Chapter 3
Despite the fact that they were sitting between the shoulders of a massive silver lizard that can fly and breath fire, the boys soon gave in to their exhaustion and fell asleep. Marcus could hear there light breathing over the wind and took it as a sign of smooth sailing. However, he felt one of the boys start to slide and he had to turn to the side to keep him on. Marcus would need a saddle if he was going to do this for a living.
An hour into the flight, Marcus was brought to alertness when he could hear the engine of an approaching helicopter. Marcus looked to the west and saw two small dots slowly grow into the basic shapes of black hawks. They flew by Marcus and woke the sleeping boys. Then they turned round and fired several rockets at him. Marcus breathed out a small flame below him, and the heat seeking missiles flew through the flame and spun off into the ground. The boys tried to make there presence known, but the helicopters refused to stop. When they ran out of munitions, the pilot of one of the helicopters said over an intercom, “You have been deemed, by the jurisdiction of the United States government, a hazard to the citizens of our great nation.”
One of the boys said aloud, “What citizens? You mean the ones that tried to eat our brains?”
“I think he means the ones that tried to rip our arms off.”
“No, no. He obviously means the ones that we wasted all our ammo on.”
Marcus let out a light laugh before one of the boys took a bottle with a pointed cap out of his pocket. He lit one end and held the bottle at a distance in the general direction of the helicopter. The bottle rocket flew strait as an arrow and lodged itself in the engine intake. There it exploded, and the helicopter’s engine failed. It started at a slow deceleration, but was soon plummeting toward the earth. The other pilot lost his nerve and flew off in defeat.
“Wow, that pilot either had shit luck, or I’m really that good a shot.”
Marcus said, “He had shit luck.”
He started to descend toward the crash site, where a fine hair of smoke trickled above the trees. When he landed, he did not need to tell the boys what to do. Marcus made a half circle around the site and let the boys off. Stephan searched the cockpit, Stephen searched the compartments along the side, and Steven was wandering around, looking for anything of use in the rubble. Stephan found a pistol with three clips of ammunition. Stephen found a small amount of food along with a first aid pack. Steven found a long strip of cable from a downed power line. Both sides were cut, meaning that it was not live. The boys tried to find a use for it, but Marcus was the only one to find a practical use.
“Why not use it to strap the helicopter’s ammo and side guns to me. When we reach the caravan, we can use the guns for extra protection.”
“Maybe you could swallow the fuel tanks to add to your flame. We need to take as much from this spot as possible,” said Stephan. Marcus could not disagree, but he regretted placing such a vial liquid in his throat when he did. Marcus guarded the boys as they ate the small food packs of military rations. They talked to each other about their old lives, old friends, and how the world has changed in two days. When they were done eating, the older boys checked the chopper one last time before making there way to Marcus’s back.
Like clockwork, another undead ambush took place as one of the boys was nearing his shoulder. This time, a single behemoth attacked them and would have taken at least one of the boys, had Marcus not swung his spaded tail and beheaded the beast. When the boys were all on his back, he took flight again. The rest of the flight was uneventful, and the older two boys quickly fell asleep.
The other stayed awake. Marcus said to him, “If it is curiosity that keeps you awake, child, then tell me what you want to know, and I will answer what questions I can.”
He regretted his statement almost immediately. Steven asked, “How many more of you are there? Are there any female dragons where you come from? Have you ever burned down any castles? Were you always a dragon? Is Santa Clause real too? Are the stories about dragons true? You’re not gonna eat me, right? How high can you go? Why…”
The torrent of questions would not stop. Sometimes, Marcus didn’t need to finish answering a question for the child to ask another. He was about ready to throw him overboard and take the loss, but his anger showed in one of his answers and the boy went silent. Marcus could hear the stifling of one who was holding back tears. He felt a pang of regret and chose to apologize. He said, “I’m sorry. Look, it’s just…” Marcus let out a long, drawn out sigh before continuing, “We’ve been pressed on by difficult times. I guess they pressed on me a bit more than I expected.”
“You’re not the one making him cry, it’s the memories,” said one of the boys; his anger must have awakened them. “Yeah, our father acted the same way when Steve got too nosy about the war.”
“I still feel dreadful about it.”
“So did he.”
