Voices of Dragons (11 page)

The human governments appointed delegates. It took a year of negotiations and serious economic incentives to the Soviet Union, Canada, and the United States, who were being asked to cede most of the territories. The treaty was established and was named for the town where the U.S. bureau was formed to enforce the human side of the treaty in the Rockies. A Soviet version of the bureau existed on the Taymyr Peninsula in Siberia. Humans and dragons had
been at peace for over sixty years.

Now the talking-head commentators on TV were saying it could never have lasted more than that.

Newsreel footage and a few recordings of the Silver River negotiations made up most of what modern agencies knew about dragon diplomacy. Only a few of the people who had been at those negotiations were still alive. While people like Kay's mother had been trained to deal with dragons, none of them had any experience. No one knew how to negotiate with the dragons further, because, after the Silver River Treaty, the monsters retreated and never spoke to anyone again.

Still licking its wounds from World War II, humanity had been unprepared. The creatures were supposed to be myths, legends, something invented by the unenlightened to explain the odd dinosaur fossil. Even after the horrors of the war, of the Holocaust, of atomic weapons, no one had been prepared for the dragons that rose from a long sleep in the earth.

It had been clear that the two sides could annihilate each other. The new weapons, machine guns, and high explosives could kill dragons when little else in human history had succeeded. But the dragons still had their fire and their sheer size, speed, agility. Kill one, and another would burn a city to the ground in revenge. A continuing war between the two species meant destruction for both, so they'd reached the compromise.

People asked: Dragons lived long lives, so were any of the ones involved in the original treaty negotiation still alive? Why didn't they try to talk as they had before? Didn't they remember? Or did they not care? Did they want to fight as well?

The pundits kept saying that no one knew how to talk to the dragons; most of the people who'd been alive then were now dead. If the dragons didn't want to talk, they said, the humans had no choice but to defend themselves. But Kay knew they were wrong.

She
knew how to talk to at least one of them, if only she dared tell anyone. And if only she could be sure she and Artegal would see each other again.

 

It was early when the jet, the F-22, flew out again. Kay was in the parking lot at school locking up her Jeep when a roar boomed over the town. She couldn't see the border or the dragon sentinels from where she was, but she followed the jet's sound to that direction. She spotted a contrail, but the jet was already gone, headed toward the border.

Everyone outside the school had stopped to stare at the northern sky, knowing what was happening.

Kay heard the first-period warning bell ring, but she didn't care. She ran to the cafeteria, hoping the librarian still had the TV out and still had it turned to the news. She wanted to yell,
What's happening? Is anything happening?
There was already a crowd of teachers and students
gathered around the TV at the front of the big room.

Kay peered over a dozen heads to see the screen. The sound was turned up loud enough that she could hear easily. A reporter was talking over video footage of the three dragons across the border, the same scene they'd been watching for days now. The man sounded excited and spoke too quickly.

“…ten minutes ago. It's presumed to be the F-22 jet fighter described at yesterday's press conference. It was traveling very fast, and it passed, I don't know, it must have passed within a mile of the dragons that have been stationed within view of Silver River for several days now. It continued on and is now out of sight. We're still waiting for some reaction from them. And—what's happening? I'm trying to talk to someone at the location….”

But those watching the live video could see what was happening without the chatty commentary. The dragons—the mottled one first, then the green, then the blue—roused themselves. They shook their heads, stretched their necks as if waking from a sleep—had they really been asleep all that time? Turning their pointed snouts to the sky, they spread their wings wide and launched. They seemed to fall off the rock gracefully, like divers. Then their wide wings caught the air, and they sailed, one after the other, spinning into the sky. They were big, bigger than the jet, even. But their flight seemed to take little effort. Air bladders, biologists said. Maybe even filled with helium,
the only way to keep such bulk aloft. They flew after the jet. Sunlight shimmered off their scales.

They were so beautiful.

She felt a hand on her back and turned, startled. Jon was at school today. He glanced at her then returned to watching the TV.

They were all thinking,
What will happen now?

“You okay?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, just a second.” Kay pulled out her cell phone and called her mother. They weren't supposed to use their phones during class hours, but none of the adults stopped her. In fact, a few of the teachers and kids watched her anxiously. Small town—they knew who her parents were.

She wandered a few paces and turned her back to them to try to get some privacy.

Her mother didn't even say hello. “Kay, are you okay, is everything okay?”

“I was going to ask you that,” she said. “I've been watching the news at school.”

“I don't know anything. Malmstrom Air Force Base isn't returning calls. Honey, I have a call waiting on the other line. I only took this call because it was you. If I find out anything I can tell you, I'll call, I promise.”

