Alan Troop: The Dragon DelaSangre

Casey Morton grunts her assent.

"They still don't realize what we are," I say. "That has to be to our advantage. Can you open your good eye just a skinch?"

Elizabeth does and together we watch Santos nearby, working in the flickering yellow glow of two lit torches, pouring powder into one of the large guns.

"Peter?" my bride says. "I can do it. I'm growing stronger. In a little while I'll be able to stop them. …"

"No! Not without me." In my cell I try to lift my arm again. It rises a half-inch before my strength fails me. "If they think you're dead, they'll leave you alone and concentrate on searching the house, trying to find the person they imagine you to be. By the time they give that up and come for me, I'll be recovered enough to elude them. Then we can both end this."

"What if they go for you first? I won't be able to help you there. It would be better if I acted sooner, alone."

"I know Santos. We've played chess for months. He always goes on the defensive. He knows I'm locked in a cell. He'll want to find and eliminate you first."

"What if you're wrong?" Elizabeth says. "It is possible you know." Irritated, she twitches her tail.

I feel her movement. "Stay still!" I warn her again.

"Did you see that?" Casey asks Santos.

Jorge, intent on working the ramrod, driving the charge home, says, "Huh?"

"I think the thing's tail moved."

"Casey, it's just an involuntary movement," he says. "We blew half its head off. Nothing would survive that…"

The high-pitched growl of a small outboard motor interrupts their conversation. Santos and Morton both look seaward. Out in the dark, the dogs greet the noise with a chorus of barks and growls. Santos says, "I think the cavalry's arrived."

Casey stares at the water and snorts, "Some cavalry! Four middle-aged men in an inflatable dinghy."

The dog pack's noise turns to bedlam and, in my cell, I can picture them on the beach massing for an attack. Staccato bursts of machine-gun fire cut through their clamor, turning their growls into yelps, their barks into howls.

Santos grins. "With that armament, I think they're help enough."

As the bursts and dog yelps continue, Santos goes on loading the rail guns.

"Why bother?" Casey asks.

Jorge shrugs. "Just in case," he says.

In my cell I wince at each machine-gun blast, worry that all my dogs will be destroyed forever and wonder, if we survive, whether I'll ever be able to replace them. All too soon the gunshots stop and the night becomes quiet again.

"Damn!" I mutter. I clench my fists, open them. I'm able to raise my arms almost to shoulder height, then drop them. Soon, I think. If only I have enough time.

I groan when the first man steps into Elizabeth's view. Tall and thin, grinning, looking like a charter captain in his yachting cap, T-shirt and khaki shorts, Jeremy Tindall approaches Jorge, his hand out, and says, "Mr. Santos, I believe." Three shorter, more muscular men follow behind him, their faces obscured by the shadows.

I pray that Arturo isn't one of the others.

"You should have killed him long ago," Elizabeth mind-speaks.

The other three men emerge into the light and I let out a sigh of relief when I see that all are Asian. Tindall nods toward a gray-haired Chinese man dressed much like him. The man is older than the others and carries a large, black Colt automatic in his right hand. "This is General Chen," Tindall says, "and these"-he points to two fatigue-clad men armed with AK-47 machine guns-"are his assistants."

Santos shakes Tindall's hand, nods to the others, who nod back to him. "Glad you're here. We can use the help."

Casey points at Elizabeth. "It isn't bleeding anymore."

"What the hell is that?" Tindall says. He backs away, as do the others, muttering in Chinese.

"I'm not sure," Santos says. "But whatever it is, it's dead." He turns to Casey. "If it would make you happy, take my blunderbuss. Shoot it again." The Cuban cocks the newly loaded weapon, holds it out for her.

"I've never fired one of these," Casey says, and takes the rail gun, holds it with both hands by her waist.

Santos begins to pour powder into the wide barrel of yet another gun. "Just point it and pull the trigger," he says. "Worst thing happens, you'll miss, and since it's dead already anyway-who cares?"

The blonde scowls at him. "Sometimes you're such an asshole! What if it's alive?"

She pokes the barrel of her gun into Elizabeth's left haunch. To my relief, my bride stays still.

Tindall and the Chinese step closer. The two assistants hold their AK-47s at rest. "I'd be careful if I were you," Chen says, and points his pistol in Elizabeth's direction.

"Looks dead to me," Santos says, dropping a golfball-size lead ball into the barrel of the blunderbuss, ramming it home. He cocks the hammer, primes the flashpan with gunpowder.

"Maybe…" Casey says. She prods Elizabeth again with the gun barrel then points it straight at my bride's midriff.

"NOT THE CHILD!" Elizabeth mindspeaks, roaring, sweeping her tail in front of her, knocking Casey down, the blonde's gun flying from her hands, the woman screaming.

Chen empties his automatic into Elizabeth as he backs up, Tindall behind him. His men rush in front of him, fumble with their machine guns, preparing to protect him.

Elizabeth roars, ignores Chen's bullets, kills one man with a single slash across his neck, yowls as the other man empties his clip into her. She leaps forward and seizes him in her mouth, shaking him until he no longer moves.

"Son of a bitch!" Santos shouts. He shoulders his gun, fires, the ball whizzing by the side of Elizabeth's head.

Crying, Morton tries to crawl away, saying, "Please, please."

I feel the agony of Elizabeth's wounds. I know the hunger that courses through her, the need for food to speed her healing. I share her anger at her attackers. Elizabeth bellows and I revel as she rakes Casey's body with her talons, rips her open. I smell the rich aroma of fresh blood as my bride breathes it in, savor it as she does.

The blonde screams again and Elizabeth attacks once more, biting a huge hunk of flesh from Casey's leg, swallowing it in one gulp.

Santos drops his now empty rail gun, watching my bride. Elizabeth eyes him as she tears another piece of flesh from the dying woman. She looks for Tindall and Chen, but they've disappeared from sight.

"THE MAN!" I feel my bride's hunger and need for energy, but I see the danger too. "YOU HAVE TO STOP THE MAN!"

"He's nothing," Elizabeth says.

The Cuban dives for Casey's discarded gun.

Elizabeth sweeps her tail at him, knocks him down.

Santos grabs the rail gun by the tip of the barrel and scrambles back, pushing with his feet, scooting on his rump. Elizabeth, growling, stalks him until he backs into the wall of the house. Unable to retreat any farther, he yanks the rail gun toward him just as my bride rushes at him, and slashes out with her left claw.

He blocks her with the gun-its barrel slamming into his forehead with the full force of Elizabeth's blow-then pivots the blunderbuss and fires it at point-blank range.

Fire and smoke erupt in front of Elizabeth. The noise deafens her. The massive ball passes through the side of her neck, shredding flesh, shattering her spine, splintering her shoulder bone. I bellow in my cell at the same time as Elizabeth roars in pain on the veranda. She staggers backward, collapses against the parapet, her eyes still open, her mind still aware.

Santos, almost as stunned as she, sits across the walkway from her, his back still to the house's wall. Casey lies on the deck between them, her blood coating the wood planks, her breath coming in spastic gasps. The Cuban stares at Elizabeth, waits for her to roar forward and finish him.