David Wilson - Heart of a Dragon

Beyond Anya, something moved. Donovan watched at the periphery of his sight, but he didn't lessen his concentration. Jake had knelt behind Anya and leaned over the flag. All Donovan could make out of the once magnificent painting was a spreading stain. It was dark, and there should have been nothing but shades of gray. Impossibly, the stain on that flag was brilliant, blood red. Snake's blood.

Donovan sensed that Snake still lived, but barely. A second figure rose beside Jake. Salvatore. He held something in his hands, and Donovan realized it was the tent pole. It had snapped in the fall, but Salvatore still clutched it. The boy stepped toward Anya, raising the broken stick like a club over his head.

"No!" Donovan cried. He spoke before he thought, and it cost him his control. The net abound Anya Cabrera shimmered and fell apart in a shower of sparks. She screamed in rage, turning in a circle as if uncertain which of them to attack first.

Salvatore struck. He swung the broken tent post in a quick, hard arc that slapped into Anya's head with a sickening crunch. She staggered. She did not go down, not exactly, but her legs seemed, just for a moment, to lose the ability to hold her erect. She took a lurching step toward Donovan, tried to turn, failed, and started to fall.

The night erupted in sound. The sky, which had taken on a silver glow as the mist cleared and the moon shone through, grew suddenly dark. A thunderous roar shook the ground, threatened to topple the trees, and drove Donovan back into Amethyst so hard they toppled. He fought for balance, failed, and did his best to land softly. He knew if he went down and stayed down, Anya would not hesitate to attack, and she was too strong to allow even a moment's advantage.

Then he was driven to the ground with such force the breath left him, and it was all he could do not to pass out. He gasped, clutched at the grass, and stared upward. The dragon dropped from the sky with stunning speed. It was like watching an eagle the size of an elephant dropping from incredible heights.

The only one who retained footing was Anya Cabrera. The old Houngan lifted her face to the sky, and she screamed in defiance. Donovan noted, as his pulse thundered in his ears and he fought desperately for consciousness, that Anya's voice could be heard, even over the scream of the dragon and the roar of wind that accompanied its descent. She actually reached up, as though she might catch it and drag it to the ground.

The two collided. There was a snap of sound and energy that blacked out all light. Once again the air was sucked out from around them, and then, as the dragon rose with another scream, it returned in a rush. The world swam before Donovan's eyes. He was lifted slightly by the returning rush of air and he spun, getting his hands beneath him and pressing up. He made it to his knees, and then to his feet. Dirt and dust and leaves swirled around him but he waved his arm, found his voice, and spoke. His single word stilled the air around him — a circle formed, about twenty feet in circumference, and he stood at its center.

He craned his neck and stared into the sky. The dragon was so high, even after only a few seconds, that it seemed no more than a large bird, flying into the face of the moon. Donovan heard a cry to his right and spun. Salvatore had crawled over to where Snake lay across the bloody sheet that had been a flag. The boy turned, his face awash in tears.

Jake knelt across from him. The big man turned to Donovan.

"He's dead," Jake said.

There was a crackle of energy. Far up, thousands of feet, a tear in the darkness shot a bolt of pure energy to the earth. It struck with surgical precision, driving Salvatore and Jake back and slamming into Snake's body with the force of a lightning strike. The air filled with the scent of ozone, and the light blinded them all — just for a second. Then it was gone.

Donovan opened his eyes. The park was just a park again. Snake lay very still across the tattered remnant of what now appeared to be no more than an old sheet. Salvatore lay to one side, and Jake was getting groggily to his feet. Amethyst sat in the dirt shaking her head, and in between them all, a young woman's body lay crumpled and silent.

Donovan stepped forward and knelt. He placed a hand on her throat. She was alive.

Far in the distance a siren rose.

All around them, men stood. They brushed branches, leaves, and dirt from hands, faces, and clothing. Los Escorpiones and Dragons alike seemed confused, lost and without purpose.

"You have to get them out of here," Donovan said, turning to Jake. "Get your people back to the clubhouse. I'll help with Snake."

Jake stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then the big man glanced around, took in the chaos, and nodded. He stared at one of Los Escorpiones, standing only a few feet away. The man met his gaze, but there was no animosity in that stare. Jake nodded once, and they turned their separate ways.

Jake gathered several of the Dragons nearest him and spoke to them in low tones. They spread out through the park, and in only moments, motors fired up and down the road. Headlights sliced the park, and the crossing beams of those brilliant lights, Salvatore, Jake, and Donovan lifted Snake on what had once been his flag, and carried the Dragon president's body from the park.

Amethyst had managed to revive the girl, and helped her along in their wake. They passed through the parked bikes and crossed the street, disappearing into a darkened alley. Santini Park stood dark and silent. Only Snake and Jake's bikes remained, tilted on their kickstands and watching, like silent sentinels. More sirens rose, but the park was bare. The moon shone bright and clear.

Before they'd gone more than a block, Martinez stepped out of the shadows and fell in beside the make-shift stretcher. He reached out a hand, as if to touch Snake, or to check for life, and then pulled the hand back.

"It's over," Donovan said.

The old man turned, met Donovan's gaze, and then shook his head. He turned, spotted Salvatore, and went to the boy's side. Donovan saw him lean in close and whisper something, but he got no response. Martinez laid his hand on the young artist's shoulder and shook him gently, but again there was no reaction.

Salvatore's hair stuck out at crazed angles from his pale face. He still gripped the makeshift club that had once been a flagpole. Martinez tried to pry it gently from his hand as they walked, but Salvatore wasn't letting go, and again, the old man let it slide.

"We have to move fast," Jake said. "Those sirens are getting closer, and we have a ways to go. If they catch us before we get to the clubhouse, this is going to be hard to explain."

"They will not see us," Martinez said.

"I wish I shared your confidence," Jake said.

"I have taken care of it. They will not see us."

Jake stared at Martinez for a moment, and then nodded. He turned back and led the others through the darkened streets.

Donovan turned and glanced at where Amethyst supported the girl on her arm. He wanted to go to her, to talk to her and offer his help, but that would have to wait, at least until they got back to the clubhouse. He glanced up at the moon far above. He thought he saw a shadow pass before his eyes, far above, and his heart chilled. He flashed on Martinez shaking his head. If it wasn't over…

They turned the last corner and saw the lights of the clubhouse ahead. The bikes that had lined the park now covered the street, and the clubhouse yard. The fire in the back yard had been built up again, and light streamed from every window of the building. They hurried their steps. When they got within a couple of blocks, a contingent of quiet, silent Dragons took the makeshift stretcher from their hands gently and moved on ahead. Jake joined them, softly giving directions that Donovan noted were followed without question.