Raising Dragons (9 page)
“You know Bonnie?” Billy asked.
“Everyone knows about Bonnie Backpack.” He leaned forward to get a better look at her. “She’s not wearing it!”
“Never mind! Now what are you going to tell my father?”
“That it’s going to get dark early tonight.”
Billy groaned again and grabbed Walter’s shoulders. “No! Listen! A dark knight is coming quickly. Exactly like that. Got it?”
Walter’s eyes grew large, and he stared at Billy’s gripping arms. “A dark night is coming quickly. Got it!”
Billy nodded and started walking to the car, but he had a feeling Walter wasn’t quite on board, so he watched him over his shoulder. Walter stared at the ground with his chin in his hand, and he looked up at Billy. “But I thought it was going to be a full moon tonight. You said the other day that the fish bite better when—”
“Walter!” Billy shouted, his hand extended to stop his friend’s question. “Just say the words.”
Walter shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say, boss. A dark night is coming quickly. Who am I to argue with the keeper of the mysterious bat creature?”
Billy was about to yell at Walter again, but his mother burst out of the house and ran toward the car. “Why is it I can never find a pen when I need one?” She jumped into the driver’s seat, and Billy got in beside her. He stared back at Walter and pointed his index finger at him. “Say it again,” he ordered.
Walter rolled his eyes, but he managed a smile. “A dark night is coming quickly.”
After one unsuccessful grind of the ignition, the Beetle roared to life. The sound brought welcome relief and made Billy’s frown melt away. He felt bad about getting upset at his friend, and he softened his tone. “Great, Walter. Now remember, stay out of sight unless my dad comes.”
As the car screeched backwards down the driveway, Walter pushed the bike to a clump of bushes at the corner of the house and disappeared among them. He crouched in the mulch and watched the antique yellow bug putter away, wondering what was going on.
How can a bat creature be nothing to worry about? What does Billy know about it, anyway? Was he the one the creature carried into the clouds? I guess that would explain how he showed up at home so quick. But how did Bonnie get here?
He held his hands on the sides of his head.
It’s all just way too weird to believe!
A roaring engine speared his thoughts. A dark blue Cadillac thundered from the direction Billy’s car had just gone and squealed to a stop in front of Billy’s house. The right rear door flew open, and two men, one tall and one short, jumped out. Walter gulped when he caught a glimpse of the driver.
Dr. Whittier!
Walter scrunched down low and peeked through the leaves. Dr. Whittier shouted orders as he slung his door open.
“Break the door down if you have to! If they’re not home, Sam, check with Olga. She knows what to look for.”
She?
Walter thought.
Okay, so the shorter one’s a woman. I can see that now.
The pair ran toward the door. Dr. Whittier limped behind them, his cane digging into the grass as he struggled to catch up. Olga jiggled the doorknob and then thrust the end of a crowbar into the jamb. She braced her foot against the side panel and ripped the door open, allowing them to rush inside.
Walter spread the outer branches a bit wider to watch Dr. Whittier. The principal scanned the yard and then the roof, and Walter hunched down even farther to avoid detection. Within seconds Sam returned carrying the crowbar and a piece of paper.
“Here’s a note,” he said. “What do you make of it?”
Dr. Whittier took the scrap of paper and read it out loud, slowly and deliberately. Walter strained to listen, barely able to make out the words.
“Jared. The little bird is here and the black hawk pursues. Hurry and fly away with us.”
Dr. Whittier crumpled the note and stuffed it in his pocket. “Lousy code. Couldn’t fool anyone. Bannister’s a pilot, so they must be going to meet him. Was that a yellow Volkswagen we passed?”
Sam nodded. “Female driver. I didn’t notice anyone else. If they were in there, they were hiding.”
Dr. Whittier took the crowbar and slapped his open palm with it. “I’m going to the airport. Finish the search and then burn the house to the ground. I don’t want one stick of this house to curse this land. We’ll meet . . .”
Try as he might, Walter couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. But he had heard enough. Big trouble was brewing, and Walter could only watch and wait.
