Dragon's Blood

By Elizabeth Okma

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It used to be a high school back when the city limits reached this far, back before normal life slipped away and nature reclaimed it all. Now it was a half collapsed fortress, windows boarded up with sheet metal and plywood. The only way in was through the backside of the gym, across an overgrown field littered with craters and twisted remains of Humvees. It’s hard to guess how many had been lost in a spray of dirt and fire, all lives his father had sent without batting an eye.

Orion tried to take a deep breath, but his chest struggled under the weight of the bullet proof vest. He could hear the shifting of Gavin adjusting his own. He guessed the saying was true; real friends will follow you into no-man’s land.

“If anything happens in there, we’ll be in within seconds,” General Sing stated.

Straight forward was always his language. It may have left little room for comfort, but despite that chiseled jaw and onyx eyes, there was a man who’d cared for Orion since he was a child. In his hand was an outdated walkie-talkie. Orion took it.

Gavin stepped forward, looking for his. There was none.

“Not this time friend,” Orion muttered.

Gavin squared him up. “Like hell--”

General Sing snapped, “Lieutenant Reeds! Some respect please.”

Like the flip of a switch, Gavin’s body straightened into that of a soldier. Only his emerald eyes gave away his temper. Orion tried his best to give his friend a smile of comfort. They’d talked about this. To get close enough, this had to be on his own. He took in another breath, turning back to the field.

For them. For them.

The words rambled over each other in his head, as his feet carried him forward. He made sure to avoid the mounds of disturbed earth. Being able to fly had always interested him. Just not today.

For them. For them. For her.

His sister’s voice giggled in his mind despite the ticking clock. The doctors said it was just the start, but everyone knew the Dragon’s blood virus didn’t take long. At least the blisters hadn’t come out yet. Just the high fever and feeling of being on fire. Half the nation felt like it was aflame with no way of putting it out. All they had were hopes riding on a prince trying to dance his way across a minefield.

Eventually the huge steel door stared down at him. He glanced back at the tree line and the small infantry standing by. Gavin was still at the edge. Orion knew that he too had family riding on this confrontation. Orion hoped that he could see him nod, as he slipped inside.

The door hollowly clunked shut. The musty smell of dust and floor wax flooded Orion’s nose. Much of the gym was empty except for some rotted bleachers and flattened basketballs. His footsteps seemed to squeak no matter how softly he stepped.

The same was for the hallway and its cream vinyl titling. Many of the navy lockers had been left gaping. Backpacks and extra sneakers spilled out, leaving the papers to scatter like decaying autumn leaves. A few tiles had crumbled, making the ceiling look like a frozen lake cracking under foot. Snapped wires huge like limp tree limbs.

Nothing moved. Nothing stirred, yet Orion couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Maybe there was a reason he was able to get in so easily.

207, 208, 209. He focused on the classroom numbers. The doors to many of which were closed. The few open ones beckoned hungrily. He resisted until one of the larger ones emerged around the corner.

Beyond the door frame, Orion could make out lab tables. Boiling liquid mixed with leaking gas whispered from inside. That had to be it. Where else would a disgraced scientist hide out?

Another deep breath. Orion stepped inside. His hand clenched the walkie-talkie tighter. His shoulders ached under the vest.

The whole room looked timeless. The dust had been swept away. The chairs were all tucked in. Only the tables and whiteboards showed that anyone had even been there. Scribbles in a flurry of blue and red covered the boards. None of the numbers or symbols meant anything to Orion, but at least they were something. On the tables were microscopes, open notebooks, glassware of every shape and slides dotted with red circles. A beaker bubbled over an open flame. It was all something.

The door slammed shut. Orion jumped back. The cracking of electricity echoed off the walls. A shorter girl with midnight locks and crooked plastic glasses stood in the entryway. A long metal rod with a rubber handle was in her hand. The large battery strapped to it with duct tape ran wires down to two prongs. A blue arch jumped between them before disappearing.

“Doctor Lumin?” Orion stuttered.

“Give it.” She motioned towards the walkie-talkie.

Orion didn’t protest. Instead he skidded it across the floor. It stopped beside her foot, but she didn’t even stir to pick it up.

