Dragons vs. Drones (4 page)

Chapter
5

D
ree cautiously followed Lourdvang through a massive, arched opening in the stone, high up on Arncrag, the tallest mountain of the Teeth. Arncrag was high enough that clouds hung around it, cold and damp and only adding to the terror gnawing its way through Dree's belly. She knew what was waiting for them.

They'd had no choice but to follow the two Flames back to Arncrag, despite the grim warning that they were going to be questioned there before being killed. There was a very slim chance they could talk their way out of death here, but they had no chance against two Flames in the open sky. They would have both been burned to a crisp if they tried to run. You didn't fight the Flames, you just avoided them
at all costs. It was the one rule every human and dragon could agree on.

For a split second, Dree and Lourdvang had forgotten that, and now they were in serious trouble.

Dree looked around as they walked into an enormous cavern, lit only by the vestiges of gloomy sunlight that crept in through the doorway. The room smelled like fire and charred meat—she hoped it was cows or goats, and not humans. She thought back to a story her father had told her once when she was a little girl and asked about the Flames.

He was a stronger man then, but even so, he had looked afraid.

“They are reclusive,” he said, turning toward the window that looked out on their old garden, back when they lived in a grand manor in the north of Dracone. “They don't often leave the Teeth and fly into the towns, since they don't have much of a taste for humans. Less meaty than moose and deer and whatever else they find in the Teeth.”

Abelard turned back to her, his blue eyes hard.

“But when they do venture out to the towns and cities, death always follows. A few years ago they attacked a village to the south, Toloth, about a mile from the city. No one knows why, but they came with a terrible rage. Helvath, the chieftain, led them himself, and none survived. They say the Flames killed five hundred people that day, and it only took a few minutes.”

Dree had felt her tiny hands shaking.

“What if they come here?”

Her father had taken her hand and smiled. “They won't.”

“But if they do?”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Then I would protect you, sweetheart. I'll always protect you.”

Dree had believed him then, but that was a father who didn't even exist anymore, and regardless, he wasn't with her now. She needed to focus.

Lourdvang was stoic and silent; he had strongly advised her to stay behind him and keep her mouth shut. Flames may not have liked other dragons, but they downright hated humans. Dree knew Lourdvang would die to protect her if it came down to it, but she also knew there was nothing even a powerful dragon like Lourdvang could do if they were sentenced to death. They were at the mercy of the cruelest beings in Dracone.

Dree looked ahead and saw three dragons perched on a stone dais, their bloodred scales catching the light. The one in the center was even larger than the others. His entire body was muscle, and his black eyes flashed as they swept over Dree, small tendrils of flames flickering from his nose.

Dree knew this dragon's name from her father's stories—he was Helvath, the chieftain. He was as old as stone and apparently as bloodthirsty as they came. All dragons and humans feared him.

Few had ever met him and lived to tell the tale.

As Dree approached, she realized that the platform the dragons stood upon was not made of stone. It was bone and skull, piled in a heap beneath their terrible weight. She saw
antlers and ribs and hollow sockets. Some of the skulls were human. She felt her knees buckle.

The dragon to Helvath's right, a female, was smaller, with a narrow jaw and a strange, mottled scar on her shoulder, like a bite wound. Her expression was calm and thoughtful, her eyes probing. Dree wondered who she was. On Helvath's other side was the smallest Flame, also a female with scales that were a little lighter, almost a fleshy pink, and a body less muscular and broad. Dree noticed uneasily that the third dragon's eyes seemed even more malicious than Helvath's.

They tracked her like she was a deer.

Lourdvang came to a halt in front of the platform of bones, and Dree followed suit, keenly aware that the two dragons that had escorted them here were now standing guard at the doorway, blocking any escape. She and Lourdvang were trapped.

Openings to other caverns dotted the back wall, and Dree suspected that the entire mountaintop was filled with the deadly killers. She tried to hide her shaking hands.

“Who are you?” Helvath boomed, his rasping voice shaking the cavern.

Lourdvang spoke first. “Lourdvang of the Nightwing Clan,” he replied, “adopted son of Erdath II. I apologize for my accidental trespassing into your—”

“And who is the human you are with?”

Dree kept her eyes locked on the floor. “Driele Rieter.”

She snuck a glance and saw Helvath staring at her, his eyes like slits.

“Rieter,” he said thoughtfully, flames dancing on his lips. “Why are you here?”

“We found them in our realm,” one of the dragons called from the opening. “She was riding on his back.”

At this, all three dragons looked at Dree in surprise, particularly the dragon to Helvath's right—the one who had seemed a little less threatening. Now she just looked curious.

“No human has ridden a dragon in years,” Helvath growled. “In fact, I believe your people have spent most of that time hunting us down. Explain.”

Lourdvang went to speak, but Dree beat him to it.