Sam popped open the trunk of the Cadillac, pulled out a plastic gas can, and hurried back to the house, one shoulder sagging with the weight of his load. Dr. Whittier took another quick look around and limped back to his car. Seconds later, the tires spun a high-pitched squeal, leaving a puff of gray smoke behind, and the car roared down the street.
Walter stayed low, guessing that the two goons might come out of the house at any minute. He wondered what he was getting into. Burn the house down? And here he sat right next to it! His heart pounded, and he tried to slow his breathing to compensate. If not for the cool breeze, he would have broken into a sweat.
He waited, catching whiffs of smoke, stronger and stronger as the minutes passed. A swirl of smoke crawled out of the window over his head, seeping under its bottom edge. He heard a slam, and Sam and Olga sprinted out. Walter craned his neck to listen.
“Don’t worry. The flames will climb the stairs . . .”
That was all he could hear. When Olga closed the door, she and Sam turned and stared at the street. Walter looked, too. A beige pickup truck had just turned onto the road about a hundred feet away.
Walter was delighted when he recognized the truck.
It’s Mr. Bannister!
Sam and Olga hurried across the grass and onto the sidewalk, pretending they were just walking by, but Billy’s father apparently wasn’t fooled. He skidded to a stop on the street and jumped out. “What were you doing in my house?”
Walter couldn’t hear Sam’s answer. He seemed to be making an excuse, but Mr. Bannister wasn’t buying it.
Before Billy’s dad could reply, Olga pulled a small handgun from under her jacket. With a hyper-quick thrust, Mr. Bannister kicked her wrist, sending the pistol skidding on the sidewalk. When Olga lunged for it, Billy’s dad bolted toward the house. After scooping up her pistol, Olga charged after him with Sam following close behind.
The house belched smoke from under the front door, but Mr. Bannister swung it open anyway and vanished into the cloud. He left the door open, and his pursuers dashed in only a few seconds behind him, Sam first and then Olga, both waving their arms to clear the way.
Smoke poured through another window near Walter and it blew into his hiding place. He couldn’t help it; he just had to cough. The choking fumes were flushing him out.
No time to grab the bike. Gotta run!
He staggered from the bushes to find another place to hide, maybe a bush farther away from the house. He headed for the street, but the sound of someone else coughing made him turn back. Billy’s father had run outside again. He was leaning over and hacking with dry, retching spasms, sucking in precious air after every coughing spell. In his arms he carried a terrified cat, and as soon as he let the struggling mass of flailing legs down, it took off like a furry-tailed fireball into the next yard.
Since neither Sam nor Olga was anywhere in sight, Walter ran to help. “Mr. Bannister! Are you all right?”
Billy’s father raised his hand, signaling “wait just a minute,” and coughed several more times. He nodded and tried to choke out a reply. “Yes—” He bent over and let out yet another series of dreadful, sandpaper coughs before wiping his mouth and clearing his throat. “Whoever those burglars were, they weren’t very bright. I clubbed the first one with a baseball bat I keep in the coat closet. It was so smoky, the second one couldn’t see what happened. So I just bashed her, too.”
“Didn’t you get them out?”
Mr. Bannister shook his head. “The second one grabbed me on her way down. I guess I aimed too low and got her on the shoulder. I lost the bat, and we rolled into the fire. Her clothes caught, and my shirtsleeve did, too.” He held up his arm to show Walter his scorched sleeve. “When she screamed, I finally figured out she was a woman. She let go, and I got away. Her buddy was already burned up. The flames were everywhere. It was all I could do to get out.”
Before Walter could say anything else, he jerked his head around. “I hear sirens.” He turned back to watch tongues of flame shooting through the roof.
Billy’s father sighed. “Yep. I guess somebody called 9-1-1.” He turned to join Walter in watching the tragic sight. “I see the VW’s gone, so Marilyn couldn’t have been home. Have you seen her?”
