Текст книги "The Dragon's Favorite Strays"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

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CHAPTER 12

MURR

I’m learning a great many things about humans from watching Dakotah. I’ve never had an interest in them in the past, and my vague memories of the time before when I was lost in my mind are filled with very negative thoughts about humans. Of wanting to destroy them and rip them to pieces.

I’ve never felt the need to rip Dakotah to pieces, so that part of me is thankfully asleep.

She is strange, though. She makes more noises at her daughter and picks up a long, smooth stick with spikes on the end of it and belts it at her waist. A weapon. Amusing. As if she needs a weapon while with me. A lesser warrior would be insulted, but I understand her unease. She has young to protect. She also grabs a sack and puts the twin-eye-cones around her neck once more. She raised them to her eyes on the roof and stood like that for a long time, which confused me. Does their presence mean she is returning to the roof?

But no, she heads out the other end of her strange building and starts walking fast.

And because I am not sure what she is up to, I follow. My curiosity always gets the best of me.

Dakotah does not burble more sounds at me as I follow her, but she knows I am with her. I do not try to hide my presence, nor do I shift to battle-form to watch her from above. She is nervous around my battle-form, preferring my weaker two-legged form. Perhaps because I am less threatening in this puny shape?

She walks and walks, sometimes pulling the cones to her eyes again and turning in a circle in place. A ritual, perhaps?

“Jstuppa hed,” Dakotah’s mouth noises surprise me. She points and then keeps moving.

Curious, I keep following.

She approaches a new human building of some kind, one that smells musty with misuse. There are tattered scraps of something red hanging from the roof, and it is another strange, square building with many clear walls that somehow do not let the air in. She pushes at a door and makes angry noises when it does not fall open for her. She pulls out a long metal bar that was in her pack and wedges it into the seam of the door, grunting when it finally slides open far enough for her to go inside.

Then, she waves me in after her.

I shove the door open, ignoring the crashing sound it makes when it shatters, and she stares at me, her mouth falling open. Then she purses her lips and shakes her head, clearly in awe of my strength.

Inside this place, it smells even worse than outside. There is a heavy layer of dust on everything that offends my senses, and the stink of mildew and mold permeates the air. It’s dark inside, and cluttered. Unlike the building that she has claimed for herself, this one is smaller and has a great deal of tumbled things all over the floor. A hole in the ceiling drips murky water from above.

Dakotah makes a dismayed sound as she surveys the place and then sighs heavily and goes deeper inside. Curious, I follow after her. What is it she’s seeking?

There are long rectangles toppled on their sides all over the floor. Shelves of some kind, I decide, because she hefts one up and things spill off of it as she does. She seems to be looking for something specific, as she kneels down and picks through the items on the floor, brushing aside leaves and detritus and lifting what looks like a cylinder. She squints at it and then screws the lid off and sniffs it, then puts it in her bag. Another cylinder she sniffs and tosses aside, then digs through the rubble a bit more.

I squat next to her and pick through the mess on the ground, looking for more of the strange cylinders she’s interested in. When I find one, I hold it up and offer it to her. She shakes her head without even sniffing this one. “Snogood,” she burbles. “Butdankyoo.”

Her mouth sounds encourage me. Perhaps I am doing this right. I pick up another thing from the ground—this one a small box wet with rainwater. Something shakes inside it, so I hold it out to her.

Dakotah chuckles and takes it from me. “Dankyoo.”

I pick up another and hold it out to her.

Her lips purse, and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. She looks around, then spots something and climbs over the mess to pick it up. It’s square and red—a basket—and she sets it down atop the mess and indicates it. “Inheer.”

I don’t follow what she’s saying. When she indicates the basket again, I pick it up, trying to see what it is she sees. There’s nothing inside.

Dakotah giggles again. She sets the basket down once more and then puts the little cylinder and the small box inside it. “Inheer.”

Ah. Something to carry our treasures. “Ineeer,” I try, mimicking her sounds. When she nods, I feel both relief and frustration. Human sounds are so difficult. I miss the simple touch of minds and instant understanding. Cautiously, I try to send my thoughts to her and meet nothing. The loneliness of it all threatens to overwhelm me again, and I bury my face in my hands. The loss is overpowering sometimes. I’ve lost my home, my memories, my people⁠—

Dakotah exclaims, holding up another small cylinder with excitement. She taps on it, then shows it to me, her teeth bared with enthusiasm. “Salt!”

“Zzaaalfff?” I mimic.

“Salt,” she replies again, pointing at her pink mouth as she does. I watch her lips, fascinated by the way they move. They look…soft. Pleasant. All of her looks soft, actually.

