Arrowland (27 page)

Then he ran across the yard, looking for a way inside, using the wall of a building for cover. "Might as well start searchin' while I'm 'ere," he said to no-one in particular.

And, with that, he ducked inside the building that would take him to the Castle Vaults.

Chapter Seventeen

"You, um, need to know something before we go in," said Meghan.

They'd almost reached the part of the stadium where she delivered food. Dale hoped so, because he was sick of chasing this particular Dragon. It was nowhere near the place he'd gone with her the first time, but then he guessed the Dragon hadn't wanted the ambush to take place anywhere close to his family. Probably hadn't wanted any of them seeing what he liked to look at on those screens, either.
I'll bet he kept that very quiet
, he thought,
unless they're all as twisted as him, of course.

"What is it?" asked Dale as they made their way down along yet another corridor, nearly at the end of their journey.

"I-It's his family."

"What about them?"

"They're, well, it's hard to explain but-"

Jack shushed them both as they came to the corner. "Guards," he said, pointing.

That meant the Dragon had to be inside that room. Even with everything that was going on, with his empire crashing down around his ears that creep could still command some kind of respect - still command his men. There were a couple of the Welshman's guards outside, and Jack motioned for Dale to take out the one to the right of the door. "But quietly. We don't want to tip off whoever's inside," he told Dale. "You up to it?" he whispered, scrutinizing the young man.

Dale stood a little straighter, hiding the discomfort he was in. "When have I ever refused an invitation to party?"

Jack grinned. "So let's dance, kid."

The trick was to incapacitate the guards before they could get off a shot or a warning cry. Jack rounded the corner first, jabbing a guard with his staff. Dale followed close behind, using the butt of his machine-gun first to double over the second guard, then strike his temple to put him on the ground. When the man started to get up, Dale delivered a blow to the back of the neck for good measure. He looked across at how Jack was getting on: the bigger man was in the process of disarming his opponent. The machine-gun clattered to the ground, a little too noisily, and from Jack's expression Dale could see the element of surprise had already been lost.

The guard then foolishly attempted to grab Jack around the neck; foolish not only because of the sheer size of the man, but also because of his former profession. Jack bent and threw the guard over his head, then gave the man an almighty kick, which not only knocked him into the door, it knocked it
down
.

Jack was inside first, but his reward for being so eager was a smack in the face from a waiting guard. Dale stepped in and felt the barrel of a pistol against his temple. "Drop it," he was told, so he let the machine-gun fall to the ground. These were two of the Dragon's most trusted guards; they had to be considering the secrets he kept in that room.

As Jack was rising, a machine pistol trained on him, he was relieved of his staff. And now he saw what Dale was looking at, too.

The room was laid out almost like a bedsit; a living room area with chairs and a bed. There were people sitting in the chairs and one lying in the bed, Dale could see, but there was something wrong with them. They were much thinner than they should have been, in spite of all the food Meghan must have delivered. In fact they were malnourished, these people: with stick-like arms that hung down - although one was attempting to knit. The Dragon's grandmother, Dale supposed. The figure in bed was sitting up, leaning back against the pillows. Not because he'd just woken, Dale reasoned, but because he must have been injured at some point.

His mind wouldn't let him see it at first,
couldn't
let him see what in front of him. Because the truth was too hideous to contemplate. That someone could do this, even after everything else he'd witnessed at the Dragon's hands, was too much. It threatened to bend Dale's mind, just as something must surely have bent the Dragon's long ago.

"Dale... they're..." This was Jack, obviously having as much trouble processing the information as him. "They're all-"

"Dead," finished Dale. Because they were. All three of them. Oh, they'd been dressed up to look as though they were still alive, positioned as if they were. Not only was the gran knitting, but the mother had a magazine on her lap open at some celebrity gossip that had long since failed to have any meaning. The father was just staring out in an accusatory way at anything that happened to be in front of him, including Jack and Dale. That is, he would have been staring if he'd still had eyes. All of the corpses were in a distinct state of decay, the flesh rotted from their bones, eyes long since gone to jelly, leaving empty black sockets behind. Dale wondered how they all still had hair, but then noticed the artificiality of it, especially the tight curls of the mother and gran. Wigs taken from some kind of hairdressers or fancy dress shop.

Thankfully, there wasn't the usual stench associated with death - and Dale knew this all too well, from his time walking the streets post-Cull. Instead the air smelt quite sweet, the result of large amounts of air-freshener being pumped into the atmosphere, no doubt.

Dale turned as much and as slowly as he could and saw Meghan being ushered in by one of the recovering guards from the doorway. "You brought
them
food?" he asked.

She nodded. "I had to, and change their clothes. I did everything for them." Tears were in her eyes again and Dale shuddered at what she must have gone through as their personal slave.

"And don't think we didn't appreciate it, dear," came a voice from the back of the room. It was female, and appeared to be coming from the mother.

"That's right," said another feminine voice, this time sounding much frailer: the grandmother. "We don't know what we would have done without you."

Dale frowned, searching for the source. He didn't have to look far. There, at the back of the room, now stepping out from behind a partition was the Dragon. He was half dragging, half holding up Sian, the girl's head drooping as it had been on the screen back in the other room. Probably drugged, Dale suspected, or just worn down by her interrogation.

Dale took a step forwards when he saw her, forgetting about the gun until it was cocked. "Let her go!" he shouted.

"He really should, shouldn't he," said the mother, and now Dale could see the Dragon's lips moving, throwing his voice across the room so that it appeared to be coming from the corpse. Christ, how long had he been having conversations with his dead relatives? "But she's such a sweet young thing. The only girlfriend he's ever brought back to meet us."