Walter couldn’t believe Mr. Bannister’s calm voice. His house burned like a doomsday inferno, and a creepy lady with a gun had just tried to kill him! And now he was acting like he just had a bad day at the office! “I saw them,” Walter replied, pointing down the road. “She and Billy both left a little while ago.”
Mr. Bannister glanced upward. “Thank the Maker!” he said before turning his gaze back to Walter. “Billy was home? Is school out?”
“Sort of, but Billy asked me to tell you something, so I’d better tell you now.”
“Okay. What is it?”
Walter quoted his part slowly and carefully. “A dark night is coming quickly.”
Mr. Bannister’s forehead wrinkled. “A dark night? That doesn’t make sense; there’s a full moon tonight.”
Walter gave a shrug. “I know. That’s what I told Billy. But he seemed to think you’d know what it means.”
Mr. Bannister rolled his eyes upward and tapped his shoe on the ground. Suddenly, his eyebrows lifted, and he leaned over to look at Walter face-to-face. “Did he mean a dark N-I-G-H-T or a dark K-N-I-G-H-T?”
Walter shook his head. “I dunno. He didn’t spell it for me.”
Mr. Bannister paused, rubbing his chin. “What else did he say?”
“Just that they went to the airport. You’re supposed to meet them there.”
Two fire engines blared their sirens as they careened onto the neighborhood block. The pumper stopped right behind Mr. Bannister’s truck, and four uniformed men spilled out, grabbing equipment and unraveling hoses.
One firefighter ran up to Walter and Mr. Bannister. “Is everyone out?”
“No,” Mr. Bannister replied. “The two who set the fire are trapped inside. I think they’re dead.”
The firefighter rushed back to the truck. “We’ve got two on the skewer!” He grabbed a gas mask, and two others with masks followed as he raced to the door.
Mr. Bannister put both hands on Walter’s shoulders. “Thank you for the message, but you’d better get home. Those two were looking for trouble, and I don’t want you here if any others show up.”
“Sure, but there’s one more thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“Our principal, Dr. Whittier, was with them. I think he was going to the airport to catch up with Mrs. Bannister and Billy and Bonnie, and he’s the one who ordered the house burned down.”
“Bonnie? Who’s Bonnie?”
Walter was about to answer, but Mr. Bannister didn’t give him time.
“Never mind. I have to go.” He ran to his pickup, shouting behind him. “Get home, Walter! And if you can come back with your dad and find Gandalf, I’d appreciate it. I’m pretty sure I left my cell phone at the airport, so you can’t call me until I get back there.” He threw open the door, started the engine, and roared away.
Walter stared at the scene around him, his mind filled with awe. A house he knew so well crackled in flames, and firefighters scrambled all around, two now anchoring a gushing hose that rained onto the roof. Three women approached from other houses to watch, and several young teenagers congregated in the street, apparently arriving at home after their early release from school. The crowd gathered around Walter and pelted him with a dozen questions at a time.
He felt a strange sense of importance and tried to answer as many as he could, but he knew he had to keep some things secret. He hoped Billy would make everything clear later. After a few minutes, the crowd grew tired of asking the same questions over and over, giving Walter a chance to muse about the excitement. A bat creature at school, burglars with guns, a house on fire. What a day!
Chapter 8
Billy stared at the road through the car’s rear window. The tailpipe coughed in fitful spasms, blowing a train of miniature gray clouds into the long line of cars slowly crawling behind. He felt like their little yellow Beetle was the head of a snaking, segmented worm, and each trailing car contributed a set of four spinning legs. One of the segments, a large, dark sedan, shot out from the line, roared ahead of a big SUV, and pushed back just before an oncoming truck could slam it head-on. It was the Cadillac! But a new driver gripped the wheel, sitting higher in the seat than did the shorter guy who had been spying on him. Billy strained to get a better look, but the car still trailed too far behind. Could it be Dr. Whittier?