“Okay, Mom. Thanks. Be careful, okay?” That was a stupid thing to say—her mother wasn't actually doing anything dangerous except talking to bureaucrats.

“I love you,” her mother said, and clicked off the line.

She turned to the eager faces looking back at her and shook her head. “My mom doesn't know anything. Sorry.”

Now, the scene on the TV screen was empty. No jet, no dragons, nothing happening. The news repeated video of the jet speeding past, the diamond-shaped craft flying at low level, close to the mountain where the dragons sat, wagging back and forth as if to tease them. Then the reporter came on-screen, his face a determined blank, and started talking, saying little in particular.

Students and teachers drifted away. Kay didn't know what to think. If anything was going to happen, it would happen soon. Maybe they'd hear the alarm, and maybe it would be for real this time.

Then again, maybe the military was right. Maybe the dragons wouldn't do anything. Nobody had any way of knowing. Kay just about decided then and there to go over the border that afternoon, on the chance that Artegal may be there.

She sneaked into first period late. The teacher gave her a look, but didn't say anything. Kay pretended to pay attention and not worry.

But that afternoon, Kay's mother called her. Kay had left her phone on and took the call in class. Math this time, and Mr. Kelly gave her a dirty look, but Kay said, “It's my mom,” and ducked into the hall.

“Hi, Mom?” she said, leaning against the wall in the hallway.

“Kay? Kay, I want you to go home right now. Go home and stay there. I need to know where you are.”

Somehow this was worse than the siren, worse than the drills, worse than thinking about the worst that could happen. Kay had never heard such concern, almost panic, in her mother's voice.

“What happened? What's going on?”

She took a deep breath, a tense pause, and said, “Three more jets crossed the border.”

“Why?” Kay said, confused. It was the first thing she thought. It made no sense. Not unless they really were trying to start a war.

Mom didn't bother answering. “Until we know what's happening, I want you to go home.”

“School's not out for another hour.”

“I know, but I need you at home. If anyone tries to stop you, have them call me.”

“But what about Dad? Dad said that if I stayed home people would panic—”

“I've talked to him, and he agrees with me.”

Kay hadn't really been scared until then. “Okay. Okay, I'm going right now.” They hung up.

She went back to class. Her face burned, because she felt like everyone was watching her. She stepped carefully, as if the floor were made of glass. Tam looked at her, brows
raised, questioning. Kay shook her head and gathered up her books and things.

Her voice seemed small when she turned to Mr. Kelly. “I have to go.”

The teacher called after her, but she ducked out before anyone could ask any questions and ran out to the parking lot.

The skies above Silver River were clear.

At home, she tried to call Jon, but his phone was off. She left a message. He called her back twenty minutes later.

“What do you mean you went home?” he said.

“I mean my parents are freaking out and made me go home.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

But it did, because she was watching TV—had been for the last hour—and this time the news shows were saying things like “bombing.”

“I've got the TV on right now, and it looks bad,” she said.

“You've been watching way too much news.”

She couldn't argue. The TV just kept saying the same
things over and over. It all sounded awful. “It'll be okay,” she murmured. “It has to.”

“Do you want me to come over? I can ditch school.”

Even though seeing him would make her feel better, she wasn't sure even he could distract her from the TV, make the news stories go away, and make her worry less. He'd only worry more, when he saw how bad she felt. “That's okay. Your folks are probably worried.”

“Naw,” he said. “My mom's only called four times in the last hour.”

She chuckled. “Sounds like she wants you to go home.”

“I'll stop by on my way,” he said, and that sounded like a good compromise.

Both her parents called to check in. Her father was first.

“When are you coming home?” she asked him. If she needed to stay home, where she'd be safe and where everyone would know where she was, why didn't they?

“I may be out all night,” he said, not sounding concerned or annoyed. He sounded like it was just part of the job. “There's got to be a thousand reporters in town, and they're getting unruly. We've called everyone in to keep an eye on things.”

“Can you come home for dinner?”

“I'll probably grab something on the go. I may meet Mom if she isn't swamped. We'll call to check in later.”

“Dad—” She didn't like the way her voice whined,
making her sound like a little kid. “What's going to happen? I've been watching the news. Everyone says it's bad. How bad is it?”

“I don't know. All this press is making it worse, making people panic. I'm hoping it'll blow over. If we don't panic, it'll blow over. How does that sound?”

“Okay, I guess.” But he hadn't sounded confident. He was just saying it to make her feel better.

“Kay, I have to get going. Be good, all right?”

Not “be careful.” That was something. It had to mean things weren't so bad.

Then Mom called. “I just talked to Dad,” Kay said.

“Me too.” She sounded better, as if as long as they were all still in contact, all was well with the world. “We're going to grab dinner at the Alpine before he goes back to work. Will you be okay? Can you find something to eat?”

