Let Sleeping Dragons Lie (The Modern Dragon Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  “The moron,” Anthony continued, “fell asleep during his watch on the bridge and when the owner woke Vince up they were half way to Hawaii. The guy headed back to the California coast and dropped my idiot brother off at the first port big enough to dock the boat.”

  He stopped his story to sling another nasty glob of chew into the ocean before he choked on it. “Anyway, I just got back from driving down and picking him up. See, stuff like that comes up all the time. You know, opportunities to make a little extra cash, odd jobs and the like.”

  “I don’t know how long I can wait for something like that to turn up,” Roger answered.

  “Well, I’ll talk to the guys and we’ll keep our ears open. Crabbing is too dangerous. We’d all be sunk if you weren’t around to keep us lucky. Ha, sunk, get it? No, really, promise me you won’t do anything crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy, Anthony. But okay, I’ll let you know before I decide to head out to sea.”

  “Great! Hey, come on back with me, we got some salmon the other day and I want to give Jeanie some. You know, if you were to go out to sea and drown, I’d have to date her; she’s kind of sweet on me.”

  Roger laughed, “Only because you feed her.”

  “Whatever, you better think about my handsome self dating your wife before you think about running off to go crabbing,” Anthony teased.

  Roger playfully punched his friend. “You do and I’ll make sure you have to adopt Dani!”

  “No deal, forget it. No beautiful woman would be worth that little fireball,” Anthony laughed.

  Would Anthony really date his mom if something happened to his dad? Naw, Steve decided, they were probably goofing around. Still, Anthony was pretty cool. If something ever did happen to his father, Steve decided that Anthony would be all right. Steve shook his head; that was crazy thinking. He didn’t want anything to happen to his dad. He could definitely understand how Dani could be a deal breaker, though. He decided his dad had better stay alive, because no one would want to adopt his sister. Nope, Mom would be an old widow, he thought, at least until Dani grew up and moved to Alaska, or somewhere else sufficiently far, far away.

  “Steve!” Roger called, “After you finish with the tackle, go ahead and spray down the rest of the ramp. I’m going with Anthony for a while.”

  “Okay, Dad!” Steve replied.

  Steve found the hose lying on the ramp, stiff with all the water pressure waiting to be unleashed. He hefted the hose and realized he had a lot to think about; he had no idea that things were so bad for his parents. Maybe he could start taking sandwiches for lunch at school, or ask for a decreased allowance. Maybe they could cut Dani’s food by half? Probably not. And what was that stuff about his dad being lucky? Oh crap, he thought, he had completely forgotten to tell his dad about the whole bird thing.

  He glanced down at the hose, which was so full it was leaking out of the pressure nozzle, before scanning the battlefield for worthy targets He found some bird poop and let loose a full blast from his water laser, zap! He felt the satisfying recoil and proceeded to destroy all alien life forms attempting to infiltrate his ship; he also managed to get most of the mud and goop off the ramp.

  Chapter 3

  Steve lived in a little seaside town about as close to Oregon as you could be and still be in California. There were a few places north of Crescent City—Fort Dick, Smith River, and Yontocket—before you got to Oregon, but they were so small that Steve sort of thought of the whole area as Crescent City. Steve didn’t have a lot of traveling experience, but he was pretty sure that Crescent City was a unique place. After all, where else could you find ex-hippies, massive redwood trees, pounding surf, oppressive fog, Shasta Indians, and a maximum-security prison cut right into the forest, all with a population of less than 8,000 people? Tourists swelled that number over the summer, and of course there were about 1,000 prisoners in the prison, but they didn’t get out much.

  For someone with a reasonably creative mind like Steve, Crescent City was a treasure-trove. All he had to do was open his front door and step into the constant, impenetrable fog that plagued the town and poof—he could as easily be walking the streets of London or gliding along the surface of Mars. In how many other communities could people sit on their balconies and shoot at black bears digging in their trash? Where else could hundreds of people gather together every February to race crabs? Stuff like that really happened; Steve didn’t even have to make it up! Only today, it wasn’t any of these things that captured Steve’s imagination as he pedaled back home from the marina; it was what his dad had said. Or, rather, what his dad didn’t say.

