Snapdragon Book II: In the Land of the Dragon Page 3

  Seth was anxious. He wanted to get moving, couldn’t sit still. He hoped his friends were having an easier time than he was.

  vi

  Malcolm Alister had already made the rounds, stopping at Albert’s for Gavin’s boots, then dropping off the backpacks one at a time. He’d slipped into Seth’s yard just an hour ago, putting the backpack in the shed where Seth had told him. With Gavin’s help, he’d dropped off the other pack at Eddie’s house in the bushes. He’d parted with Gavin hours earlier. It was now after eleven pm. It had been a busy day. He was tired from riding all over town, and now, he was finishing the last of his packing. He thought of Gavin often, worried the boy wouldn’t have the stamina to endure the long road ahead.

  At Al’s Sporting Goods, Malcolm had purchased three internal-frame backpacks. He distributed the weight of his supplies according to what Kinsey had taught him, not making the pack heavy near the top. They had a first aid kit, knives, fishing poles, food, water, tents, sleeping bags, head gear, gloves, boots, ropes, a flashlight, twine, goggles (in case of snowstorms), and an axe to chop wood. Malcolm had even purchased gaiters for everyone. Kinsey said she’d carry a cooking pot, an extra knife, medicine, bandages, ointment, and whatever else she could find.

  Malcolm sorted through his pack again, what clothes would be best for the start of their journey. It would be rough. They had to leave as early as possible, but they would have to take it slow. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe some packhorses—at least one—was exactly what they needed.

  His mind returned to Gavin. In all honesty, Malcolm didn’t think the boy would show. If that were the case, their plans would have to wait. If his mother got a hold of him again…

  Malcolm tried not to think about it.

  He’d waved goodbye to Gavin earlier, watching him disappear around the back of his house, favoring his leg. If the weather turned poor, and Gavin still looked as bad as he did…

  Malcolm sighed, stopped what he was doing, and looked around his room.

  Posters did not adorn the walls; the room was not full of toys, gadgets, gizmos, or video games. Malcolm wasn’t a sports fan. Shelves lined the walls; paperbacks, hardbacks—some with dust jackets, some without: horror, mystery, science fiction, and fantasy, some classics from several nineteenth century authors. His favorite was Frankenstein. A single bed, a small, out-of-date computer on a desk, took up the rest of the room. A stack of comic books sat piled in the corner.

  It was quiet as he looked to the door. The overhead light was on, but suddenly it seemed unnaturally dark.

  Malcolm knew the role he had to play, and he accepted it. For years, this room had been his universe, the house as well, and now—he hoped only temporarily—he was saying goodbye.

  He would be back, though, he told himself.

  He hoped.

  Maybe they wouldn’t come back. Maybe this horror would consume them all. Maybe this monster was simply too dark and powerful…

  For the first time, a sense of failure overwhelmed him.

  Malcolm shook his head, thinking about Gavin again. The boy, despite his obvious afflictions, would have to endure. Malcolm couldn’t do anything about it now.

  He looked to the alarm clock beside the bed. 11:05. Fifty-five minutes. Fifty-five minutes to double-check everything and say goodbye.

  Guilt stabbed his chest. After all his grandfather had done…everything Algernon did lately to make up for lost time…

  “And this is how you repay him?” Malcolm said.

  Is it selfish? he thought. Is it selfish of me to do this?

  How could it be selfish? the voice of Jamey said. You’re risking your life and the life of your friends for everyone in this town. You call that selfish?

  He wished he could say goodbye to Jamey and his grandfather. It didn’t seem fair, slipping away in the middle of the night, leaving everyone to wonder…

  Stop thinking about it. It won’t do you any good.

  But it didn’t help.

  Yes, you might not come back, boy. You might be forgotten, slaughtered on the road ahead.

  This was not his voice.

  Malcolm shook his head. Six young, inexperienced children were heading into the vicious landscape of Mother Nature, during the coldest part of the year. What the hell were they doing? Six kids traveling into an unknown landscape with nothing but dreams to guide them.

  You’re all going to die.

