pointed with the rifle toward the dark hillside, too dark for the ample amount of sunshine the bare trees allowed through. “It’s the cave!”
Billy laid Hambone just inside the entrance, out of the wind, and reached for his mother’s hand. She hid the rifle under a bush, and together they stepped slowly forward. The opening was high enough for both to pass through without ducking, but it was so shrouded by tree trunks, it was no wonder the searchers hadn’t seen it until Hambone sniffed it out.
As they tiptoed farther in, daylight faded, but a flicker from deep within beckoned them. Although the walls and ceiling were invisible in the darkness, they felt as though the cave had opened up into a yawning chasm. A gentle breeze wafted across their faces as they stepped, and gravel crunched beneath their shoes. Each keeping an arm extended in front, they held hands and shuffled toward the light.
The cavern breathed. For a few seconds the frigid air seeped through from behind, and then, after a second or two of absolute calm, a warmer mass from within caressed their cold, chapped faces. The warmth smelled stale, the spent exhaust of the massive cave.
Billy’s mother whispered. “Is that light what I think it is?”
Billy clutched her hand even more tightly. “I think we’re about to find out once and for all.” He tugged on her arm. “Let’s run. If my father’s in there then I know he’s already cleared the way!”
Billy’s mother lurched forward, her feet barely keeping up with her lunging body. “But what if we’re wrong?”
“Then I don’t care what happens to me!” Billy let go of her hand and ran even faster toward the light, and in a second or two he was there, passing into an inner room where a torch, fastened to the wall by a metal strap, illumined the cavern with dancing flickers of burnt orange. His mother caught up with him and stopped at his side. Billy’s eyes darted around the cave until they rested on a huge, glowing mass in the center, a magnificent dragon.
It had to be—
“Dad?” he whispered. The weak call swirled around the inner room, echoing back to his ears several times. Hearing his own simple call of faith, Billy trembled. He slipped his arm around his mother’s waist, grabbing a tight handful of her coat.
A deep, echoing reply came back. “Yes, son. It is I . . . present and accounted for.”
The sound was more of a rumble than a voice, but its reverberation passed repeatedly into Billy’s ears, filtering through coal-soaked rocks with each journey around the room until the last dying echo whispered the familiar voice of Jared Bannister.