Smoked (18 page)

Be
brave! You've got be brave! Don't let him see how much it hurts!

Connor jerked back into consciousness. His eyes darted around the dark room, assessing quickly as the horror rose inside of him at an alarming rate. He must have hit his head when he'd dived behind the plane to avoid the dragon's fire and managed to knock himself out.

Now the hangar was ablaze, flames greedily licking at the walls as all around him, smoke twisted and danced a devilish jig. A few yards away, the pink dragon lay where he'd shot it, its mighty flanks heaving up and down with great effort. The other… He scanned the perimeter but came up empty—until his eyes rose and he saw the giant, dragon-sized hole in the ceiling.

He'd gotten away. Fleck.

I
can't breathe… It hurts. It hurts so much!

Connor frowned at the sudden, high-pitched cry piercing through him like a bullet. Confused, he looked around again, his lungs seizing as his gaze fell upon a charred lump nearby. A human-shaped lump, black and bloody and torn.

Rashida. Oh no.

He leaned over just in time to empty his stomach, yellow bile spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. As tears sprung uninvited to his eyes, he forced himself to straighten and wipe his mouth with his sleeve. He should have never let her come. It was his mission, not hers. She should have never been involved.

But she had insisted. And in doing so, she'd saved his life. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, trying to reset his sanity as they'd taught him to do in the Academy.

“Don't worry. I'll get him, Rashida,” he swore under his breath. “I promise you, you won't have died in vain.”

Please, Mr. Hunter. Don't hurt him. He's a good dragon. Really he is.

What
was
that?
Connor clapped his hands over his ears, frustrated, but the gesture did nothing to dampen the sound. Because, he realized suddenly, he wasn't hearing it through his ears. It was coming from inside his head.

What
the
actual
hell…?

Cold dread clawed at his stomach as his eyes slowly turned back to the dragon he'd shot. It was clearly dying, blood pooling around it in a blackened halo as it struggled to take in its last shallow breaths. But while that should have made him happy—overjoyed, in fact, mission accomplished and all that—for some reason, all he could feel was an inexplicable grief washing over him like a tidal wave. So much anguish pounding at his insides that, for a moment, he could barely breathe. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from running over to the monster and trying to staunch its wounds. To save its life. Even though moments before, he'd want nothing more than to kill it dead.

He's a good dragon, Mr. Hunter. He's sorry for what he did. Please don't kill him.

Connor's heart lurched, realization seizing him with a clammy grip. His trembling hand rose involuntarily to his forehead. The same spot his brother had struck him with a rock earlier that day. The spot that should have been badly bruised—a huge goose egg at the very least. Instead, the skin was completely smooth, unmarred—healed in a way that should taken weeks.

He staggered backward. They couldn't have. They wouldn't have. They knew how he felt about dragons. There's no way they would…

You
were
dying. I helped you. I thought it would make you understand.

No!

It took everything he had to force himself to turn away from the beast, running toward the exit and pushing through the double doors to burst out onto the empty runway. Once outside, he turned his eyes to the night sky, scanning for some sight of the other dragon. Where was it? It couldn't have gone far.

He had to end this. Now.

The Hunter song ripped from his lungs, burning as it burst from his scorched throat. But he ignored the pain. He had to get the dragon back here—before it got out of range and could no longer hear the song.

Before it was too late.

Come
on, you damn dragon
, he swore.
Come
back
to
me!

God. He squeezed his hands into fists. He'd had them. He'd had both dragons caught in his song. Both well within his line of sight. All he'd had to do was raise his gun and shoot one after another—bang, bang—and it would all be over.

But then he'd heard that voice. The high-pitch whisper across his consciousness, paralyzing him where he stood and staying his hand. Forcing Rashida to take the shot instead. And as her bullet sang true, the pain punched him in the gut, and he'd dropped to the ground, his gun-blade clattering uselessly to his side.

At first he'd thought he'd been shot somehow too. He'd even pulled up his shirt expecting to see a bloody mess. But his skin was untouched. And yet the pain was so bad, he felt as if he would pass out. And so he'd dove behind the plane for safety and allowed the second dragon to escape.

Allowed Rashida to be killed.

A
screwup to the end
, his father mocked.
I
should
be
ashamed
to
call
you
my
son.

Suddenly, Connor caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. His heart leapt to his throat as he watched the black dragon, shooting up from behind the back of the terminal and speeding across the sky.

There
you
are, you bastard!

He dove into action, running as fast his legs would allow, screaming his Hunter song at the top of his lungs. In the back of his mind, he realized how stupid he was being. Going out into the open sky without cover or proper backup. But what choice did he have? He couldn't let the beast get away.