“I raised him,” she said quietly. “He's my brother.”

Lourdvang swung his head around and glared at Dree.

“Brother?” the smallest dragon scoffed, looking at Helvath. “Kill them.”

“Not yet, Cala,” Helvath said, straightening up his considerable bulk and stretching. Dree watched the bulging muscles in his legs flex; curving, foot-long black claws extended from his three toes. “Do your people know about this?” he asked Lourdvang.

“No,” Lourdvang replied. “I would be exiled or killed.”

“Rightly so,” Helvath growled. “Humans are nothing more than locusts.”

“Not this one,” Lourdvang said, meeting Helvath's gaze defiantly.

Dree glanced at him, grateful for the sentiment but concerned by his tone. She doubted it was a good idea to talk back to Helvath. It seemed the chieftain agreed.

“My curiosity is waning,” he said coolly. “Any last—”

“Wait,” the other dragon— the calm one to the right—said. She met Dree's eyes. “Are you not a bit curious about this? A human and dragon bond? And the name—”

“I did not ask you to speak, Vero,” Helvath growled.

Vero nodded her head. “True. But I think we should value rare things.”

Dree could tell immediately that Helvath did not agree. He snorted, fire leaping out of his nostrils, and turned back to them. “I do not value anything but my own kin.”

Dree's mind was racing: She knew now they weren't getting out of the cavern alive. Images of Abi flashed before her—would her sister ever know what had happened? Would her parents look for her? There would be no trace of her when the Flames were done. She would be lost to the mountains—more forgotten bones in the valley.

Dree couldn't let that happen. She had to get back to her family.

Her hands slowly and deftly moved to her right pocket, where a little metal capsule was tucked securely against her leg. It was circular, like a ball, and filled with a black powder that Dree had been working on secretly in the shop, usually when Master Wilhelm was out. She'd had the idea while watching charcoal burn in the great furnaces in the forge, and she had tinkered with supplies from the alchemist's whenever she could. Master Wilhelm did buy supplies occasionally and often sent her to fetch them. She slowly built a store: sulfur and saltpeter, both highly flammable.
Over time, she'd begun to learn that the powder could literally create fire—but it was also extremely unstable.

When ignited, it caught fire instantly, shooting out flames in small doses and erupting in larger ones. She had never lit much at a time before, too afraid of being caught, but she had made the little canister a few months ago just in case she ever needed a distraction. Like now. She just hoped it would work—otherwise they were dead.

Dree's fingers closed around the cool metal, her eyes still locked on Helvath, who was rising to his full height now. He was as tall as the great oak trees that grew outside of the city.

Lourdvang quickly moved in front of Dree, but for all his great size, he looked miniscule next to the massive Helvath. Dree saw his hind legs shaking and knew he was afraid. Lourdvang was proud and fierce, but he was still young. He didn't want to die.

“There is only one penalty for incursion into my land,” Helvath boomed, stepping down off the dais. “Death.” He smiled, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “I was getting hungry.”

Lourdvang prepared to fight, but Dree gently touched his leg.

“We need cover,” she whispered, and felt him tense. He understood.

Helvath opened his mouth, roiling crimson fire forming in his gullet.

“Now!” Dree shouted.

She pulled the canister from her pocket just as Lourdvang blew a thick cloud of smoke through the cavern,
moving like a storm on the wind. Helvath shouted something, and Dree gripped the canister, letting the latent fire flow through her hand onto a very short fuse. It caught, and she tossed it right at the three red dragons.

Chapter
6

M
arcus scanned over every image of drones that he could find on the Internet, but none of them looked like the ominous machines currently hovering over his apartment building. According to what he found, drones were either small, black, and circular like Lightning Bug, or massive and white like futuristic spaceships.

If anything, the drones watching Marcus were a combination of the two: the maneuverability of the circular drones with the size and threat of the latter. They almost looked like mini stealth bombers with their angular wings and pitch- black hulls. Either way, they had to belong to the U.S. government. No one else had the technology, the resources, and the permission to sit in U.S. airspace. The CIA was watching
him again, and that more than anything else told Marcus that he was close to something.

They were worried.

Marcus thought of something else: The red eyes were likely infrared, which meant even though he couldn't see the drones, they could very well be watching him right through the ceiling. They could be sourcing his Web searches. They could have hacked his entire computer already. He pushed away from the desk, his mind racing. He had to move fast.

Bug was still out there, but he had the little drone connected by a tracker to his iPhone as well. He could control it on the move and still see the data on his phone.

Marcus scooped his backpack off the floor and started stuffing some critical items into it: a flashlight, his laptop, a notepad, and, as a parting thought, an old photo of himself and his dad. He wasn't even really thinking—there wasn't time. What he was doing didn't make any sense—none of this did. And that was the point.