“I'll be fine.”

Jon stopped by for a hug and kiss and asked for news.

“My parents are doing okay. If they don't sound worried, things are okay, right?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Then his phone rang. It was his mom, wanting to know where he was. “I guess I need to get going. Call me if anything happens, okay?”

“Assuming I can get my mom off the phone.” They smiled, and even Kay started feeling better. They kissed again, and she almost asked Jon to stay. He lingered, as if
he were going to ask if he could. But he squeezed her hand and left, to go home and reassure his mother, and it was too late for Kay to change her mind.

She wanted to ease into a relationship, not plunge in like Tam wanted her to. They should be together because they wanted to, not because they thought they were supposed to. But did she and Jon want two different things? If they did, then what?

Kay watched the news all evening, trying to do homework and failing. It was hard to keep her mind on algebra when an endless parade of politicians and commentators on TV went back and forth between predicting disaster and reassuring that everything was fine. That was stupid, because nothing was fine. She could feel the balance of the world changing around her. Maybe because she was part of it. The person who rode the dragon. She kept expecting to see pictures of her and Artegal flashing on the screen. So far, that hadn't been made public.

But she and Artegal were safe for now, and as long as nothing else happened, they'd stay safe.

Around ten, her mother called her and told her to get to bed. Or at least think about going to bed and getting some sleep. Kay was long past the age of being told to go to bed. But since things were quiet for the moment, she agreed. The morning would come more quickly if she slept through it all. Assuming she could get to sleep.

 

Sirens woke Kay. Lots of them: fire engines, police cars, ambulances. It sounded like every emergency vehicle in the county was on the road and speeding toward a disaster.

The air-raid sirens were also howling.

She sat up in bed enough to push aside the curtain over the window. She didn't see anything, except a passing blue-and-red flashing light, quickly vanishing down the road. Her window faced away from downtown Silver River, where the police car was headed. She couldn't see anything else.

She padded into the living room and turned on the TV. Two in the morning, and the Great Falls, Montana news was broadcasting. Letters in the corner announced
LIVE
.

A pretty but flustered woman reporter was glaring at the camera and delivering her line: “…fire department primarily concerned with containing the blaze so it doesn't spread to other buildings…”

The camera shifted to a taped segment. She recognized the fire chief, his middle-aged face red with exertion, shining with sweat and smudged with soot. He was wearing a helmet and his big coat. Fire trucks made up the backdrop of the scene. Except for flashing emergency lights, the street was dark and nothing else was visible. Nothing gave a clue as to his location.

Where are they?
Kay's heart pounded. What was in the process of burning to the ground?

The fire chief said, “We're just lucky we don't have strong winds tonight. We could have lost the whole town in
minutes. Right now we have a good chance of containing the fire by morning.”

Back to the reporter: “Chief Perez would not give details, but he said there have been several serious injuries, and people have been transported to area hospitals. Once again, I'm in downtown Silver River, where several government administration offices are burning…”

Her heart nearly gave out. At least it was night. The buildings would have been empty. Her parents wouldn't have been working—except, because of the trouble on the border, they hadn't stopped working.

She retrieved her cell phone from her bedroom and dialed her mother. The call rolled to voice mail.

“Crap,” she muttered. Everyone in town who had any vaguely official position was probably either at the scene or on the phone. She'd have to keep watching the news and get the one-sided filtered version of what was happening. Or not.

She changed quickly, pulling on jeans, a sweatshirt, and her hiking boots. She called her mother again, then her father. Neither was picking up, which shouldn't have surprised her. No doubt they were way too busy to talk to her. And she knew better than to head down there and get in the way.

But she wouldn't get close enough to get in the way. Just close enough to flag down someone who could tell her what was going on. May as well—she certainly wasn't going to
get any more sleep tonight, and she didn't want to wait until morning to get more news. Mom and Dad may yell at her for leaving the house, but that was all they could do. She'd take it as a fair trade for finding out what was happening. She got in her Jeep and set off.

An orange glow sat over the entire town, flames reflected into the night sky, billowing and flickering. Kay had seen wildfires in the distance that looked and sounded like this, a constant crackling of wood. The air smelled of heavy soot and ash. But this wasn't a distant wildfire; this was right in the middle of Silver River. She had to squint into the light.

Six blocks away, the streets were barricaded, police cars blocking access. The flashing blue-and-red lights hurt her eyes. She felt only half awake, muzzy-headed, as if maybe she were still in bed dreaming. Kay pulled over and left the car, moving closer to the disaster on foot. She wasn't the only one. A crowd had gathered outside the police barricade, people huddled together, murmuring questions:
What was going on?