Please, Mr. Hunter. I'm begging you! Spare my brother's life!

“Shut up!” Connor screamed. “Get the fleck out of my head!”

The black dragon turned on a dime, its beady eyes locking onto him as if he'd heard Connor's scream. For a moment, it did nothing—just stared at him with an expression of vile hatred that made his blood run cold. Then, it opened its mouth, and fire shot from its throat, raining down on the pavement, the tar sizzling and melting under the sudden heat.

Connor threw himself to the side, his bad ankle jarring as he rolled out of the fire's path. Leaping back to his feet, he searched the sky again, seeking and finding his target. He was still singing, he realized vaguely. But the dragon didn't seem interested. It was too busy setting everything on fire.

“Good dragon, my ass,” he muttered.

He lifted his gun, his hands trembling so hard he could barely manage to line up the shot.

“Hasta la vista, dragon spawn,” he spit out. And this time, he meant it.

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, the dragon turned, pointing its snout to the sky and shooting upward, disappearing into the clouds. Connor tried to run after it, to get a better angle, but found his path blocked by a lake of fire.

And then, there was nothing he could do. Only stand there, helpless, watching everything around him burn as the dragon flew away, free. He'd failed. Once again, he'd failed. And now there was a dragon on the loose. A vengeful, angry dragon, ready to tear up the world, once more with feeling. His eyes lifted again, praying for that one last chance that he knew in his heart he wouldn't get.

“Come back,” he whispered. “Oh God, please come back.”

He felt a presence behind him and whirled around. Trinity stood there, staring at him, mouth agape. Her eyes dropped to the gun he still held in his hands, a look of horrified recognition on her face.

“What have you done?” she whispered hoarsely.

Mother! Wake up, Mother. Please!

Scarlet groaned, plugging her ears with her fingers to drown out the loud rapping noise breaking through her deep sleep. Ugh. Was it morning already? She felt as if she'd been run over by a truck. “Five more minutes, Mac,” she begged.

Please! Mother! You have to get up now. You have to come with me—before it's too late.

What? Scarlet jerked to a sitting position, confusion swirling through her as she suddenly recognized the voice through her sleep-induced haze. “Zavier?” she whispered, puzzled. “Is that you?”

The rapping came again, and she leapt to her feet, flying to the tiny bathroom window as the events of the last twelve hours came rushing back to her.
Oh
God. Has something happened?
Her eyes fell to Zavier outside her window, pacing back and forth, blowing billows of smoke through his flared nostrils. What was he doing out there? How had he gotten out of the hangar? And what—she swallowed heavily—what was that black oily stuff coating his legs?

“What are you doing out there?” she demanded, wishing the window was the kind that opened. Even if she smashed it, it was too small to crawl through. “Why aren't you in the hangar? Where's Zoe?”

Zavier gave her a tortured look.
Mother, something's happened. We must leave this place. Now.

Oh
God
. Scarlet's heart was now in her throat. “Zavier, you're not making any sense. Where's Zoe? Is she still in the hangar? We can't just take off on her and…” She trailed off, seeing the flash of pain cross Zavier's face. “Oh no,” she whispered hoarsely. “No.”

Reaching out with her mind, she searched for her dragon through their shared link. Her precious baby girl. Where was she? Why wasn't she with Zavier? Zoe was always with Zavier.

Zoe?
she called.
Are
you
okay? Talk to me, girl. Tell me you're okay!

But there was no answer. Only silence. A horrible, deafening silence.

Come
on, Mother
, Zavier urged, a small, worried whine escaping his mouth.
Please! You must come now! We must fly from here before he finds me.

Scarlet abandoned the window, running to the door, her fingers grasping for the handle. Of course it was still locked. She took a few steps back, then slammed her body against it, hitting it hard and practically seeing stars from the impact. But the door did not budge.

Because the boy she had loved, the boy she had trusted, had locked her in.

Panic seizing her, she looked around the room, desperate for something to use. Her eyes fell upon the ceramic toilet bowl and the lid to its tank. She grabbed it, then backed up, preparing to use it as a makeshift battering ram. Sucking in a breath, she charged, slamming it into the door. It took three tries before the door cracked and gave way.

She dropped the lid to the ground, then pushed her way through the hole in the door. She took off down the hall, her heart slamming against her ribs and her breath coming in short gasps.

As she took a sharp right into the main waiting room, she dug in her heels, stopping short as she took in the sight. The air was thick with smoke, and everyone was running around, desperate and wide-eyed, filling buckets of water and running them out the front doors, trying to put out the fire. Scarlet watched, horrified. What was going on here?

