Attrition (Part Two)
Then, with the violence of an earthquake, a third dragon fell from the sky.
Have you read part one? Read it here.
They sank into the stinking mud and breathed heavily with a wheezing fear. The boys did not know if their brothers, Clyde and Harold, were alive and hiding or lying under the burning trees charred to ashes.
The dragon circled, its snaking belly illuminated and flickering above the fire.
The light from the forest, now engulfed in flames, rippled in the darkness. From the reeds, they watched the orange glow.
Leathery wings waved over the brackish water and bent the cattails low as the dragon landed heavily in the field between the flaming forest and the river. Henry and William scanned for any movement—any sign of their brothers. The dragon coiled like a rattlesnake, its head moving, searching for life. Then, another shadow overhead streaked toward the inferno, swooping low enough to scrape the tops of the burning pines that roared with the growl of consuming fire gulping for air.
The coiled dragon struck out, reaching the tail of the second, swooping dragon. Wounded, it veered suddenly and looped in on itself, the rest of its body following a tightly decreasing radius as it fell to the ground.
The earth rolled like a wave, and dirt and grass flew into the air, spraying like the sea. Two curling bodies twisted around each other, their heads free and snapping. They moved like bullwhips along the ground. When either struck and tore a mouthful of flesh, flames shot heavenward like a geyser. A hot, angry screech from the first dragon fanned the inferno like a bellows. The second dragon reared, opening the hard scales under its neck to an attack, and the other lunged with a brutal slashing bite. Flames and a roar shot from its throat until both died in a long, rasping breath. The dragon fell backward, turning from golden red to gray-blue, and lay still at the foot of the flames.
To the right of Henry's peripheral vision, near the edge of the burning woods, two small shapes crept on the verge of the shadows.
The wounded dragon slithered into the clearing. Its body bled fire from gashes along its length. Smoke clung to its hideous shape. It tightened into a coil, and a third of its body rose high, its wings stretched wide.
Two shapes in the shadows moved in a halting, limping run toward the swale full of cattails.
The dragon flicked its head in the direction of the movement. Its anger was ferocious, unrivaled in its hatred, and blind to all but malice.
The woods still burned and roared. Ash floated in the air like snow. Henry and William crawled out of the reeds covered with black mud, shaking from fear.
Then, with the violence of an earthquake, a third dragon fell from the sky. It slammed its body against the wounded serpent, knocking it sideways and into the flaming woods.
With a bursting fierceness and its body glowing like molten metal, it shot out of the flames and onto the body of the third dragon. Though uninjured, the additional dragon weekly withstood the attack of the injured one that, now in a rage, wanted destruction.
Each snap of the dragon's jaws cracked like limbs falling from gnarled oak trees. With each mouthful of flesh, fire and sulfur steam exploded like a gunshot.
Henry and William bent low and waited, watching the monsters fight. William’s leg, sunk in the water and mud, throbbed and stabbed with pain. They did not move. They wondered about their brothers—dead now or alive—and how to get to them and run.
Both dragons shook with death rattles that moved the roots of burning trees, a rumble so deep that the boys sensed the world being unmade in the mighty hand of God.
The dragon that fell like a meteor was thrown down with final and lifeless dread. It cooled quickly, fading like the ash of a cigarette. The victorious serpent rose over it and spread its villainous wings. Fire bloomed from its wounds. It stood briefly, wavered, then fell forward, slamming into the ground beside the dust of the other dragons. It lay motionless, cooling, then fading into nothing.
The woods still burned and roared. Ash floated in the air like snow. Henry and William crawled out of the reeds covered with black mud, shaking from fear. To their right, Harold helped Clyde out of the cattails and toward them. They hugged each other, restraining the weeping rising like a tide in their chest.
They were hurt, and their gear was gone, but they knew the truth—dragons can be stopped.
They neared the burning woods and sat. The heat would dry them and keep them warm throughout the night.
In a few hours, they would move. They would burn any copse of trees, any wild forest, anything to send a signal to other dragons. They would draw the destroyers to the chaos, stand back, and watch them fall.