  Steve fixated on the conversation between his dad and Anthony. Why did Anthony call his dad lucky? If they were lucky, they would have a bigger house, or his dad would not be thinking about leaving, right? And, even more curious, what was it his father didn’t want him to know?

  Steve rode his bike back along the coastal road, the way he had come. He was supposed to go straight home and finish cleaning his room. He planned to, only he had a lot to think about and knew he wouldn’t find any answers in his tiny bedroom. Nope, he decided, he needed an open grey sky and pounding surf if he really wanted to figure this all out. Besides, he was still going home—just kind of in a roundabout way.

  Steve stopped at one point to watch two black dots bob up and down a couple of hundred yards out in the tumbling water. Sea lions? No, there’s a board. Surfers, he decided. He scanned left and right, the overlook giving him a wide-angle view of miles of coast. He thought he spied a spray burst from the ocean’s surface a long, long way out. A grey whale, maybe. He wondered whether, if they got close enough, they could dive down and come up under the surfers—the whale would surface and exhale and the jet would shoot the surfers and their boards high in the air. Man, that would be cool. Steve waited there for a while, but the whale refused to cooperate and eventually the surfers headed inland.

  Two seagulls swept by and Steve automatically ducked. They ignored him. Okay, he thought, so maybe all birds weren’t out to terrorize him. Still, he wished he would have talked to his dad about it. He played how the conversation would work in his head, “Hey Dad, you ever had a bunch of seagulls knock you down and talk to you?”

  “Ah, Son, I can’t say that I have.”

  “I did!”

  “Hmm, okay, hand me that rag over there, would you?”

  Never mind, forget it, Steve decided. It was too weird, even for him. His mind leapt from one strange event to another. What was it his dad and Anthony were talking about? Would his dad really go crab fishing? And why was he lucky? He didn’t think his dad was lucky. In fact, he thought his dad was decidedly unlucky. Like when his dad went hunting. Other dads usually shot something, but not his dad. His dad went hunting at least once a month and never shot a thing. Come to think of it, his dad never even took a gun. Did they own a gun? How could his dad go hunting without a gun, or at least a bow? He had a knife. More like a pocket knife—a really cool Swiss Army Knife with a cork screw and a toothpick and other essential attachments. As long as he could remember, his dad had never actually killed anything—never. Even Steve had once knocked a squirrel out of a tree with a well-aimed rock; he didn’t kill it of course, only stunned it.

  Steve realized he had too many questions, so he decided to focus on the one mystery he could solve: his dad’s suspicious non-hunting trips. And it just so happened that his dad had one planned for the next week.

  Chapter 4

  The night before Steve’s dad was supposed to leave, Steve went to bed in his clothes with his alarm clock tucked under his pillow, set loud enough to wake him without waking his sister Dani in the next room. Sleeping on it all night hurt his neck, but it was worth it when he woke up 30 minutes before his father. It was before four a.m. and all he had to do was wait until his dad checked on him—Steve knew he would—and then find a way into the truck.

  After several minutes, he could hear his dad fumbling about, trying to be quiet and, co
nsequently, making extra noise by trying to be quiet. The toaster popped and the richly bitter smell of coffee began to drift down the hall. That was Steve’s signal that his dad would be by soon to check on his sister, and then him. This was his dad’s daily routine, except he started earlier when he was going on hunting trips.

  Steve crept to his door to listen. All the sudden he heard Dani. She could ruin everything! Of course, Steve should have known this would happen; Dani made it a point to ruin everything. In fact, Steve wondered if she didn’t have some kind of super-sensitive kid radar that knew exactly when to arrive to mess things up. This time though, all she wanted was to know where Dad was going and why she wasn’t allowed to go with him.

