Promises To Keep
There are moments that define us individuals and as members of such a close knit community as their small refuge, Quinn thinks as he stands among the haphazard pile of stacked crates, barrels, and bags that is the storage room, clipboard in hand. His mind is only minutely focused on the task of inventorying the fresh supplies and equipment brought in Van Zan's troop of former professional soldiers turned mercenaries.
Quinn grips his ballpoint in his hand and grimaces, thinking well, the universe always did abhor a vacuum and there will always be somebody to fill any given niche, so once a solider always a soldier; a sentiment that his best friend Tim Creedy would no doubt appreciate. "Speaking of whom..." Quinn mutters aloud why isn't he here helping with the inventory? He loves stuff like this, number crunching and nice orderly tasks."
Quinn realizes when the world changed and the first rain of fire came from the sky everyone had been forced to adapt to the constantly changing circumstances, and Tim Creedy had been no exception. Because he found himself no longer confined to a nice cushy job in an officer happily crunching numbers and files Creedy had learned to work with people. No doubt about it; he'd be found out charming the good folks of company B along with the others assigned to the raid on an abandoned greenhouse to replenish the supplies already used up by the long term regulars and the fresh troops moving into their little stronghold.
Quinn debated whether or not to use the improvised communications equipment cobbled together by their radio operator, AJ, and paging Creedy, but then after another few moment's thought, decided against it. Creedy knew what he was doing, he certainly did not need Quinn, whom he considered something of an loved but naïve younger brother hovering over his shoulder telling how to do things he already knew perfectly well how to do.
Meanwhile huddled together under the shelter of the buildings eastward facing wall Creedy, Van Zan, along with the others tapped for duty on the greenhouse raid went over the final details of the plan. They would go out at the middle time of the day between the last fading light of day and dusk in souped up all terrain vehicles, armored and armed with semi-automatic rifles in case any of the winged dragons decided to pay an unscheduled visit. They would go out, get the supplies, and get back fast. It was a good plan, it was a simple, and it was also the only one they had.
The squad rolled out the gate the padded leather seat underneath him not quite enough to protect him from the jouncing the vehicle made rolling over the open ground that separated the fortress and their destination. Creedy wondered in all the name of sanity had possessed him to insist on coming along on this mission. Quinn would be furious.
Nice guy, a good leader despite his relative young age, and a good head on his shoulders. Quinn was not above willing to take on the risks that he asked of those his he lead; however; sometimes you had to take a few unnecessary risks, to do and not just observe, "How long till target?" Creedy asked of no one in particular, more for the comfort of hearing another person's voice other than his own.
"Half an hour," one of the soldiers replied.
"Good," Creedy nodded, and returned to thumbing the safety on his rifle.
Reaching the green house Van Zan issued curt, gruff orders to fan out and cover as much territory as possible in the prearranged time limit. Creedy turned off the ignition of his vehicle, opened the door and got out his side, accompanied by the young soldier he had spoken to on the way, rifle couched over his left shoulder.
Entering the greenhouse was uneventful, so far everything was going according to plan. "Do you think they beasties know we're here," the soldier muttered, nervously glancing around at the green and growing things that surrounded them on all sides, the glass enclosed ceiling above their heads split and cracked, in several places gaping open with a fantastic view of the sky.
"Don't say things like that, buddy," Creedy said, "You'll wind up jinxing the mission."
"I don't believe in things like jinxes."
"Trust me, I didn't either, but things change, right?"
"I guess so."
"Hey, tell you what, if this junket is successful," Creedy tilted his head to one side thinking matters through, "when we get back to the fortress the first round of drinks is on me."
"Lyman," the soldier replied.
"What?"
"Nicolas Lyman, that's my name. And I think I'll hold you to that."
"Then we'd better get this damn operation over with and on to the good stuff in life, huh?"
Moving farther into the interior, gathering up sacks of foodstuff and supplies, as much as they could carry, the soldier and Creedy turned around and headed back to the entrance, ready to load up the vehicles.
Outside the members of the team loaded down with sacks and crates of the supplies Lyman and Creedy began stacking their haul into the vehicle's interior when a high pitched whine coming from somewhere to the north made all further conversation impossible.
A dragon had arrived, breathing fire, and screaming in unnerving high- pitched way. It swooped around in the air hovering a few feet above the broken roof of the greenhouse before landing on the eastward facing side, claws digging into the glass and wood.
Creedy froze in shock; he had never seen one of the dragons this close before, and in that instant he fervently wished never to do so again as long as he lived. The dragon was big, terrifying and awe- inspiring all at once; it was also very, very dangerous. To his mind, after witnessing this, to his way of thinking, the only good dragon would be a dead dragon.
Only vaguely aware of the shouting of the people around him, the high pitched whine of semi automatic weapons fire, and the screech of tires on hard packed dirt and stone of the road Creedy realized it was high time they got the hell outta of here.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered aloud. "We're gonna get roasted alive, it's just a matter of time."
"And you were the one lecturing me on not jinxing things," Lyman said.
Responding to the frantic tugging on his left arm, the one not holding onto his weapon, Creedy turned around and allowed Lyman to help him scramble into the passenger side of the their transport, settling into his seat. Suddenly angry, Creedy swiveled around and facing the dragon stood up and locked returned fire.
"Are you nuts, man, that will only make it angrier," Lyman said.
"He's not the only one," Creedy muttered over his shoulder.
A few minutes later that felt like an eternity, Creedy could no longer hear or smell anything, not even his own fear and sweat. All he could feel was the need to keep firing and firing until he ran out of ammunition.
At that instant a ball of intense heat and wind issued from the dragon's mouth fanning their collective backsides as they made their retreat. Creedy felt the ground fall out from beneath his feet.
A white noise sounded in his eardrums, an intense heat surrounded him, and his last conscious thought before his mind refused to cope with this crazy situation and decided to shut down was:
'Well, I least I won't have to explain this one to Quinn and it gets me out of paying for that round of drinks.'
Later, back at the fortress Van Zan carrying the unconscious body of Creedy draped over his shoulder like a wooden tackling dummy, Quinn's first reaction was shock and then relief that everyone that had gone on the mission had returned. His next was anger, the only problem was he wasn't entirely certain at whom he should direct his anger. "Let's consider the list," Quinn thought: 'Van Zan for not looking out for my people; at Creedy for going on the mission expressly against direct orders, or at the bat winged, fire breathing creatures that roam this world? "Face it Quinn it's a toss up."
"I guess the rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated," Creedy mutters raising a glass of brandy to his lips and downing a healthy swallow. "Still mad at me?"
"Yeah, what was up with that stunt of yours, what we're you thinking?" Quinn shouts almost falling off his perch on the barstool.
"I guess, maybe you'd understand if anyone would."
"I guess I seeing that thing hovering over me, I was scared, terrified even, but I guess I decided I wasn't going to go out like that, so I stood up to the critter."
"Have another drink."
"Buddies to the end, come hell or high water, huh?"
"Something like that," Quinn nods, stirring the straw in his drink, thinking matters over. "I guess you've managed to out run death for this long, we'll be okay."
"Tell me about it, kiddo."
"You old grizzly bear," Quinn grins, "You'll outlive us all."