Heart of a Dragon

Chapter Thirty-Five

Santini Park was awash in silent shadows. The Dragons arrived in a slow, winding string of bright headlight beams and rumbling engines. Snake pulled up first, as he had before the previous battle. He let the old bike roll to a stop against the curb, slid the kickstand into place, and sat very still. Salvatore sat behind him, clinging to Snake's jacket with one arm and holding onto the flagpole with the other. His shoulder ached from where the wind had fought to rip his burden from his arms. His eyes watered, and his eyes were wide.

It hadn't been a long ride, but Salvatore was unused to the precise balance and the whipping of the wind against his unprotected face. Snake had ridden without a helmet, his long hair flowing out behind him and tickling Salvatore's face. They had never gotten over twenty miles an hour, but it had reminded Salvatore of that other place, of flying in the grip of the great red dragon. When he closed his eyes, he could see the city below, and the glowing, colored towers.

Now the others pulled in behind them. They peeled off to either side, flowing out and parking like rows of dominoes, each bike tipping onto its kickstand a moment before the next in line. They followed Snake's lead and sat very still. Salvatore scanned the park, but nothing in that darkness moved. He allowed himself to hope, just for a moment, that no one else would come. There was no way to know for certain that Los Escorpiones would meet this challenge, though they certainly must know by now that the Dragons were on the move. Word in the Barrio traveled like smoke, or the wind. Nothing happened that did not eventually make its way to the most distant of ears.

When the last of the Dragons had cut his engine, and they sat in a long, glittering line, the chrome of their engines catching and recasting moonlight, their faces shadowed silhouettes. The night went so deathly silent that Salvatore thought they must all be able to hear the pounding of his heart. It wasn't so much the fear of Los Escorpiones as the fact he could not see them. He could not hear them. He felt them like prickles of ice walking on spider feet over his skin. He sensed them in the hairs at the nape of his neck. He tasted the fear of those surrounding him, and an answering…something…in the darkness.

Snake slid off the bike and stepped onto the sidewalk. He scanned the park slowly, but there was nothing to see. Salvatore climbed carefully off the bike and stood beside Snake. To the right and left, the others followed suit. They lined the sidewalk, and this time there were so many that the entire edge of the park became a wall of Dragons. They didn't speak, and they didn't move. Every man of them waited for a sign from Snake.

In the park, the shadows shifted and slid. Patches of darkness so black they stood out, even against the darkness of the unlit field spread out before them, moved and then disappeared. There were lights in the distance. At least, to Salvatore they seem to be far in the distance. He knew the park, though, and it wasn't that big. It wasn't that deep. Those lights looked too far away to exist, and they danced in and around the moving shadows like will-o-the-wisps.

At every movement, Salvatore felt a shiver of fear dance up his spine. His hands were cold and clammy where he held the flagpole, and he tightened his grip until it was painful. He had one purpose, one reason to stand where he stood. He had to hold the flag. He had to hold it no matter what happened. He had to hold it, or whatever was out there in the darkness would win, and he would be standing there unprotected.

As they waited, a fog rose. It shimmered up from the grass and licked at the bases of the swings and slides. It floated across the ground from the trees on the far side of the park, sifted through the metal tubes of the monkey bars and jungle gyms. There was no reason for the fog. There was no change in temperature, and when he glanced up, Salvatore saw a clear night sky.

As that mist obscured their view of the park, something laughed. The sound was dark and chilling. The laughter skittered along the sidewalks and shivered through the air. It was joined by an echoing voice, and then another, but Salvatore could not see where the sounds came from.

The Dragons shifted nervously. There were coughs and muttered words. Snake glanced right, and then left along the line. Whatever was happening in the park was getting to them, and they wavered.

Snake reached out quickly and grabbed hold of the flagpole. He didn't yank it from Salvatore's hands, but he shook it, and the motion loosened the ties. With a snap, as if caught in a wind Salvatore couldn't feel, the flag unfurled and flew above them. Snake released the pole and Salvatore stumbled, just for an instant. Then he stood tall. Snake turned toward the park. He slid a heavy dagger from its sheath on his belt. The fog had risen halfway to the lowest branches of the trees now, and nothing but flickering lights was visible in front of them.

With a scream of rage and defiance, Snake lunged forward. Caught up in the moment, Salvatore raised his own small voice, joining it to Snake's as he plunged after.

The Dragons, as though released from some common bond that had held them immobile, followed, slipping in behind in ranks of three or four, forming the long, serpentine shape of a serpent as they followed Snake into battle.

Where Salvatore and the flag moved, the fog dispersed. He saw Snake ahead of him. Shadows flowed in to meet them, and the Dragons surged up and around him. Then the darkness resolved itself into faces. They were men, though their eyes were far too dark, and their expressions held no humanity. Salvatore thought of that dark place, the city of the Dragons, and thought such men as these might slink around the base of the wall and hide in the alleys between buildings. They were fast, so fast they blurred, and Salvatore struggled to avoid the hundred small battles erupting around him.

Snake fought like a man possessed. He lashed out with his blade, and wherever he turned, shadow-figures fell. He seemed taller, and for every bit of the demon speed of Los Escorpiones, he was faster. To his right, Jake fought valiantly. The big man glowed with an odd, greenish light that emanated from the dragon on his back. Salvatore wished in that instant that he could have painted the dragons of every one of them, could have armored them for this battle.

He held the flag high, and when he saw a Dragon in trouble, he lunged closer. The presence of the standard rallied them, lent them strength, and drove Los Escorpiones back into the shadows. The battle raged around them, wild, surreal, and encased in a wall of heavy mist and fog. They fought on, but the enemy seemed endless, and Salvatore feared they might never stop coming. His hands were slick from sweat, but he clutched the flagpole with all his strength and prayed for more. He had never felt so alive.