“Kay! Hold up!” someone called out to stop her. She recognized the voice—one of her father's deputies, at the open door of his car across the street. It shook her awake. Someone to answer questions, that was all she wanted. Deputy Kalbach could answer her questions.

“What's going on? What's burning? I can't get ahold of my folks. Have you seen them? Are they around anywhere?
Where's my dad?” She hadn't thought she'd have sounded so panicked. This must have been what it felt like to be in an earthquake, when all the phone lines went down and you didn't know if anyone was alive or dead.

When he crossed over to her and took hold of her arm, she saw it as a bad sign. There was too much tension in the grip. She didn't think her stomach could drop any farther.

He touched the radio at his shoulder. “Yeah, I got Kay Wyatt here. What should I do?” She couldn't make out the reply that scratched back at him, but he didn't look happy about it. “Okay, got it.” He turned off the receiver and pulled her toward the car. “Come on.”

She dug in her heels. “Wait a minute, where are we going? What's happening?”

“Your folks are at the hospital. I'm taking you there now.”

At that, her mind stopped working. She let the deputy push her into the passenger seat of his patrol car. They drove, lights flashing and siren blaring. People got out of the way instantly. It was eerie.

“What happened?” she finally managed to ask, when her mouth started working again. “Are they hurt?”

“It's your dad,” he said, his face a grim mask. “He got to the scene first. The night dispatcher was on duty, and he went in to make sure she got out. It was pretty bad.”

Kay leaned her head on her hand and tried not to
imagine what “pretty bad” meant.
Wait 'til you see before you start crying.

“Alice—your mom—rode in the ambulance with them.”

“Why didn't anyone call me?” Her voice was hoarse and unreliable.

“This happened twenty minutes ago! We've barely been able to think!” His expression twisted, and Kay realized with a shock that he was holding back tears, too. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I don't mean to yell. It's just we're all shaken.”

Her father's deputies were honorary uncles and aunts to her. They looked after her. They were anchors. Seeing Deputy Kalbach like this—face twisted, shoulders slouching—Kay almost burst into tears right there.

Instead, she hugged herself and stared ahead, trying to be numb.

The hospital wasn't in town, but a few miles out on the highway. It wasn't big, just an emergency room and a few clinics to serve the outlying areas. For anything serious, people went to Great Falls.

She tried to reassure herself that if this were serious, they'd have airlifted him to Great Falls. So he had to be okay.

With the police siren heralding them, Kalbach brought them right to the emergency room doors. Kay rushed inside before the deputy had climbed out of the car.

The place was crowded. There'd obviously been more
people injured than her father. A couple of men wearing blackened firefighter's coats lay on beds sucking oxygen through masks. Walking wounded were being led to backrooms by orderlies. A reporter with a cameraman was being herded out none too politely. Panicked, Kay looked around for a familiar figure on a bed, for her mother standing watch, and couldn't find them.

The deputy pushed past her and tapped a white-jacketed nurse on the shoulder. “Sheriff Wyatt, where is he?”

The woman pointed to a corridor. Kay rushed past them both.

Two steps into the hallway, she stopped, froze. Her mother sat in a plastic chair, part of a row of them lining the wall. Her elbows rested on her knees; her hands covered her face.

A doctor, a woman in a white coat, closed the door of a room a few paces down. She kneeled by Kay's mother, touched her shoulder, and said a few words. Mom didn't respond. When the doctor stood to return to the emergency room, she spotted Kay, and her lips pressed in a line.

Kay wanted the world to stop right there, she wanted to run away, and she wanted not to have to live the next five minutes of her life. The universe could end and she wouldn't care, as long as it prevented the next five minutes.

The doctor approached her. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Kay Wyatt. My dad—”

The doctor looked back at Mom, seemed to debate with
herself. Then she lowered her head. Her smile was probably meant to be comforting, sympathetic. But it was just sad.

“I'm very sorry. We did everything we could.”

Just make everything stop
, Kay begged. She was still asleep. Her brain couldn't hear the words.

The doctor touched her arm, then walked away. Kay managed to sit next to her mother, though her limbs tingled when she moved. Like her body wasn't hers, or she was leaving it. Still, her mother didn't react.

Kay eyed the door that the doctor had closed. A door to a room where a body lay on a bed. She said, “Can I see him?”

Her mother looked up at that. Her face was red; her eyes were red, swollen. Her hair was mussed. A streak of black soot smudged her cheek, and she smelled like smoke. She didn't look at all like Mom. She only stared at Kay, expressionless.

Kay started again, pointing at the door. “Can I—”

“Oh, baby, you don't want to see him, not like that, you don't—” She broke down, folding against Kay like her bones had disappeared, pressing her face to her shoulder. Numb, startled, Kay held her while she cried wrenching sobs.