  No, he thought. They were not going to die. When Ben emerged into the meadow earlier that day, hope had moved through him more powerful than ever.

  Let’s see, he thought. Kinsey is going to meet Seth. Gavin will meet Eddie, and then they’re going to Albert’s house.

  Malcolm would ride alone, and they’d meet at Samuel’s Creek. Gavin would carry as much as he could. If the burden became too heavy, the rest of them could take turns, or distribute Gavin’s belongings among them. And what about his arm?

  Malcolm was willing to sacrifice a few strains for Gavin’s sake.

  He was getting a headache thinking about it. He closed his eyes and concentrated on packing.

  The blackness returned. He recognized it instantly. The light dimmed. On the walls, a cloud of pooling black energy swirled together and came to life.

  A window opened, but he couldn’t distinguish if it was real or in his mind’s eye. A bleak, lonely landscape took up the entire wall, the top of a mountain in a harsh, furious blizzard, snow lashing against tiny structures in the cold. Wind flapped, threatening to tear the tents away. He was looking at he and his friends. Only they were several companions lighter.

  The face of a dead boy pushed against the wall from the other side. Howard chuckled.

  You can’t win.

  In a sudden pique of fury, Malcolm defied the scene. He pointed to it, clenching his teeth:

  “You get the hell out of here,” he said. “You don’t scare me. You’re nothing. You’ve tried to get me before. And you’re nothing. Get the hell out of my room.”

  Another scene appeared. Monsters chained to bloodstained walls chewed on severed legs and arms. Some barked and nipped at one another. A structure made of night took up the entire backdrop, the air rancid and heavy with hate and negative energy.

  Ben emerged. The tiger was dead. Contorted, shadowed fiends exhumed rope after bloody rope of his entrails.

  All hope is lost.

  Malcolm looked away, clenching his eyes, and fought back tears.

  When he opened them again, the scene was gone.

  Ben will be dissected. You and all your friends.

  Malcolm ignored it. Sweating, heart beating fast, he finished packing with something akin to hatred. He never wanted to kill the phantom more then he did in that moment.

  He took his backpack upstairs and set it by the front door. All the lights were off. The house was dark and quiet.

  He crept up the stairs to his grandfather’s room. The door was ajar. He could just see the old man lying in bed by the light of the moon.

  Malcolm didn’t want to leave, not like this.

  “We’ll be back,” he whispered. “I promise.” He did not walk into the room. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and steeled himself against a painful goodbye. “I know you’ve done a lot lately. But please…just understand. Okay? I love you, Grandpa.”

  It seemed empty, but he felt better for having said it. There should’ve been tears, he thought, but he couldn’t muster them, not now. He had to be strong.

  Malcolm looked at his grandfather, burning the image into his brain. Not a bad way to remember him really.

  Sleeping, Malcolm thought. Without drink.

  “I’ll be back,” Malcolm said. “I’ll be back, and we’ll get the house together even more. We’ll work on it together.”

  Now, he said to himself. Pull yourself away now. Don’t make it any harder.

  But he couldn’t. One more second, one minute more…

  “I love you, Grandpa.”

  Malcolm clenched his eyes and pu
lled away, lightly closing the door, then crept down the stairs. He put on his winter coat, grabbing his backpack.

  Malcolm looked at his watch. 11:39.

  He opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch, and closed it behind him, carrying the pack down the steps. It was bitterly cold already. His breath plumed and vanished before his face. He strapped the pack on, fastening the buckle around his mid-section. At the bottom of the steps, he grabbed his bicycle, and steeled himself against the quiet darkness of Shadowbrook Lane. He threw one leg over, holding onto the handlebars.

  He did not think about the vision in his room. Emotion made his heart swell. He realized how final this was. All or nothing.

  The dark stretch of road loomed ahead, leaves falling from the trees. As if in welcome, several caught the wind and scattered in front of him in the dark.

  Malcolm looked back at the silent house.

  Don’t make it harder than it has to be, he thought.