I give her a speculative glance, seeing Dakotah as a female now instead of just a human. It has been a long time since I have touched one. How does mating even work without a mental connection? What does it even feel like?

“Salt,” she says again, not realizing I am not paying attention to the mouth noises anymore.

Instead of echoing her, I reach out and cup her chin, brushing my thumb claw over her lower lip. It is just as soft as it looks. Her eyes widen and she goes stiff.

Not a welcome touch, then. Ah well. I lower my hand.

Dakotah watches me for a moment and then goes back to digging. Her movements are jerky and she avoids looking at me, so I decide to give her space. I get to my feet and stretch, then move deeper into this curious dwelling. I am not entirely sure the purpose of it, but that is the case for a lot of human-made buildings. I have no idea what they are meant to be.

The musty smell grows thicker as I venture towards the back of the building. There’s a hint of something else in the air, something acrid that I find unpleasant and chemical, and it’s coming from a room in the back behind a leaf-and-dust strewn counter. I avoid it, moving to lift another shelf to help Dakotah out.

And that’s when I see the stranger standing nearby.

I hiss in surprise and lash out with my claws, thoughts racing. Why didn’t I smell him? Why didn’t I hear his subtle movements the way I should have?

But the man crumbles, breaking in half and falling to the floor in two long, flat pieces.

Now…I’m just confused.

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CHAPTER 13

DAKOTA

“Murr? You okay?” I dust off my hands and move to the back of the old pharmacy, alarmed by the hissing noise that came from him.

He turns to look at me, eyes wild and swirling with black, his hands bent so his claws look like sickles. Smoke trickles from his nostrils and his shoulders are heaving.

It scares me a little, and I hesitate, my hands going up protectively. Shit. I left my bat next to the shopping basket. I’d let my guard down, because Murr has been so normal and human-seeming despite his strange golden appearance. The sight of those whirling eyes reminds me that he is very much not human, though, and a chill goes down my spine.

Murr growls low in his throat, then turns slowly. The spikes on the backs of his arms flex and he swipes at the air with his claws again. I see nothing there, however. After a moment, he leans over and stabs his claws into a cardboard standee of a pharmacy employee.

Or at least, the lower half of one. It’s clear he has no idea what to make of it. I take a step forward and he automatically moves, blocking me from whatever threat he thinks the standee is.

He’s protecting me.

“Hey, hey,” I say in a calm voice. “It’s okay. That’s just an image of someone. They’re not really here.”

“Dakotah,” he growls, putting his hand up to halt me.

“No, really, it’s fine.” I take a few more hesitant steps forward and touch his hand with mine when I get close enough. I lower it gently and continue to creep forward. “It’s all just a big misunderstanding. Let me show you.”

Not taking my eyes off him, I slowly pick up the cardboard cutout and hold it up. He growls again, but I turn it to the side and show him that it’s flat. “It’s not a person. It’s just a picture.”

He clearly doesn’t understand. He takes the cardboard in hand, and then tries looking behind it, as if he can see where the “man” is hiding. It’s adorable in a way, but I get his frustration. How do I explain a photo when we have so few words between us?

I think for a moment and then take his hand. “It’s like a mirror, a bit. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He looks down at my hand on his, where I’ve grabbed him for a second time. For a moment, I think he’s going to jerk away, but instead, he curls his fingers tighter around mine, his claws just gently scraping against my skin. He’s incredibly warm, his hand hard and big, enveloping mine like an oven mitt. I take a few wobbly steps over the spilled mess on the pharmacy floors and point to the door in the back, where the bathroom is located.

Luckily, the door is still on its hinges and there’s another hole in the roof here. It means the bathroom floor is mucky and full of debris and twigs, and there’s a bird’s nest perched atop the corner of one bathroom stall. But there’s enough light to see by, and I head inside and swipe my hand over the mirror to wipe the dust away.

“Mirror,” I tell Murr. “See it?”

He jerks in surprise the moment he sees the reflections, and I watch his eyes go black instantly again. Uh oh.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Look!”

I put my thumb to my nose and wiggle my spread fingers like I’m one of the Three Stooges.

Murr looks at me in shock, then back to the mirror. I flap my arms like a chicken, and then wave a hand, making my movements dramatic so he can see that the mirror reflects each one. After flicking a few glances back and forth, he lifts a hand tentatively and then looks down in fascination when he sees it reflected. After a few motions of his hand, he approaches the mirror and touches it.

“It’s glass,” I tell him, and tap on it. “It’s not real. It’s us, but not.”

He points a claw at my reflection, then at me. “Dakotah…Dakotah?”

Is he asking if there’s two of me? “Just one.” I pat my chest. “Dakota.”

His eyes narrow and he looks back to the mirror. He tries to peer around the side and then knocks on the front of it.

