The Dragon Tree (17 page)

             
“What in the name of hell!” Humphries shouted. He pounded the wheel and ran his fingers along the boat’s controls. “I’ve got no steering! No power! Something shorted out, Matthews! Find out what it is!”

             
Art fumbled for an industrial flashlight affixed to the wall and shook his head angrily. “No circuit breakers on this trawler, Captain. No power but the engines. If they stalled it’ll take at least an hour to… We’re turning sideways in the swells!”

             
Art used his elbow to smash the glass case that housed the Coast Guard distress beacon. He slapped his palm against the red button that triggered its signal.

             
“What are you doing, Matthews?! Take the wheel, damn you! Take the wheel and bring us straight again!”

             
“No time for that you bloody fool!” Art screamed. So much for carefully chosen words.

             
Art raced out of the cabin and down a narrow set of stairs, disappearing below deck. Humphries was hollering at him to come back, but Art no longer cared whose name was on the company charter.

             
This was life and death.

             
There were nine sailors downstairs, sitting around the kitchen table and trying to sip coffee whenever the ship’s violent rocking allowed. Some were young, some old. They all had the same expression on their faces: forced calm. None of the men would ever admit fear, but for a trained eye like Art’s their terror was unmistakable.

             
“Up and lively, gents! Lifeboats!” Art shouted.

             
The men hopped up from their seats. On unsteady feet they slipped across the floor and followed their true captain up the stairs.

              Humphries watched from the wheelhouse as his crew spilled out onto the unlit deck. Two men frantically handed out survival suits – thick orange monstrosities – that would protect them from the worst effects of the frigid water once they went overboard. Their mutinous leader – Art Matthews – wrenched the lifeboat free of its iron cabinet and screamed at the men.

             
“You’ve got no courage!” Humphries screamed, one lock of hair hanging over his eye. “A true captain goes down with the ship!”

             
It was difficult to see in the darkness, but Art yanked on something too small for Humphries to make out and a bright yellow raft inflated with a lurch. The men on deck worked together to drag the raft toward the starboard railing.

             
That moment, a thirty-foot wave raced out of the darkness. It arced over the deck and came crashing down with silent fury. The men in the survival suits never saw it coming, and it scattered them across the deck like bowling pins. The bright yellow raft stood on end and cartwheeled toward the edge. It was halfway over the railing when Art slid across the deck and grabbed a rope. He held on with all his strength until two more men scrambled over to help him.

             
Art and the sailors pushed the raft toward a gap in the railing and hooked it up to a winch. One man climbed inside while the others lowered the raft overboard. They took turns climbing over the railing where an iron ladder waited.

             
Art was the last man on deck. He held up his hand to shield his eyes from the rain and looked up at the wheelhouse at Humphries.

             
“Not a chance, you cowardly bastard,” Humphries whispered. “The captain goes down with the ship.”

             
Humphries caught a fleeting glimpse of the packed yellow raft as it rode up a swell and disappeared over the other side. The current would carry the raft away quickly – oh so quickly – and the distress beacon with it.

             
Humphries cowered against the wall of the tilted wheelhouse – what had become the floor – and screamed a savage stream of curses. He could hear his own voice above the gale outside the wheelhouse windows but he screamed anyway until his throat was raw and throbbing.

             
“End it now!” he screamed at the sea. “Take me under!”

             
He crawled his way up the control panel and reached up blindly. He latched onto the wheel, but the tilted ship’s rudder was out of the water and the wheel spun easily in his hands. He was jarred loose and lost his grip on the wheel. He tumbled through space, falling ten feet before he landed hard against the wall. His head slammed against the case where Art had triggered the Coast Guard signal, and strange warmth spread through his skull until there was nothing left but darkness.

***

              Eva burst free of her parents’ house with such force that her momentum carried her directly into the boughs of a massive oak tree. She smashed through a tangle of limbs, numerous branches jabbing her in the belly. Her scaled skin was so thick and hard, however, that the branches could scarcely give her a scratch.

             
The trunk of the tree splintered, but it didn’t break. The tree tilted back and its thick roots rose from the ground, launching a cascade of dirt into the air. She hung on with her talons and tail as the mighty tree fell to the ground and struck with a thud, dislodging her and sending her tumbling.

             
She was sprawled on the asphalt in the center of her residential neighborhood.

             
Get up, Eva. Get up, Eva! GET UP!

             
She clawed her way upright and tried to run, but her legs were too short and her body too heavy. Her tail dragged behind her, scraping against the pavement and ripping out softball-size chunks. The wind buttressed her body from one side, threatening to knock her over.

             
Gotta fly… now.

             
She flexed her arms – what had been her arms – and her yellow wings responded. She felt her feet leave the ground, and her tail a moment later. Her stomach went cold and gurgled with nausea at the sensation of suspension, but she ignored the discomfort and pumped her wings that much harder. She struggled to gain lift under her wings, and so she flew down the street a few feet off the ground. The powerful wind blew her off course and she smashed into a parked car. Its alarm shrieked and its headlights flashed as she dug into the door with her talons, then pushed off and spread her wings.