  “Bye, Grandpa,” Malcolm said, nodding, and turned toward the road. He put his right foot on the pedal and began to ride. The start was awkward with the backpack. Cold wind blew against his face, numbing his cheeks and ears.

  “Goodbye, Grandpa,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

  Pedaling faster, determined to stay strong for his friends and for Ellishome, Malcolm rode under the dark canopy of trees along Shadowbrook Lane…and started to cry.

  vii

  “Hi, Eddie,” Gavin said, at 11:44 pm. He let out a deep breath as if he’d been holding it in all day.

  The boys were dressed in their warmest clothes. Eddie was wearing a purple winter coat and the blue backpack (he was going to opt for the orange coat he’d worn earlier but thought it too easy to spot from a distance, so he’d purloined his sister’s. It was similar to the orange one, but wasn’t feminine enough to make him feel uncomfortable). Gavin wore a dark green winter coat with the black backpack Malcolm had purchased. He still wore his Nuggets cap. He had taken off his sling but winced as he tried to balance the pack. He was wearing the boots Albert had given him as well. He limped slightly, favoring his left leg, and his face was still a mangled, swollen mess of bruises, but the boy was determined. Eddie found it all very hard to look at.

  “I guess this is it,” Gavin finished.

  They stood in front of Eddie’s house, as dark and silent as the others along the street. Crickets chirped.

  “Come on,” Eddie said, adjusting his pack. “Let’s get out of here before someone notices.”

  They walked along the street under the streetlamps.

  “Did you say your good-byes?” Gavin asked. He was moving slower, trying to keep up.

  “Yeah,” Eddie said.

  An awkward silence passed between them.

  “This is kinda weird,” Eddie said.

  Gavin nodded.

  “I mean, all day long,” Eddie said. “I was thinking about it. None of it seems real, ya know? Like we’re all going to wake up tomorrow and everything will be back the way it was. Sadie will be alive, Howard…” Eddie shook his head. “Now, it’s all starting to sink in. We’re really doing this.”

  He was quiet for a long time, then said, “I bet it wasn’t hard for you to say good-bye, was it?”

  Gavin shook his head. He was thinking about how eager he’d been to leave, putting his things together. His mother wouldn’t notice him gone. She wouldn’t even report him missing. She might not notice his absence for several days, in fact.

  He’d crept upstairs, seeing his mother in an alcohol-induced slumber on the couch. A half-empty cocktail glass sat on the floor.

  Gavin stood, watching her, a butcher knife in his one good hand.

  If an opportunity presented itself, that time was now. Why not? What could they do, lock him up, throw away the key? What did he care? And if he did come back, he’d never have to live with her again.

  Gavin lifted the knife, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

  He hated himself, hated her for making him feel this way. His mother was still in there, the one who loved and cared about him.

  But was she? Had she ever loved him? Had she ever showed him the least amount of care?

  A new life, he thought.

  Instant freedom, knowing he never had to suffer again at the hands of his mother…

  Do not rush this, he thought, looking at her, the smell of alcohol wafting toward him. You’re making yourself free.

  He stepped closer.

  Look at her sleeping, he thought. Look how happy and stupid she looks. Look how dumb she is, how oblivious to me, to what I want to do to her. To what I’m going to do to her.

  The thoughts terrified him, that they were his at all.

  But he relished them! Oh, how he welcomed them!

  He could bring the knife down if he wanted. Into her throat. But as he thought about it, something else occurred to him. Someplace better…

  He would ram it through the side of her face—her cheek—pinning her head to the cushions, watch her squirm like an impaled snake. He’d clap, jump up and down, and laugh as she tried to pull the blade free, blood gushing everywhere.

  Yes, kill her. Make her suffer. She deserves it for all she’s done. Do it! Do it now!

  But it wasn’t him. Something vile—the demon perhaps—wanted him to kill her. The voice took refuge in his brain:

  You were meant for darkness. You always have been.

  Gavin dropped the knife to the floor, staring in horror at what he was about to do.

  “Yeah,” Eddie said, breaking Gavin’s thought.

  The dark neighborhood surrounded them again.

