Joshua McCune - Talker 25

He waves the tablet at me. “It seems another group of miscreants broke into the sanctuary last night. Can’t possibly imagine who that was. Did you get pictures?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You didn’t do anything stupid, did you, Melissa?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Dad.” Sam makes exaggerated kissing faces behind Dad’s back. I throw another Cheerio at him.

“See, completely unprovoked.”

“Sam, that’s enough.” Dad checks his watch. “If you want a ride, Mel, you’ve got two minutes to get your gear.”

I return a minute later with my tennis shoes.

“What happened to your cleats?” Dad asks.

“I’m not going to soccer today.”

After unloading Sam at the school, Dad steers the Prius onto the thoroughfare that connects Mason-Kline to the rez. Reservation Road, wide as a runway and unmarked by signposts or mile markers, is empty except for us. I keep my gaze fixed on the spears of golden corn blurring by the window.

“What’s going on, Mel? Why did you want to come to the sanctuary?”

I shrug.

“Something to do with your date last night?”

“It wasn’t a date. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Hopefully not all bad?”

“No.” I know he won’t drop it. Maybe I can divert his attention by asking one of the questions bothering me—a question that won’t get me in trouble. “Dad, how do you tell the difference between male and female dragons?”

“Once we’re back home, I’ll forward you some public literature.”

“There’s classified stuff on this?” Dumb question. If the army researched the mating habits of sheep, it would deem half the material top secret. “I’m sure it’s thoroughly boring. Could you just highlight it for me?”

“Since we’ve never seen them mate or reproduce, we have to dissect them.”

“Can’t you . . . um . . . just look at their business?”

He laughs. “They have no external business.”

“Aren’t there easier ways? X-rays or something?”

“Nothing like that works. We don’t know half as much as we think we do about them. What’s going on, Mel?”

“Nothing.” I glance at the blinking red light on the haft of his Taser. “You need to charge your Taser. You promised.”

“You know these Blues aren’t dangerous.”

“How do you know that? You can’t even tell the difference between boys and girls until you do an autopsy.”

“I just know.”

“Kind of like how Mom knew?”

“That’s enough. You know that’s different.”

“It’s not any different. Mom trusted dragons and they killed her.”

“It wasn’t their fault,” he says softly.

“No, Dad, it’s never their fault. They’re just animals that got out of control, right? It’s Mom’s fault she’s dead, isn’t it?”

Dad grabs my thigh and squeezes hard before letting go. “That’s enough, Melissa.”

“You’re angrier at me than you ever were at them.” I blink back tears and swallow a bitter laugh.

Five minutes later, Dad parks in the small lot adjacent to the rez’s guard post. He doesn’t say anything until he’s halfway out of the car. “You coming?”

I don’t answer.

He mutters something and slams the door shut.

Only after the crunch of boots on gravel fades to nothing do I open my eyes. Dad’s at the guardhouse, talking with a soldier wielding a machine gun. Moments later, the tank-wide gate swings open. Dad glances my way, shakes his head, and strides into the rez.

The lot’s a quarter mile from the entrance to Dragon Hill; Old Man Blue is little more than a glowing sapphire at this distance. A couple of dragons have lumbered from their hole for a midday snack, which consists of wild grass and charred cow. One of them stands near the fence, lazily chomping a rib bone.

I watch the Blues graze for several minutes. Not once do they look at me. Not once does a strange voice pop into my head.

After sufficient flirting, the guard opens the gate. The Blues pay me no heed as I pass, their attention drawn to the column of smoke rising from the nearby fire pit. The cows on the opposite side of the pit, separated from the rest of the rez by a twenty-foot-high electric fence, take turns mooing as one of their brothers is roasted whole in a giant hearth.

A man stripped to the waist and covered in soot takes a break from working the spit to wave. I wave back, blanch against the stench of burning flesh, and quicken my pace.

I’m almost to Dragon Hill when I see Dad. He notices me, goes from angry to all-out pissed. He thrusts his fist in the air and stomps over.

“What were you thinking?”

Before I can answer, he opens his fist and drops a decapitated toy soldier to the ground. He grabs my arm and drags me away from the hill.

“Dad, let go. You’re hurting me.”

“I can’t believe you did this.”

I shake free. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Really? This came into our system a few minutes ago. I expected more from you, Melissa Anne,” he says through clenched teeth, a dark hue spreading up his neck into his cheeks. He thrusts his tablet at my face.

Two dozen headless action figures—some standing wedged into the ground with arms akimbo, the rest kneeling with hands in prayer—are arranged in a semicircle facing Old Man Blue. Toy dragons of various colors loom behind each miniature soldier. I’ve seen some sold at Walmart, but except for the Green with its neck arched in attack mode, I don’t remember any coming with crimson driblets painted around their mouths.

To make matters worse, I’m on top of Old Man Blue. Arms crossed, sunglasses on, lips pursed, I appear quite menacing, like a judge who found the soldiers guilty and ordered their decapitation via dragon. My two farmboy sidekicks have been removed.

Konrad can be a jerk sometimes, but I can’t see him doing something like this. That leaves Preston, a recent transfer to MK High who I’d never really hung out with until last night. He must have gone back to the rez to play some stupid joke on me. Set up some toys, take a picture, blend it with the earlier one, put the doctored version on the net. Now the military’s found it, and I look like some hardcore sympathizer or even an insurgent.

No wonder Dad’s pissed.

“Preston must have set me up, Dad. Honestly, I didn’t know.”

“You need to find new friends, Melissa.” He shakes his head. “You know what? You’re going to clean it up. Wait here while I get a trash bag.”

“Whatever. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I start toward the hill, but he grabs me before I’ve gone two feet.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy? You don’t go near the old man without me.”

“You wanna put me on a leash?”

The redness reaches his temples. He’s beginning to resemble a beret-wearing lollipop. “Don’t push it,” he says in that deathly quiet voice he normally reserves for Sam. “Wait here.”

When he’s past the fire pit, I give him the finger, turn around, and march right up Dragon Hill.

The scene at the summit is identical to the one on Dad’s tablet, minus me and one headless toy soldier. Old Man Blue appears to be asleep.

“Hello,” I whisper. No response. I step around the decapitated soldiers. “Old Man?”

The Blue remains silent. I try a few more times. Nothing. Maybe it was just another prank. Preston had one of his buddies hiding behind a boulder or something, eager to mess with the girl afraid of dragons. How come Trish and Konrad didn’t hear anything then? How did they open its eyes?

How did they read my mind?

I’m kicking the toys into a pile when a shift in the shadows alerts me I’m no longer alone.

Not Dad. I cover my eyes against the sun but still can’t make out more than an outline of the figure beside Old Man Blue. The trench coat makes me think it’s Preston or one of his farmboy friends.