Raising Dragons (17 page)

Several men ran here and there, putting up and testing light standards near the trailhead, and a couple of the big lamps flooded the area with light. An assortment of sport utility vehicles and pickup trucks had lined up perpendicular to the road, and one truck bed held a big steel cage with two baying dogs scratching to get into the action. Their barking was drowned out by the roaring of a huge generator, which sat right next to where Mr. Hamilton had parked.

Walter pulled up his hood and then pressed his gloved hands against his ears. He followed Mr. Hamilton toward a uniformed man standing by a state patrol car about fifty feet away. The teacher waited for the policeman to finish his radio conversation before introducing himself.

“Good evening. My name is Charles Hamilton. My young friend, Walter Foley, and I are here to join the volunteer search team. His father, Carl Foley, will also be joining us in the morning if the search is still underway.”

The patrolman pointed in the direction of the trucks behind him. “Look for a red-headed guy with a full beard. That’s Scott. He’s organizing the next group to go out.”

Mr. Hamilton strode on, and Walter followed, bundling his coat even closer to his body. The breeze was picking up, a much colder, more biting wind than back at Castlewood.

When they found Scott, he welcomed them with hearty handshakes. A thick, red beard masked his square jaw, and a checkered flannel shirt covered his stocky arms and spilled over the zipper of his thick vest, making him look like the stereotypical lumberjack. He had a deep voice, but it didn’t bellow like Walter expected. He spoke to Mr. Hamilton in the manner of a college professor, with no trace of any of the local accents.

“A low pressure area is riding northeast on the cold front,” Scott explained, “so we have to get out there before the precipitation begins. Air support is at a minimum, and locals are still arriving.” He pointed across the access road. “One group will go east across Glady Fork toward Panther Camp Ridge and Sully; the other group will go west on the footpath toward Shavers Mountain. We’ll have one chopper on each side with searchlights. I don’t know how long they’ll be able to stay up with all the crosswinds at mid-levels, so we have to get moving.”

The two adults discussed their options while Walter looked out over the barely visible mountaintops. Was his friend out there somewhere? He pulled his coat closer again and pressed his hands tightly against his belly. The worries of the night and the smell of the diesel generator worked together to stir his stomach into an evil, boiling swill pot. His anxiety mounted as he scanned the skyline, dark clouds announcing the end of twilight as they shrouded the tallest peaks. Would they be able to find Billy up there? He watched a helicopter guiding a beam of light through a driving wave of low clouds. What hope did that overgrown flashlight have of finding anything in such a big place? Not much, he guessed, but if anyone could find his way out of those woods, Billy could . . . he hoped.

Walter heard Scott mention the huge number of square miles in the search area he called the Otter Creek Wilderness. A wilderness? The lump in his throat swelled to the size of a goose egg. Men and women walked around him with hurried steps and glum faces. Did they know something dangerous about this area? Did they have any hope? Walter looked up again and tried to choke back the tears. “God,” he whispered, “please help Billy get home.”

I’m so sorry, Billy!” Bonnie looked up from her seated position, rubbing her knee again. She did everything she could to keep from crying, but the pain was too much. Her tears flowed freely, though she kept the heaving sobs in check.

“It’s all right, Bonnie. I need to rest, too, but we’d better move to a safer place.” Billy helped her up, and, almost fully supporting her, headed across a leaf-filled channel to a large tree with smooth, white bark. The two sat at its base and leaned back against its massive trunk. Bonnie scrunched up her wings to sit close to Billy; she knew they had to huddle to stay warm.

Billy stroked his arms, massaging friction heat into his frigid limbs. “It’s really getting cold. My sweat’s drying up, and I’m getting numb.” He blew on his cracking hands and rubbed them together. His frequent attempts at keeping them warm with his superheated breath had taken their toll on his skin.

“Then we can’t stay in one place long or you’ll freeze. I’d give you my sweatshirt if I could, but it’s all I have.”

Billy tightened his lips and stopped rubbing. “No, I’m okay. We’ll stay. You have to rest.” He got up and began sweeping leaves toward the trunk with both feet. After just a few minutes, he had pushed enough together to make a chest-high nest around Bonnie. He sat next to her again and used his hands to gather the leaves toward his own body, enough to cover up to his elbows.