Slowly he raised his hands. “I’m here on behalf of the nation--”

She took a couple steps forward. “I’m aware.”

Her head motioned to a faded poster barely clinging to the wall above one of the sinks. The bottom half had long fallen off, but Orion could still make out the face of his fifteen-year-old self and red bubble letters promoting a robotic team. He used to hate sitting for those pictures in his starched uniform and clunky crown.

A comeback tried to form in Orion’s mouth, but all he found was empty air. The words retreated further, as she released two more clicks of the cane. Every muscle in his body fought. Some wanted to run. Others wanted to stay. Luckily those were the ones in charge of his legs.

She wasn’t the doctor. That he knew.

“I need to speak with Doctor Lumin,” he muttered.

She raised the cane, the points aimed at his chest. “What part ‘leave us alone’ do you guys not understand?”

“Just let me speak with him.”

The prongs pushed over the top of the vest and against his flesh. The metal was oddly warm.

With the distance closed, it was easier to see the details of her face. The edge in her nose and eyes were strangely familiar. Blister scars creeped out from under her scarf and up to the corner of her right ear, remnants of a battle won against the plague. Patches of them littered her forearms, but her eyes were alight, not like the glossed over baby blues of his sister.

“Please she’s eleven.” He leaned slightly back. “It’s only been two days. There’s still a chance.”

“What’s her name?”

Orion hesitated. “Lily.”

“Last name.”

“Carmicheal.” Orion tried the best to steady his voice.

The prongs jabbed into his carotid. “Did your mom remarry that fast?”

Confusion flooded his face. In response a grin snaked across hers.

“Won’t be surprising. She’s quite pretty.” She shoved him back with the stick, crossing the room to one of the tables.

Orion stood there. No matter how hard he searched there was no name.

She just laughed. “I remember her having such a gentle presence while your father exiled us.”

“And look where that got him.” The words jumped out of Orion’s mouth.

She turned off the flame under the burner. “No loss of love there. Interesting.”

“Maybe he deserved it. Lily doesn’t.”

“Neither does most people, yet death reigns. Funny how that works.” She rounded the table, slowly pushing him towards the door.

Orion gave her one step back. “Please--”

“And you know the best part about it all. He still cared. Constantly in here trying to fix this mess.”

His feet did their best not to trip over each other. “Is that how you survived?”

She suddenly paused. “No. A cruel miracle.”

“Where’s the doctor?”

The cane’s blue tip roared. “Leave!”

“Not without Doctor Lumin.” Orion stood firm.

Coughing came from the side storage room; the door had been left ajar.

For a minute, the pair just stood there frozen. The girl’s grip tightened on the stick. Orion bolted. A swoosh of metal and power sliced through the air. It missed. His hand threw open the door.

A man was curled up on the floor. His lengthy frame shook violently. His skin was stained with blisters and a pool of blood covered the ground beneath his mouth. Sweat soaked torn blankets and a stained lab coat.

Orion’s heart dropped into his chest. His whole body went slack though his eyes stayed locked.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to mumble.

“No, you’re sorry his works gone.” She called behind him.

He turned back, but her eyes stared past him. Her arms went just limp enough that Orion could finally see the bruising in the crook of her elbow. There was a sea of tiny little pinpricks above where the veins should be. They had just started to clot.

“We have doctors--”

“Who can do what?” she said.

“Something,” Orion said, “Maybe with his notes and you.”

“I do technology, not human cells.”

“I mean this.” Orion snatched up a glass slate, still coated in fresh blood.

“He’s tried that. Over and over again he’s tried. How will they?”

“I don’t know, but shouldn’t you try?”

Silence hung in the air for far too long. Orion waited patiently. Eventually she sighed and paced across the room. Her hand snatched up the walkie-talkie. It was shoved Orion’s chest.

“Tell your men. We move him first. Then the notebooks and slides, and I won’t be treated like no lab rat,” she barked. “It’s Calen by the way. Think you can remember it this time?”

Orion nodded, as he lifted the walkie-talkie to his lips, muttering for General Sang to come in.

Finally there was something, something to put the fire out.