Somehow she forced her feet to move, one after the other, pushing through the doors and running toward the hangar where Zoe and Zavier had been taken. Where she had taken them. Where Caleb had forced her to leave them—unprotected and alone.

Oh, Zoe. Please, Zoe.

She pushed her way into the hangar. The smoke was even thicker here, and several of the abandoned airplanes had caught fire. A few of the Potentials were running in and out with their pitiful buckets of water, attempting to douse the flames, but she ignored them, scanning the area, trying to squint through the smoke.

And then she saw it. The large, pink lump at the far end of the room, swimming in a pool of black.

Oh no.

No, no, NO!

“Scarlet!” She felt a presence behind her, but the voice sounded muffled and far away. She could vaguely feel hands grabbing at her arms, but she shook them off impatiently, her eyes locked on the horrible sight in front of her.

“Zoe!” she screamed, rushing toward her dragon. “No, oh God, please no! Zoe!”

The dragon was lying on her side, soaked in blood, the single scale on her arm—the one with the lifesaving blood—pierced and drained. Zoe's eyes were open, and for a moment, Scarlet held out hope for a miracle. But as she got closer, she saw they were glassy, unseeing. And her tongue, that silly black tongue that had given Scarlet a thousand playful kisses over the last months, now lolled from her gaping mouth. Cracked. Dry. Dead.

Dead like the dragon herself.

“Oh, Zoe,” Scarlet sobbed, throwing herself on top of the dragon and holding her as best she could as the tears fell like rain from her eyes. “My poor baby. My poor, poor baby! Who did this to you?”

But the dragon, of course, didn't answer. And Scarlet knew in her heart that the dragon would never answer her again. Burying her face in her scales, she sobbed pitifully, her heart feeling as if it were being ripped apart, piece by agonizing piece.

Everything she'd suffered up until now: her stepfather's abuse, her mother's neglect, the government's experiments—nothing had felt as bad as this. Maybe it was because, in all of those situations, there was still underlying hope. Hope of rescue. Hope of escape. Hope of starting a life anew. But now, as she held the dead dragon to her, she realized there was no longer any hope left at all. And there never would be, ever again.

They'd killed her dragon. Despite all Caleb had said, despite what Trinity had promised. They'd gone and done it anyway. And she'd been helpless to stop them.

“Scarlet!”

She looked up, so blinded from the mixture of tears and smoke she couldn't recognize the figure who stood above her for a moment. But when he crouched down and tried to put his arms around her, she realized it was Caleb.

She shoved him back with as much force as she could muster. “Get the hell away from me!” she growled.

“Scarlet, the fire's spreading. We have to get out of here.”

She stared at him, rage burning through her like wildfire. “That's all you can say?” she screamed, her voice raspy from the smoke. “She's dead, Caleb! They killed her! Just like I said they would.”

His face twisted in anguish. “I know, baby. I know.” He tried to reach for her again. She leapt back, staring at him with hatred.

“I could have done something. I could have gotten them away.” she cried, her words spilling from her lips. Angry. Afraid. And so, so sad. “I counted on you.
They
counted on you. But you didn't care about that, did you? You only cared about her. And now Zoe is dead, and they're probably after Zavier too!”

Suddenly she remembered him standing outside her window. He was waiting for her. Even now, with his sister dead and his life in danger, he was waiting to take her to safety.

She slowly rose to her feet, taking one last pained look at her dead dragon, then turned to face Caleb. “I hope you and your precious Fire Kissed rot in hell,” she growled.

She pushed past him before he could reply, out of the hangar, her lungs now burning from smoke inhalation. But she didn't care. She ran across the airfield, her bare feet hitting the cement one painful step after another. Finally, she made it back to the window, where Zavier had been waiting, praying the dragon hadn't given up on her and flown away.

But no. It was
people
who gave up on you.
People
who betrayed you. Dragons were loyal. They would be there for you. They would not let you down.

And as she turned the corner, there was Zavier, proving her right. Pawing the ground with marked agitation and impatience, but still there. Still waiting to take her away. Scarlet ran to him, throwing her arms around him and holding him close, unleashing yet another round of tears. Zavier whined nervously, his scales bristling, his nose steaming smoke. She could feel him shaking with fear and upset.

“I know, baby,” she murmured, her voice choking on the words. “I know.”

It
was
me, not her
, the dragon protested.
She
didn't do anything wrong. She didn't do anything, but they killed her anyway. Why would they do that? Why would they kill my sister?

Scarlet bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing. Sometimes it was hard to remember, since Zavier was so big, that he was actually still so very young. He could be physically strong for her, but at the end of the day, she had to be his rock.

She was his mother, after all.

“Because people are monsters,” she said simply. “And from this point on, we are done with monsters.”