Their leaf blanket helped, but Bonnie noted the goose bumps on Billy’s bare lower arms, and she recognized his chivalry. He had been taught by a true dragon. “The leaves are great, Billy,” she said, bending at the waist. “But we’re still cold at the top. Lean forward for a second.”

Billy seemed taken aback for a brief moment, but he obeyed. When they had bent forward enough to make a gap between them and the tree, Bonnie extended her wings fully. “Now, please slide closer to me,” she said gently.

Again, Billy did as she asked, sliding up to her, hip to hip. “I’ll bet I stink by now,” he warned.

“No worse than I do.” Bonnie then wrapped her wings around their upper bodies. “Pull your arms in to your sides so I can close the gaps.” Billy complied, and Bonnie made a shell with her wings so that only their two heads poked out through the top. With leaves covering their lower portions, the wind had no way to enter their makeshift shelter.

“Warmer?” she asked.

“Definitely!” Billy looked around at their leather-like blanket. “It’s amazing how you can bend your wings in all the right places to do that.”

Bonnie laughed. “I’ve had a lot of practice. On some nights I fly up to the top of Mount Hardin and look at the stars. The peak is usually above the low clouds, and it can get real cold up there, so I just make a cocoon and I’m fine. My wings don’t get cold, so it works out great.”

“You just look at the stars? Doesn’t that get boring after a while?”

Bonnie stared up into the starless sky for a moment. “Well . . . I pray quite a bit. And I think about things. You know, what I’d like to do, where I’d like to go.”

Billy turned his head, and their eyes met within inches of each other. The darkness now was almost complete, and only the slightest glow from the moon-painted clouds allowed Bonnie to see Billy’s face. It was tired, but warm sincerity poured forth. “What would you like to do, Bonnie?” he asked. “Where do you want to go?”

Bonnie looked ahead and sighed. “What I’d really like . . .” Her voice trailed off into a trembling whisper. “I’d really like to have my mother back.” She remained quiet for several seconds. Then she sniffed, and through a tortured, cracking voice, she went on. “I know you’ll try to understand, and maybe you will understand now that your father’s missing, but it’s real hard to talk about.” She stopped again.

“Take your time,” Billy said softly.

Bonnie nodded thankfully and went on, still in a choking voice.

“I watched my mother die. I didn’t see how it happened, but when I got to her, she had a huge gash in her stomach. It was awful. She was barely alive, lying there on the living room floor, and she told me to run, to get to the state agency as fast as I could, just like we had planned. I knew what to do, but I didn’t want to leave. I held her hand for a few seconds, and then I heard a noise, like heavy footsteps. Her eyes got real big, and she said, ‘Run! Don’t look back! Just run!’ Then her eyes closed and she stopped breathing. I didn’t dare scream or cry. I just ran out the back door and all the way into town.”

“To go into foster care?”

Bonnie sniffed again and gathered herself together before continuing. “Yes. I knew who to ask for, and all the paperwork was already done. They had a new last name for me and a place to go. And Mom had already arranged for me to get transferred to Castlewood, because she knew that’s where your father lived. She even had a train ticket for me. The only problem was that she didn’t tell me exactly where you live. I’m not sure if she knew that herself. And she never even told me your father’s human name. I suppose she was going to contact him if things got too dangerous. Mom never finished her plans, but obviously she knew all this could happen.”

“Because the slayers were after her?”

Bonnie tightened her lips and nodded.

“And you’ve been looking for my dad ever since?”

She nodded again, her eyes clenched shut to keep in the tears.

Both stopped talking for a minute or so, and Billy let out a sympathetic sigh. “So . . . I guess you really miss your mom, huh? I guess you want a new home? Some real parents?”

She nodded her head once more, her eyes still closed. She turned to him and felt the warmth of his breath caressing her cold nose, but when she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see him at all. The darkness had enveloped them. “That’s the part I hope you never have to go through,” she went on. “Can you imagine going from one home to another, having a new set of brothers and sisters every couple of weeks? Nobody wants me, because I’m so weird.” Her voice sputtered and cracked more and more as she spoke. “Sometimes I wake up and I’m afraid to open my eyes. I wait until I can picture where I am, and sometimes I can’t remember. Then, I hear strange voices in the hall, and I don’t even know who they belong to.”