The Cadillac lurched out again, zoomed past three cars, careening around the serpentine slopes, and jerked back into line just in time. Billy shivered. This guy was nuts! He turned to see if his mother noticed. She had the gas pedal smashed to the floor, and her eyes darted between the windshield and her rear view mirror. Billy slapped his hand against the dashboard. “C’mon you old bucket of bolts! Can’t you go any faster?”
When the Beetle neared the top of the last hill before town, it chugged, backfired, and finally crested the top. Once on the downhill slope their car seemed to sigh as it coasted into the valley.
Billy’s mom wiped her hand across her moist forehead, breathing easier but keeping an eye on the erratic driver still a few cars back. “Okay. Now we just have to get through town. It’ll be crowded today, you know.”
“Yeah,” Billy replied, turning again to the rear. “The festival’s tonight.” He glanced at Bonnie. She sat low, scrunched down to keep her head below the rear window level. Her eyes told him that she knew someone was following them.
Now that they had driven onto a long straightaway, several cars passed them by, leaving only bare road between the little yellow Volkswagen and the crazy blue Cadillac. The maniacal car pulled right up to their bumper, and Billy recognized the driver’s scowling face. “It’s Dr. Whittier, all right!” It was too late to hide. The principal’s evil glare attached to Billy like cobra fangs.
His mother mumbled her thoughts out loud. “Where’s a police car when you need one?” She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Maybe I can lose him when we get into town.”
Billy felt the hatred in Dr. Whittier’s stare, as though his principal’s eyes were cutting open his head and reading his thoughts. He couldn’t stand it. He turned to look at Bonnie again. Her wide, fearful eyes stared into space, but when they focused on Billy’s, she smiled sheepishly. He guessed that she was embarrassed about her fear, so he gave her a smile in return and whispered, “I’m scared, too.”
Bonnie reached her hand forward, and Billy hesitated, staring at it for a second. Finally, he put his hand in hers, folding his fingers into a handshake, but this was like no handshake he had ever felt before. Her cool, smooth fingers wrapped under the heel of his hand, and her thumb hugged the knuckle of his index finger. Every pressure point brought a strange warmth that overwhelmed the chill of fear in his hands, and with every ounce of energy he had, Billy tried to transmit that warmth back to Bonnie, hoping to bring her some comfort.
After a few seconds, Billy pulled his hand back, letting go slowly, allowing his fingers to caress hers as they moved apart. He had never held a girl’s hand before. He didn’t know what the sensation meant. Was it a romantic feeling, or was it the loving touch of a friend, a faithful sister who really understood all his troubles?
Billy’s mother picked up the cell phone and handed it to him. “We should be back in range now. Let’s try your father again.”
Billy punched in the numbers and waited, tapping his foot and breathing heavily. After a few seconds he responded to his father’s recorded greeting. Billy’s fear came through in his trembling voice. “Dad, it’s Billy again. The slayer’s following us. We’ll try to lose him, but I don’t think we can do it in this rickety old car.”
“Billy, if he’s not there, just hang up and call 9-1-1.”
“Dad, I have to hang up and call the police.” Billy glanced back again at their pursuer. “There’s no use hiding now. He knows who we are.” Bonnie raised her head and turned around to get a look at the slayer.
Billy punched the emergency number and waited. His eyes darted around at the familiar sights as the road narrowed again, signaling their entry into Castlewood’s downtown section. The small town normally had light traffic, but today a river of cars jammed the two-lane stretch through the main drag. Trucks and vans carrying the setup crew for the fall festival hugged the curb and flooded the parking areas near the recreation entrance a few blocks farther up the road. Various craft stands, harvest exhibits, and charity booths packed the sidewalks, and dozens of people milled around, putting the final touches on their displays.
A mechanical female voice finally answered, “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
Billy was about to speak, but he saw something that made him shout into the phone. “Never mind!” He hung up, grabbed his mother’s shoulder, and pointed down the road. “Look! There’s a policeman!”
At the next traffic light, about two blocks ahead, a police officer directed cars, waving his gloved hand with robotic precision. Billy put the cell phone down and pointed again. “Mom! Pull up beside him and tell him what’s going on!”
