Chapter twenty concludes. More dragon on zombie action!
“Jörmun,” the char witch called to the dragon, “see these assholes out. Don’t be gentle.” The miniature dragon did its hornet-cat-roar again and made a sort of skuttle-flapping motion to get across the floor. Tables and chairs that happened to be in its way were turned into expensive garbage as it careered across the room. The wind of its passing nearly knocked Katherine over.
The piece of naval architecture, now-turned dragon, slammed into the group of silent interlopers with happy abandon. It battered them with its paws, worried them with its wooden jaws, and buffeted them with its wings. It looked like it was having a grand time as it frolicked and romped through the group. It even rolled over on its back and wiggled its butt back and fourth reminding Katherine of a dog who had found something smelly to thrash around in. In this case, the objects of its affection were a trio of unlucky invaders who hadn’t been fast enough to get out of its way. They made squishy crunching noises as a long, forked tongue lolled happily from the dragon’s mouth.
There was a scattered cheer for the dragon, and Katherine noticed some people actually darting back to their tables to retrieve half-finished drinks.
Relief turned to gasps of horror a few moments later as the dragon regained its feet. A woman who had been pinned underneath the wooden beast struggled to her feet and without hesitation, leapt onto the dragon’s back. Splintered ribs poked out of her pink angora sweater and blood drooled from her mouth. She should have been dead. It took a second for the truth to sink it. Nobody could be just walking around with her bones on the outside. She was dead.
The horribly injured woman was joined by her companions who had been just as badly savaged by the dragon. A cycle courier’s head was noticeably flat on one side and bulging out on the other. Bike helmets would need some serious upgrades if they were ever to be issued as standard kit when battling rampaging Norse dragons, even the small ones, Katherine thought in numb disbelief.
A horrified stillness began to spread through the crowd as more of the maimed and crushed attackers piled onto the dragon, punching and kicking. Other than weighing it down, they didn’t seem to be doing any real damage to the magical beast. The dragon thrashed and bucked, throwing bodies off of its back, but Katherine now saw a strained expression on the char witch’s face as more bodies climbed on. Sweat was beginning to bead on her forehead. She had to be channelling an incredible amount of house energy to the dragon. There would be an upward limit to how much the char witch could syphon off from the crucible, and to judge from her expression, she was rapidly reaching that point. If they piled on enough bodies, there simply wouldn’t be enough energy for the dragon to keep fighting.
Even with a dragon on the home team, it was becoming obvious the fight was a long way from won. Some of the more hardy of the patrons were banding together to make a real fight of it. They armed themselves with table legs, bar stools, and whatever else they could get their hands on. The dragon’s rampage through he room had provided enough broken furniture parts for everyone.
Christopher, meanwhile, had made his way over to a group of five or six armed patrons with his own bar stool still in hand. He was red faced and out of breath, but none the worse for wear. Seeing the fate of those who had tried to take on the invaders by themselves, the group approached carefully. They met with more success, clubbing a few already injured attackers the to floor, but the bulk of the invaders were focused on subduing the struggling dragon.
Unnoticed by the defenders, a group of five split off from the main group and began to shamble away from the front doors. Someone in the crowd began to scream in wordless panic over and over again.
None of the approaching group appeared to have less than mortal wounds, and people scattered from their path in revulsion and horror. They made their broken, bleeding way unopposed toward the rear of the room where a door marked, “employees only,” stood closed.
Katherine realized they were going to try and make a run on the crucible. Take out the dragon’s energy source and all you had was an enchanted log with an interesting historical past. She wanted to go to them, stop them, she could dent steel with her bare hands for God’s sake! but her legs felt like they had grown roots into the floor and all she could do was gape in horror.
It was as the group got closer that Katherine began to feel it; a cold aura coming from the most damaged of them. It felt like an open freezer door. Sweat prickled her skin, and she had a sudden sense-memory of dread as the coldness swept across her face and over her scalp. The image of a knife embedded in the flesh of a familiar forearm swam into her mind.
The group reached the door, and finding it locked, began to beat on it in the time-honoured tradition of every extra in a zombie movie ever made. Katherine’s breath came in quick gasps and her vision tunnelled in a red haze. She could feel a rage growing inside her directed at the source of that coldness. It was a surprise when she found her legs moving again and already halfway to the door, her jaw clenched, her muscles tightening in anticipation of a fight.
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