  Dani must have been really tired because Roger was able to leave her without an argument. Steve barely had time to jump back in bed, yank up his covers, and pretend to be asleep. After waiting what he considered long enough, he cracked open his right eye to see if the coast was clear. When it was, he slunk out of the bed, laced up his tennis shoes, and prepared to ninja his way to the driveway where the truck was parked.

  Unfortunately, Steve’s house was not made for stealth. He took one step into the hall and the old boards threatened to give him up. Steve froze, waiting to be caught, but he wasn’t. He waited until his dad went in and told his mom goodbye before tiptoeing across the rest of the touchy floor into the kitchen. As quietly as he could, Steve opened up the backdoor. His dad had already started the truck. Eighties rock music thumped softly into the night. Steve scanned what little he could see beneath the porchlight and jogged over to the truck. The music got a little louder as he opened the rusty, old door; Steve ducked down, nervously. When his dad did not immediately come out, Steve pulled one of the bucket seats forward and carefully climbed into the back of the extended cab. He took one last peek out of the rear window before he covered himself with his dad’s rain slicker.

  Steve couldn’t see much, but he clearly heard his dad open the cranky door and climb in. Then, with the barest sound of tires rolling backwards along the pavement, they were off. Every once in a while, Steve could feel the vehicle stop, go straight, or turn one way or the other. Steve slipped the slicker down enough to look around, careful not to poke his head up too high. He saw the ambient glow of town begin to dim and guessed that they were leaving Crescent City. With his back pressed against the seats, he barely noticed that gravity was pulling him backwards, which probably meant they were climbing into the mountains. With the way the truck was lurching back and forth on the twisting road, however, Steve found himself grateful he did not have anything on his stomach.

  Steve had a pretty good idea when they left the main road because every time he tried to poke his head up for a peek, some bump or rut sent him sprawling. Finally, the truck stopped and Steve heard his dad get out. For a second, Steve froze, thinking his dad might see him, but the old truck’s cab light had long ago quit working and his dad had no idea he had picked up a stowaway.

  Steve heard his dad walk away, his boots making a “shuck, shuck” sound in the mud. When he stopped hearing it, Steve rose up and looked through the windows—nothing, all black and darkness. With his heart hammering away, he lowered the front seat and opened the passenger side door as quietly as the old hinges would allow. For a second, he simply stood still and listened. Beyond the pinging sound of the hot engine, beyond the birds, insects, and other critters rustling around in the bushes, an abnormal sound registered, a sound Steve did not immediately recognize. It reminded him of the ocean, like the huge whooshing sound the water makes as it gets sucked back out to sea from the rocky shore. It sounded almost as if the mountain was inhaling and exhaling.

  Confused, Steve looked around for his dad. Without the truck’s headlights, it was almost impossible to see anywhere except up, where a million pins of light hung, nestled between the trees. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could tell they’d parked at the end of a road. No, not a road, Steve realized, but simply two grooves dug in the mud. Beyond the truck, Steve could barely make out a walking path that led off into the trees.

  The incredibly tall redwoods allowed only narrow slivers of light to trickle down onto the trail. This must be how Hansel and Gretel felt, Steve thought. And, what was worse, a heavy, ground-level fog had begun to snake its way through the trees and wild ferns that grew everywhere. As Steve moved further into the forest, the fog became so thick he couldn’t see his own feet. Suddenly everything from the waist down was hidden. Walking along and not being able to see your lower half was about as creepy a thing as Steve could think of.

  In fact, he was so focused on his feet, or his absence of his feet, that he did not notice the fact that the sucking noise was getting louder. He did hear his father’s voice, however, or what he thought was his father’s voice. He stopped moving to be sure. It was definitely his dad, but Steve couldn’t see where he was.

  The fog seemed to be bouncing sounds all over the place, and Steve wandered off the trail more than once, but each time he was able to find his way back by focusing solely on his father’s voice. Steve was so intent on tracking his father that he didn’t even think to ask himself who his dad could be talking to.

  Steve emerged into a clearing, then almost leapt back into the woods when he found his dad standing right in front of him. Fortunately, he was facing away from Steve, or at least it looked that way. It was hard to tell, even though he was so close; the fog had gotten even thicker.