Marcus would have responded, but a glint of gold caught his vision. Marcus folded up his wings and dive-bombed his way down. He would have continued, but the boys shrieked and nearly lost their grip; his scales held no handholds. When he was close enough, Marcus leveled off and landed with a thud.
An hour into the flight, Marcus was brought to alertness when he could hear the engine of an approaching helicopter. Marcus looked to the west and saw two small dots slowly grow into the basic shapes of black hawks. They flew by Marcus and woke the sleeping boys. Then they turned round and fired several rockets at him. Marcus breathed out a small flame below him, and the heat seeking missiles flew through the flame and spun off into the ground. The boys tried to make there presence known, but the helicopters refused to stop. When they ran out of munitions, the pilot of one of the helicopters said over an intercom, “You have been deemed, by the jurisdiction of the United States government, a hazard to the citizens of our great nation.”
One of the boys said aloud, “What citizens? You mean the ones that tried to eat our brains?”
“I think he means the ones that tried to rip our arms off.”
“No, no. He obviously means the ones that we wasted all our ammo on.”
Marcus let out a light laugh before one of the boys took a bottle with a pointed cap out of his pocket. He lit one end and held the bottle at a distance in the general direction of the helicopter. The bottle rocket flew strait as an arrow and lodged itself in the engine intake. There it exploded, and the helicopter’s engine failed. It started at a slow deceleration, but was soon plummeting toward the earth. The other pilot lost his nerve and flew off in defeat.
“Wow, that pilot either had shit luck, or I’m really that good a shot.”
Marcus said, “He had shit luck.”
He started to descend toward the crash site, where a fine hair of smoke trickled above the trees. When he landed, he did not need to tell the boys what to do. Marcus made a half circle around the site and let the boys off. Stephan searched the cockpit, Stephen searched the compartments along the side, and Steven was wandering around, looking for anything of use in the rubble. Stephan found a pistol with three clips of ammunition. Stephen found a small amount of food along with a first aid pack. Steven found a long strip of cable from a downed power line. Both sides were cut, meaning that it was not live. The boys tried to find a use for it, but Marcus was the only one to find a practical use.
“Why not use it to strap the helicopter’s ammo and side guns to me. When we reach the caravan, we can use the guns for extra protection.”
“Maybe you could swallow the fuel tanks to add to your flame. We need to take as much from this spot as possible,” said Stephan. Marcus could not disagree, but he regretted placing such a vial liquid in his throat when he did. Marcus guarded the boys as they ate the small food packs of military rations. They talked to each other about their old lives, old friends, and how the world has changed in two days. When they were done eating, the older boys checked the chopper one last time before making there way to Marcus’s back.
Like clockwork, another undead ambush took place as one of the boys was nearing his shoulder. This time, a single behemoth attacked them and would have taken at least one of the boys, had Marcus not swung his spaded tail and beheaded the beast. When the boys were all on his back, he took flight again. The rest of the flight was uneventful, and the older two boys quickly fell asleep.
The other stayed awake. Marcus said to him, “If it is curiosity that keeps you awake, child, then tell me what you want to know, and I will answer what questions I can.”
He regretted his statement almost immediately. Steven asked, “How many more of you are there? Are there any female dragons where you come from? Have you ever burned down any castles? Were you always a dragon? Is Santa Clause real too? Are the stories about dragons true? You’re not gonna eat me, right? How high can you go? Why…”
The torrent of questions would not stop. Sometimes, Marcus didn’t need to finish answering a question for the child to ask another. He was about ready to throw him overboard and take the loss, but his anger showed in one of his answers and the boy went silent. Marcus could hear the stifling of one who was holding back tears. He felt a pang of regret and chose to apologize. He said, “I’m sorry. Look, it’s just…” Marcus let out a long, drawn out sigh before continuing, “We’ve been pressed on by difficult times. I guess they pressed on me a bit more than I expected.”
“You’re not the one making him cry, it’s the memories,” said one of the boys; his anger must have awakened them. “Yeah, our father acted the same way when Steve got too nosy about the war.”
“I still feel dreadful about it.”
“So did he.”
Marcus would have responded, but a glint of gold caught his vision. Marcus folded up his wings and dive-bombed his way down. He would have continued, but the boys shrieked and nearly lost their grip; his scales held no handholds. When he was close enough, Marcus leveled off and landed with a thud.