“I can’t yet. I have to stop. He’s stopping everyone, and there are at least a dozen cars between us.”
“Then go in the other lane!”
She waved her hand at the oncoming traffic. “I can’t. Cars are turning this way from the side street.”
Billy looked back. Whittier’s Cadillac had stopped, too, and when their eyes met, Billy felt a cold shiver again. The principal’s evil glower carried a mix of unearthly hatred and sadistic delight. Would he get out now and come up to the car? Billy looked ahead.
Oh, good. Mom left some escape room in front of us.
He noticed her eyes moving back and forth again between the rearview mirror and the windshield. She was definitely on the alert.
“Why won’t he let us through?” she complained.
“All those cars have their headlights on,” Bonnie noted. “Is it a funeral procession?”
Billy kept his eyes riveted on the slayer. “Probably. I’ll bet they’re all coming from Smather’s Funeral Home.”
Billy’s mom gripped the steering wheel and wrung it like a dishcloth. “I couldn’t turn into the other lane even if I wanted to, and there’s no way I could get up on the sidewalk with all those produce stands everywhere.”
Billy could only watch and wait. “Whoever died must’ve been a popular guy.” He looked back at the short distance between the VW and the Cadillac. “He’s so close. He could just get out and—” Billy dropped his mouth open. Dr. Whittier’s car door had swung open, and he was stepping out onto the street.
Bonnie grabbed the front seat and screamed. “He’s getting out! And he’s carrying a crowbar!”
Billy’s mother spun the steering wheel to the right and muttered. “So I smash a few pumpkins!” She stepped on the gas, lurching the car forward, but the engine backfired with a loud “Pow!” and choked before expiring in a dying gasp. All three gulped and held their breath while she frantically turned the ignition key. The starter sounded like rocks spinning in a tin can. The motor coughed and sputtered but died away again.
The dragon slayer limped up to the left rear window and drew back his crowbar, ready to strike. Bonnie threw herself forward and covered her face with her hands. The crowbar crashed through the window, sending glass shards and pellets flying over her back and shoulders.
The slayer didn’t bother opening the door. He threw the crowbar down and lunged his torso through the window’s gaping hole, reaching with his maniacal fingers until he grabbed a fistful of Bonnie’s hair. He jerked her upright and dragged her, faceup, toward the window. Bonnie screamed and stretched out her arms and hands, hysterically trying to grasp anything within reach.
Billy lunged toward her, grabbed one of her floundering hands, and pulled, but it slipped, and he flew back and banged his head on the dashboard. Billy’s mother spun, leaned around her seat, and caught one of Bonnie’s arms. She held on with one hand while wrapping her other arm around Bonnie’s waist.
The enraged slayer, with both fists now full of Bonnie’s hair, pulled ferociously. Pop! Pop! Bonnie’s neck vertebrae sounded an alarm; they couldn’t hold out much longer.
Billy reached over his struggling mom to help. It was no use. Their bodies flailed, arms and legs flying in every direction. But he had to do something! Bonnie’s neck was about to snap, and the jagged glass in the window stabbed her shoulders. She could be dead in seconds! He leaped out his door. His only hope was to dash around and attack the slayer.
As he ran, he noticed the policeman finally turning their way.
Can he see what’s going on? Can he possibly help in time?
The people on the sidewalks just stood and stared, apparently in a state of shock. He couldn’t wait for anyone. He had to go for it.
As he rounded the front of the car, a strange light struck his eyes, blinding him for a second. It seemed to come from the slayer himself.
Billy stopped and shielded his face. He felt confused and weak, as though something was draining his energy, even his thoughts.
Bonnie’s throat lay bare and stretched out just past the window base. The window frame’s jagged, broken glass sliced into her shoulders just below her neck. Her terrified eyes turned to Billy, and her gaping mouth formed a silent scream.
“If I can’t get you out,” the slayer growled, his bright eyes now glowing yellow, “I’ll just finish you off right here, Demon Witch!” He raised his hand, and a long switchblade snapped open.