  “It was hard for me to leave,” Eddie said. “I keep thinking I’ll never see my family again, how scared they’re gonna be that I’m gone. Especially after all that’s happened. Do you think they’ll think we’re dead?”

  Gavin shrugged, as if to say, ‘Who cares?’ “I don’t know,” he said.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” Eddie said. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll think we’re all together. They have to find out sooner or later that we left together, and all our camping stuff is missing. Don’t you think?”

  “I guess so,” Gavin replied.

  “Doesn’t Albert live around here somewhere?”

  “He’s right there,” Gavin pointed down the sidewalk.

  Albert stood in the shadows with a knit-hat on. He’d pulled apart two fishing poles and fixed them to the pack with twine. A black, plastic case was fixed to the other side of his pack. Albert did not look the same in the heavy brown coat and bright yellow backpack. “Man, I thought you guys were never gonna show. I’ve been trying to keep to the shadows in case any cars drive by. I’ve been waiting to get this over with all day.”

  Eddie and Gavin smiled.

  “What’s that?” Eddie said, indicating the case on Albert’s pack.

  “My dad’s rifle. It’s a thirty-ought-six, and I got plenty of bullets. Delivers a kick, but I think I can manage. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Hopefully none of us will be sorry if you point it in the wrong direction,” Eddie said.

  Albert rolled his eyes, and they started down the road.

  “So,” Albert said. “Was it hard for you to say good-bye?”

  Gavin experienced a sense of déjà-vu. He smiled, thinking about his mother on the couch, the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. “Not at all,” he said.

  viii

  Masie came home earlier than expected.

  From his room, Seth heard the front door close. He looked up from inspecting his supplies, having to wait until the last minute to get ready. After his mother had retired to bed, he’d found the bright red backpack outside in the yard. Seth grabbed the pack and hurried back inside, spending the rest of the evening situating his things. Malcolm had gotten him a quality pack: pockets and zippers, plenty of room for his clothes and the food he’d stolen from the kitchen.

  It was now quarter to twelve. Seth hid the backp
ack under his bed along with his boots until it was time to leave.

  A light tap issued on the door. Masie opened it and poked her head inside. “Hey. You’re still up?”

  “Yeah. I’ve just been fooling around.”

  “No one I know is it?” she asked, smiling.

  Seth grinned and shook his head.

  “Well. I just wanted to say goodnight. I’m gonna hit the sack.” Masie yawned.

  Seth felt himself getting tired as well, but fought it. They had a lot of walking to do, and he’d been too anxious earlier for a nap.

  “Good night, Masie,” he said.

  “Love ya, squirt,” she said.

  “Love you, too.” Masie disappeared and shut the door. A few seconds later, he heard her bedroom door close from down the hall.

  Seth let out his breath.

  Instead of creeping down the hallway and through the kitchen, he decided to climb out the window.

  Seth changed, putting his winter clothes on, listening carefully for Masie or his mother in case they got up to use the bathroom. He put on his socks, pants, and shirt under a blue button-up. He slipped on his coat.

  Seth went to the window and slid the pane up, taking the screen out, which he set on the ground. He grabbed his backpack from under the bed, a sleeping bag tied to the top, then eased the pack out the window. He dropped his boots outside next to the pack, waiting to put them on once he was outside.

  He double-checked the room, then turned off the bedroom light. At the window, he eased himself up, over, outside, and onto the grass.

  Seth paused, listening for Masie or his mother. All was quiet except for the crickets. He reached up and closed the window. He grabbed the backpack, his boots, and hurried to the side of the house, sitting on the grass and laced up his boots. He stood up, putting the pack on, buckling it around his midsection.

  It was a clear, cold night. The stars were out.

  Seth kept to the shadows and moved around to the front yard, walking down Montgomery Avenue.

  Kinsey was standing under a streetlamp at the end of the block, wearing a heavy blue coat and a backpack. A dark hat covered her ears, hair spilling out over her shoulders. She’d fixed a sleeping bag to the top of her pack as well. At the bottom, she’d attached a small cooking pot. A hatchet dangled in a sheathe.