Her voice grew louder, and sobs punctuated her sentences. “Sometimes I’m not even alone in bed. Can you imagine trying to keep my secret when I have to sleep with a little sister? Can you imagine trying to explain to new parents why I can’t go to the doctor, why I always wear a backpack, why I never even let them hug me?” For a moment Bonnie couldn’t go on. Her voice was overcome by her turmoil, and she tried one more time, her words interrupted by heaving sobs. “And sometimes . . . when I think of my mother . . . and how she would hug me—” Bonnie broke down, her head bobbing pitifully as she wept.

Billy put both of his arms around her. The two leaned their heads together, and Billy sniffed away his own tears, hugging her close and rocking her gently. “Forever and ever, Bonnie,” he said tenderly, “I will always be your friend.”

The two stayed quiet for several minutes, and Bonnie’s crying subsided. Although her face was now moist with tears, she noticed a new wet sensation on her head. “Is it raining?”

Billy shook his head to fling off the wetness. “No. It’s snow. At least we’ll have clean water to drink if we need it. Those mountain streams are nice and cold, but that last one was pretty muddy.”

Bonnie put her head down toward her chest. “Lean your head forward as much as you can.”

Billy complied, and part of Bonnie’s wings moved to cover their heads. “Amazing!” was all he could say.

“Now, if you can stand the smell, try to get some rest.”

“I guess there’s no use trying to find the road in the dark.”

Bonnie yawned. “Nope. Not a chance.”

“I suppose my mom’s huddled in a big pile of leaves or something.”

“Yep. She’s a smart one.” Bonnie yawned again, and in a few seconds she was sound asleep.

As dawn broke, a group of weary searchers stepped out of a Ford Expedition and into a field of white powder. Walter, though bleary-eyed, couldn’t help but enjoy the sight. “How much snow do you think we got, Mr. Hamilton?”

The teacher kicked the snow with his boot. To Walter he looked a lot different with his wild gray hair stuffed under his royal blue ski cap. Only a few wispy locks poked through alongside his ear lobes. “Oh, I would estimate about fifteen centimeters.”

“Centimeters? I guess that’s about . . . uh—”

“About six inches, Walter.” Mr. Hamilton patted him on the back. “I’m sure you’re tired. We had only three hours of sleep in that seedy motel, but we must get to work.”

Walter gazed into the awakening skyline. “Yeah. Billy’s still up there somewhere.”

The teacher tilted his head to the side. “I hear the helicopter. Perhaps daylight brings us good news.” They watched the metal bird buzz away over the ridge as they headed for the search team’s morning rendezvous.

Walter and Mr. Hamilton followed the directions of their group leader and formed a sweep line, each person staying within sight distance of the next, and they walked into the mountains. When they had moved well into the trees, they kept contact with each other through various calls and shouts, slowing their progress as they scaled the mountain. Their group leader carried a walkie-talkie and kept barking out updates that had been relayed from the helicopter. Finally, after an hour or so, he let out a whoop. “They found the plane! They found the plane!”

Everyone else in the party followed the sound of the shouting, and they gathered to listen.

“It’s on Shavers Mountain, south of us. Let’s get back to the base, and get exact coordinates. I’m sure we’ll be concentrating the search in that area.”

With renewed enthusiasm the search team hurried down the mountainside and into the valley. When they arrived at base camp, Walter and Mr. Hamilton found the police officer they had met the night before. He was in heated debate with another man who apparently was the leader of a trio that waited alongside.

“Look, I don’t know who you are,” the patrolman snapped. “What makes you think you can come down here and take over something you know nothing about?”

The other man flashed a badge in a leather case. “I’m not taking over; I’m just telling you to report all findings to me. If you don’t, I will take over.”

The patrolman left in a huff, and the man with the badge looked back at his three friends and laughed. “They’re just a bunch of local yokels! Come on. Let’s get to the crash scene.”

Walter tugged on his teacher’s coat and whispered. “Mr. Hamilton. Look at that guy. Is that—”?

Mr. Hamilton pulled Walter to the side. “Don’t show your face. Yes, it does look like Whittier, or whatever he’s calling himself, and he’s walking with a limp.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I suggest that we call him Devin, at least for now, to prevent confusion. Let’s talk to the patrolman and see what’s going on.”