             
The heavy wind lifted her higher, at last, but she was flying straight toward Mrs. Healy’s house. As the wind carried her over the house she couldn’t lift her legs high enough to avoid ripping ten feet of shingles off the roof. Her dragging tail worsened the damage, but she kept pumping her wings and finally – finally! – felt herself rising.

             
Still terrified that someone would see her, Eva turned into the storm and flapped her wings furiously. She wouldn’t feel safe until she had escaped her neighborhood. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was with Billy and Hiroki on the cliffs.

***

              Hideo Tanaka sat quietly in a hard wooden chair and watched the rain slide down his second story window. He tried to count the raindrops as they struck the glass, but the storm only worsened and the droplets came much too fast.

             
I cannot control the rain. I can control… nothing.

             
Hiroki had hurried out of the house that morning after eating three plates of breakfast. Reiko had laughed as Hiroki shoveled food into his mouth with no end in sight, but Hideo had not been amused. He knew firsthand what a terrible appetite Hiroki was feeling.

             
Long ago, he had felt it himself.

             
Tears came to Hideo’s eyes and further obscured his view out the window. He thought he saw a mustard-yellow shape in the sky, blinking in and out of view, too low to be an airplane.

             
“Dad?” Reiko called as she opened his door. “The news is saying the storm may have produced a tornado. We need to go in the basement.”

              Hideo wiped his eyes dry to get another look out the window, but the object – the hauntingly familiar object – was already gone. He rose slowly to his feet and allowed Reiko to take his elbow.

             
“Where is Hiroki?”

             
“He’s studying at the library with his friend Billy. The building has a basement and I’m sure he’s fine. Let’s hurry, please.”

***

              William Rasmussen bent low as he ran across the gravel road that weaved through the RV park. He carried nothing but a lockbox that held important papers – Billy’s birth certificate, his marriage license, his military discharge papers – and a few small bundles of cash. He normally kept the box screwed to the underside of a kitchen cabinet, hidden from view for all but the most industrious thieves. But with the storm bearing down on Hudson he would be a fool to leave it in the flimsy trailer.

             
Other residents of the RV park were also in the road, hustling toward the storm shelter in the center of the property. Some carried nothing at all while others carried multiple suitcases bursting with clothes.

             
Where are you Billy? Of all the nights to be out getting into trouble…

             
When William reached the storm shelter, he waited in the pelting rain and helped guide several families inside. His clothes were soaked through and his hair whipping in the wind, but he turned his back to the storm and gritted his teeth.

             
Dammit Billy… dammit!

             
That moment, in the seconds between thunderclaps, he heard a terrible screech overhead. It sounded like a cawing bird of prey but had an unusual metallic edge. And unless the bird was perched on his shoulder, the sheer volume of the screech was much too loud. He looked up to spy its source but saw only dark storm clouds.

             
William stepped into the storm shelter, still cradling the lockbox against his ribs.

             
Find shelter, son.

***

              An ice-white bolt of lightning illuminated the water ahead of Billy. He saw huge waves rolling chaotically in every direction at once. He thought he saw something else. Even with his superb night vision, the constantly changing waves made it difficult for Billy to be sure.

             
No, a ship would have lights. Unless…

             
Several more bolts of lightning tore through the night sky in quick succession just as the dark vessel rose to the top of a wave. The fishing trawler was as long as him and, by all appearances, completely helpless. It had turned sideways in the water so that every wave smashed into its side and threatened to capsize the boat.

             
Hiro, do you see it? Get down here, man!

             
He had done his best to keep track of Hiroki’s mind telepathically so they wouldn’t be separated, and sensed that Hiroki was just overhead. He looked up expecting to see a narrow green body cutting in and out of the storm clouds, but he saw… nothing.

             
Then he remembered. Hiroki’s underside was reflective just like his. He looked up again and strained his keen eyes until he made out a distortion in the shape of Hiroki’s long body. A bolt of lightning shattered the darkness and ruined Hiroki’s camouflage, illuminating is underside like a disco ball.

             
On cue, Hiroki dove like a missile.

             
Billy thought he would go crashing into the water just like he had on his first kamikaze dive, but Hiroki flared his wings and pulled up abruptly. He swung his tail back and forth to steady himself, then fell into flight next to Billy.

             
That kicked ass! You’re already a better flier than me, Hiro.

             
Hiroki screeched an affirmative response, his jaws parting in a cocky smile.

             
There’s a boat up ahead. Dead in the water.

             
Hiroki’s dragon smile turned into a growl. He screeched unpleasantly and rose on a gust of wind.

             
They won’t see us in the dark, Hiro. We gotta do something.

             
But Hiroki wasn’t listening. He used the strong wind to steer him sideways and veered away from Billy’s course.

             
Come back, Hiro!

             
Billy growled with frustration, then lowered his head and pumped his wings furiously. He dipped left and right to keep his wings out of the black waves rising up to meet him. Cold spray washed over him, but he hardly felt the chill.