Billy took a deep breath and held it. His feet wouldn’t move. They felt anchored to the street. He lunged forward, releasing a guttural, explosive, “Nooooo!” An orange tongue of fire shot out and wrapped around the slayer’s arm, engulfing his sleeve in flames before he could complete the fatal plunge. Still clutching the knife, the slayer stumbled backward, almost falling into the next lane of traffic. He ripped out dozens of strands of Bonnie’s hair as he jerked away, and her head flew up and then whipped back downward again, springing like a clown’s head in a jack-in-the-box.
Billy thrust himself toward her and stretched out his arms to catch her on the downswing. He cradled her head with his right hand, and he slid his left arm behind her back to support the rest of her body. Now gasping for breath, he made his own body a shield for Bonnie, lifting her off the glass on the window frame while standing between her and the slayer. All he could do now was wait for help.
After the sudden release of pressure, Billy’s mom slipped and lost her grip on Bonnie. Her foot caught on the brake pedal as her body spun toward the passenger’s side. Her elbow slammed against the Volkswagen’s horn, and it stuck, sending a high-pitched distress signal throughout the district.
The slayer ran for his car, beating the air with his right arm while tearing at his sleeve with his left hand. By the time he reached the door, the flame had died, and a torn, charred sleeve fell to the street. Before he could pull the door’s handle, a wiry, gray-haired man leaped on his back. Like a squirrel on a thin sapling, he wrapped his legs around the slayer’s waist while grasping his face and neck with his hands. A huge, burly man jumped from his pickup truck and charged the slayer from the front, reaching forward with ape-like arms.
With a deft spin, the slayer turned, putting the man on his back between himself and his new attacker. The trucker planted one oversized boot flat on the pavement to avoid smashing the older man, and he stumbled, falling forward to the road like a toppling redwood. His forehead smacked against the asphalt, and he slowly lifted his body, bracing himself on hands and knees and shaking his head.
The slayer extended his right arm, his knife still in hand. With driving fury, he plunged the blade into his older attacker’s calf. The man cried out and fell to the ground next to the truck driver, grasping his leg and writhing in pain.
Dr. Whittier flung his car door open and jumped in. Since the policeman had stopped the flow of traffic just seconds before, the slayer was able to turn his car into the opposite lane. He roared away in the other direction, and, in a heavy puff of exhaust smoke, he was gone.
Less than two seconds later the policeman finally arrived, halting his frantic sprint in a burst of heavy stomps next to Billy. He helped Billy keep Bonnie’s shoulders clear of the window’s sharp remains.
Billy made sure his hands were the only ones under her back as he leaned through the window to support her hidden wing structure, while the officer, an athletic, leather-jacketed man with a thick mane of gray hair, carried her head and shoulders. “That’s it, son. Lift her a little higher. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Bonnie had stopped screaming. Her eyes stayed tightly shut, but her stifled sobs broke through her composure. As gently as they could, her two helpers guided her back into the car where she pushed herself to a sitting position.
When they opened the door, Bonnie stepped out with the help of the four supporting hands and tried to stand. Her wobbly legs fought to steady themselves, and just before she lost her balance, she threw her arms around Billy and wept pitifully on his shoulder. Billy supported her weight and gently draped his arms around her, careful to keep his touch light on the blood-dampened sweater. He tried to pull the material away from her skin to somehow disguise the lump from her hidden wings. Would anyone notice?
Billy’s mother had struggled to a sitting position herself. She gave the steering wheel a firm rap with her fist, and the horn stopped blaring. The officer helped her out of the car with one hand while reaching for his shoulder-strapped radio with the other. “I need ambulance support at the corner of Main and Millstone. Four individuals, two females, one adult, one teenager, and two adult males. Injuries may be serious. I need an APB on a Cadillac, dark blue. License plate looks like a vanity tag that starts with IHD, state unknown. Middle-aged male suspected of attempted murder. May be armed with a knife. Last seen heading southbound on Main.”