  Steve hunkered down until only his head was poking above the impenetrable haze. Thinking he was mostly camouflaged, he simply watched. The blurry figure ahead did not move, but it did continue talking. No, not talking, Steve realized, more like mumbling. That wasn’t it, either, he decided. His father was praying! No, still not it. Chanting, that’s what it was. His father was chanting in the woods! Why was his father chanting in the woods?

  He had to get closer. Still squatting to stay hidden, Steve tried hunching forward, like Quasimodo, through the fog, which was doubly difficult because of the thick mud. After two or three herculean steps, Steve gave in and stood up. Right away he noticed that his dad was getting louder, and, even more disturbing, the great sucking noise was too. In fact, it now sounded like the snores of some forest giant. For a minute, Steve considered the possibility, but even he knew that was goofy. Still, there was definitely an enormous noise coming from somewhere. Steve turned his head this way and that to locate the source, but the sound seemed like it was everywhere; it echoed within the fog bank. Whatever it was, Steve decided, he needed to focus on his dad. Something was seriously off.

  As he once again listened to his father chant, a word or two began to sound eerily familiar. Then the strangest thing happened: Steve began to see images, pictures in his head of people and places he’d never seen. He saw a deserted beach from high above. He could feel the brisk wind whip against his body. Then he was in a dark, wet place that stank like a men’s room. The walls were hidden in shadow, but looked like they were made of wood. There was a boy, dressed in a funny costume, standing in the center of the room. The images and sensations began cycling faster.

  Steve recognized some of them, places he’d seen or heard of. Others left him clueless. Either way, he didn’t have the experience or knowledge to associate them with anything; they were meaningless. Suddenly it stopped. Coincidentally, so did the bizarre snoring noise. Everything had gotten eerily quiet, in fact.

  Without the booming noise for cover, Steve felt very exposed and was afraid that his dad would quit doing whatever he was doing and catch him. Steve started backing away as quietly and quickly as he could, which of course meant that he was doomed to fail at both; Steve lodged a sneaker in the mud and fell smack on his back. He thrashed about like an inverted turtle struggling to roll over. The fog which he had displaced started to close back over him. In a panic, he managed to get to his hands and knees, right as his dad came shambling into view. All Steve could do was close his eyes and wait to get caught.

 
His dad simply stepped over him, like he wasn’t even there, or like he was invisible. How awesome is that, I’m invisible, Steve thought, but when he looked down he saw his arms and chest, so that theory was out. “How could he not have seen me?” he asked himself.

  While Steve pondered over his unexpected turn of good luck, his dad continued making his way through the fog. Not completely sure that he wasn’t at least sometimes invisible, Steve decided to follow his dad, edging a little closer than he probably should have. When his dad stopped at the truck and turned his way, though, Steve chickened out and jumped behind a tree. Steve took a deep breath, poked his head out, and clapped a hand over his own mouth. His dad was lifting two 50-gallon metal drums from the bed of the truck, one barrel under each arm! He walked right past Steve.

  The fog, which got thicker the further they were from the truck, seemed to reach out for Steve’s dad, and, within a few steps, he disappeared, his mumbled voice with him. For a second, Steve thought about running after him, but there were more containers in the back of the truck, and Steve wanted to know what was in them. He climbed into the bed of the truck and pulled a lid off one of the remaining barrels. It was full of fish guts, innards, bones—pretty much anything left over after the fish were cleaned for the tourists. It was the stuff they sold to the hardware store for fertilizer. Steve thought it looked heavy so he gave the barrel a shove; it didn’t budge. Steve grabbed it with both hands to see if he could scoot it. No chance, and yet his dad had easily lifted two at a time.

  Before Steve had time to consider what it meant, his father returned with the two containers. He dropped them in the truck and reached for the remaining ones. Steve had to scramble to get out of the way to not be seen. He jumped out of the truck bed just as his dad scooped up the last two barrels.