He glanced out his window, where the drones had vanished again. They seemed to be using the clouds as cover, but Marcus had seen their red eyes tracking his window, scanning over him. He knew they were there. And now he wanted to know why.

His dad probably wouldn't have approved of him charging out into a severe lightning storm, of course, but Marcus had waited the last seven storms out. He'd sat at his desk and wondered about the pattern and taken notes and
never gotten any answers. And with every day that passed, his father's memory slipped away a little more.

No more. These weren't regular storms—they were hiding something.

Marcus had just reached for his phone when it started vibrating. Picking it up, he saw Brian's grinning picture, calling him from FaceTime. Marcus sighed and answered it, knowing that Brian would call a hundred times until he did.

“What's up?” Marcus said, distractedly checking through his backpack.

Brian looked suspicious. “Did you smash anything?”

“No,” Marcus replied.

“Good. Quite the storm, huh? My mom wasn't thrilled about me coming over to play vids. And you know my dad. He said I should have been at football practice, and that he didn't believe it was canceled. The guy is crazy.”

“Yeah, well, we can play vids another time,” Marcus said, zipping up his bag.

“Are you doing something weird?” Brian asked. “It's just a storm.”

“It's the same storm,” Marcus snapped.

Brian sighed. Marcus had already told Brian about his suspicions regarding his father's disappearance and the storm that caused it. That it was exactly like the ones they'd had once a year for the past eight years.

Not a storm. A disruption.

“I know you want your dad back—”

“Yes, I do,” Marcus interrupted. “And I want answers.”

“And you think you're going to find them by storm chasing?”

Marcus paused. “I don't know. I didn't say it was a good idea.”

“It's not an idea, period. You know what, I'm coming over. I'll sneak out.”

“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I'm fine . . . really.”

“You're sure?”

“Definitely. If it clears up in a few hours we can play vids.”

Brian paused. “Fine. Brian out.”

The call ended, and Marcus laughed and shook his head.

Shoving the iPhone into his jeans pocket, Marcus slung his backpack over his shoulders, tightened the straps extra securely, and went to grab his bike from the front closet. On the way, he looked over the endless news clippings on his wall.

MISSING AMERICAN WOMAN TURNS UP IN AZERBAIJAN; NO RECOLLECTION OF GETTING THERE

MYSTERIOUS OBJECT SIGHTED OVER MOOSE JAW

BLACK SPOTS IN THE SKY NEAR RIO

CIA ANALYST DISAPPEARS; QUESTIONS OF ESPIONAGE ARE RAISED

Marcus stuffed a granola bar into his pack on a whim, along with a bottle of water, and then started for the door. He
was almost there when it swung open. Marcus stifled a curse.

Jack strode in through the door, drenched. His thinning blond-gray hair was plastered against his forehead while the rain dripped down his gaunt cheekbones and weak chin. He was a thin, fragile-looking man, but he was extremely intelligent.

“Decided to pop home for a bit,” Jack said, taking off his jacket. “Figured I'd see if you'd been swept off somewhere.” He paused. “Where are you going?”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “Brian's house.”

“In this weather?”

“Yeah, well, it's not far.”

Jack frowned as he walked into the living room, putting his briefcase on the floor.

“I see,” Jack said, eyeing Marcus's backpack. “Do you want a lift?”

“No, that's all right,” Marcus said quickly. “You just got home.”

“There's lightning.”

“I'll keep my head down.”

Jack smiled. “You wouldn't happen to be analyzing storm data again, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. They are storms, and nothing more, Marcus.”

“I know,” Marcus said, staring at the floor.

“Just like your father,” Jack said, sighing. “Never listening. Is Lightning Bug out there right now?”

“Maybe.”

“Uh-huh. And what are the rules?”

“No trees, stay away from puddles and power lines, and I really shouldn't be on a bike. Actually the main rule is to not go outside period, so I kind of messed that up.”

“Indeed.” Jack started for the kitchen. “Try not to get electrocuted.”

Marcus grinned. “Will do.”

With that, he grabbed his bike and hurried out of the apartment. He went downstairs to the lobby, scanning the fast-moving clouds through the windows. He was looking for the center of the storm: the darkest spot in the sky. It didn't take him long to find it.

Looming over the other side of Arlington was a particularly tumultuous black cloud, roiling and twisting. He checked his phone, and sure enough Bug was hovering right below the dark spot, picking up some incredible electrical readings. The energy was off the charts. The rain was falling so heavily beneath the cloud that it looked like reality was distorted, the air curving and wavering under the downpour, and even as Marcus watched, a massive fork of lightning split through the entire cloud and lit up the sky. That was where he wanted to go.

Marcus checked his bag one more time, zipped up his hoodie, and then flung the door open, bursting into the rain and heading right for the heart of the storm.