"I wonder why." This voice was gruffer, a thick Welsh accent. The Dragon's father.

"Now, don't you two start again," said the mother.

All the voices sounded real. Genuine imitations of the voices of his family Dale was willing to bet; honed after years of hearing them.

"I really like this one," the Dragon said in his own voice, and for a second Dale didn't even recognise it. This was the first time he'd spoken since they'd discovered his little secret.

Dale tried to look to the side, at the guard, but the barrel of the gun was pressed harder into his temple. "Look, can't you see what's happening here? The kind of man you're protecting?"

"Your boss is a Grade A fruitcake," Jack added.

"I am
not
a-" the Dragon began, then smiled. "You're only jealous, all of you."

"Of what?" Dale spluttered.

"My family survived. I'm guessing most of yours didn't."

"They're not exactly looking too healthy for people who are supposed to be alive," Dale argued.

"What's he talking about, sweetheart?" asked the mother.

"I feel as fit as a fiddle," the Dragon now said in the grandmother's voice. "Never felt better."

"Don't know what he needs a girlfriend for anyway," the father piped up. "It's not like he'd be able to do anything with her."

"Ryn!" snapped the mother.

"Well, look at him. Even if he wasn't such a pansy, he's the size of a bloody house."

"This is crackers," said Dale, stating the obvious. "Let her go right now, you sick fuck or-"

"Hey, boy, don't you talk to our Owain like that! Little prick."

The Dragon looked sideways, at the dead body that had once been his father. "Dad?"

"Well... You're still my son. Might not be anything like Gareth, but you're still my flesh and..." The Dragon paused in his imitation, some small part of his brain realising the significance of what he was saying.

If they had exactly the same blood, then his father would still be alive. Or had the man died after whatever had befallen him post-virus? Dale wondered. Whatever the case, the Dragon had stopped; had realised this fact. It was probably also the most touching moment he'd ever shared with his father, and it wasn't even real. Dale might have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't caused so much death and destruction. If he didn't still have Sian in a vice-like grip.

"It's time to end this," Jack said. "Right
now!"

Dale moved quickly, ignoring the pain he was feeling, ducking and elbowing the guard who had the gun on him in one, swift movement. The pistol went off, deafening him, but he couldn't allow that to stop him, too much was at stake. Dale grabbed the guard's gun arm, pulling it down and forcing the man to depress the trigger again, to shoot himself in his foot. Dale barely heard the muffled howl of agony. He looked over to see Jack wrestling with his own guard, having already disarmed him - now all it took was a head butt which saw the man sinking to his knees. "The girl," Dale just about made out from Jack's lips, while the larger man concentrated on the guard holding Meghan. The guard pushed her to the floor, readying himself for Jack's second attack of the day.

As Dale moved forwards, though, the Dragon pulled Sian into a headlock, threatening to twist it off if he came any closer. "Let her go," Dale repeated.

"No! She's mine."

There were two gunshots in quick succession, and Dale - wrongly - assumed they were the result of Jack's tussle with the final guard. But then he noticed the two bullet holes in the Dragon's chest. Dale traced the bullets' trajectory back and was surprised to see Meghan holding the first guard's pistol, the one that had been pressed against his own temple. She was on her knees, her wounded hand hanging by her side, but the other was outstretched, still holding the smoking gun.

Dale often thought back to that day, and wondered if Meghan had just been really lucky not to hit Sian, or if the size of the Dragon had helped with her aim; after all, there was so much more of him than her niece. Meghan didn't know either, and she'd never fired a gun in her life before, as she'd explained afterwards. But something had just made her pick it up and shoot. Something that was guiding her hand. An instinct that had tried to keep Sian safe long before the Dragon came along.

Sian dropped from the Dragon's grasp as he tottered backwards. Dale went across to her, keeping his eye on the big man as he went. The Dragon was looking down at the holes, the blood. His eyes were wide as he dipped his fingers inside, not daring to believe he'd been hit.

"I can't," he said. "I'm..."

"Oh Owain, let us have a look at that. I'm sure it'll be all right if we put some antiseptic on it and a plaster," he managed in his mother's voice - though Dale noticed the tremble of fear.

Then Owain said one thing in his father's tones: "Prat."

Dale began pulling Sian away from the scene. The Dragon clutched at his wounds, and his hands came away scarlet. He rubbed his face with them, closing his eyes.

Dale shuddered as the Dragon opened them again, looking more like his namesake than ever. "I... I am..." he said, then stumbled forwards. He held on to the back of his father's bed for support. Dale watched him reach down, lifting the pillow.

"Do you remember, Dad? When you brought me here?" The Dragon's voice was weakening as he brought out the object he'd hidden there. "D-Do you remember those rugby games?"

"Jesus," said Dale. "Jack, Meghan, we have to get out of here!" They looked at him, puzzled, so he thumbed back towards the Dragon - now holding a rugby ball. "It's a bomb!"

That did the trick, and Jack helped Meghan up, pulling her out through the door. Dale followed closely behind with Sian, struggling to hold her up but knowing they only had a few moments left. His ears had finally stopped ringing and he clearly heard the last words to come from inside the room.

"Do you remember what we said, what you taught me? Say it with me now. We are Dragons. Come on..." He sounded like he was half crying; but to Dale, right at the end, it also sounded like there was more than one voice. "We are Dragons. I. AM. A. DRAGO-"

The blast from the doorway blew them halfway up the corridor, but the walls protected them from much of the explosion. It had to have killed the Dragon, though, even if his gunshot wounds hadn't - not to mention the other men who'd chosen to guard him. Everyone else in there had been dead a long time ago.