Ooh, that gives me an idea. I indicate that he should wait here and then rush back to my bag to get the small compact I carry everywhere with me. Not that I’m vain enough to need a mirror wherever I go—but small things like that are good bargaining tools or gifts if I run into other humans, and so I always keep one on me. I retrieve it and head back to the bathroom, where Murr is leaning over the counter and has his ear to the mirror, listening.

“It’s a reflection,” I tell him, and pop the compact open, showing him the small mirror inside. “See?”

He takes it from me, eyeing his face in it, then in the larger mirror. He turns the compact over and over, as if trying to “catch” the person on the inside. His brows furrow and he glances up at me. “Murr no?”

Oh, did he learn the word for no? That helps. I touch the mirror. “Murr no.” I touch the compact. “Murr no.” I touch his chest. “Murr yes. Understand?”

Murr nods slowly, then taps the compact. “Murr no?”

“Right. That’s a reflection. Reflection.”

“Reefessun,” he agrees, then squints at the image in the mirror, as if noticing the way his mouth moved for the first time. “Reefshun.”

Hmm. I worry I’m giving him the wrong word. I circle the entire compact in the air with my finger. “Reflection.” Then I point at my mouth. “Lips.”

He tilts his head, fascinated. “Lifffs.”

“Lips,” I repeat again, touching my mouth. “Dakota lips.” Then so it’s clear, I reach out and touch a fingertip to the corner of his mouth. “Lips. Murr lips.”

“Liffs,” Murr says again. He touches my nose, a question in his eyes.

“Nose,” I tell him.

“Nowd,” he parrots, then points at his mouth once more. “Liffs.”

For the next few minutes, we go over the features of the face, with Murr repeating each word I give him. He pronounces them all badly, swallowing his syllables as if he doesn’t know how to make the sounds work at all. He’s trying, though, and he’s got a good memory. By the time we’ve covered everything, he’s able to repeat them all back to me with perfect recognition. He’s certainly not stupid, just unfamiliar with the English language. I’ve never heard him speak anything else, so I wonder if he’s got a different way of speaking to his people. Aren’t there languages with whistling and tongue-pops in lieu of words? Maybe it’s something like that.

“Dakotah,” he says, pulling my attention back to him. “Lips…haha?” He bares his teeth in his approximation of a grin and gives a forced laugh. Then he stops, eyeing me and waiting.

“You want that word? There’s a few, actually.” I make a smile with exaggerated detail, putting my fingers in the corners of my mouth and dramatically raising them. “Smile.”

“Smmiihh,” he repeats, flashing his sharp teeth.

Well, that’s more of a grin, but I don’t want to argue semantics with someone that’s trying so hard. I nod and repeat the word for smile, then deliberately laugh. “Laugh.”

“Laff,” he says again, and then mimics my laugh in such a ridiculous way that it makes me burst into fresh giggles. The expression on his face changes to one of sheer delight, pleased he can make me chuckle.

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CHAPTER 14

DAKOTA

The pharmacy is pretty picked over, as most buildings are after so many years, but I’m happy with my finds. I dig through the old employee break room and find a few condiment packets and some sugar that’s dried into a hard lump at the bottom of a canister, but I’ll take it. Inside the store, there’s a bottle of shampoo with a bunch of gunk along the side, as if it exploded at one point, and I take that, too. I find a couple rolls of aluminum foil and decide those will take the place of a smoker. I can use those and some ingenuity instead of hunting all over the countryside for an actual grill. I don’t want to leave Rabbit for longer than I have to.

Murr has been pleasant company for the most part. He wants to help, even if he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He just digs through piles of leaves and brush, fishing out objects and holding them up to me for approval if they’re filthy, and if they’re not, they go into the basket. Several of the containers he puts in the basket are empty (who leaves behind an old vitamins container, I ask you?) but I still appreciate a second set of eyes as we go through the rubble.

Once we’ve dug through everything at the front of the pharmacy (and Murr attacked a cardboard standee of a pharmacy employee), I head to the back to look for medication that might have been left behind. It’s unlikely—medication is the only thing rarer than food at this point—but I’m going to check anyhow. The pharmacy shelves have been picked clean, but I pull them from the walls and run my hands under the counters, looking for things that might have fallen into hard-to-reach places.

My efforts are rewarded with half a bottle of ibuprofen. No idea if they’re still any good at this point, but I’m taking them with me anyhow. Along with the ibuprofen, I’ve also got an eye cream that I’m going to try on the kittens with the worst eye infections. I don’t know if it’s safe for them or not, but hopefully there will be a book in the bookstore that can help me with that. I can’t sit back and watch them with gummy, glued-shut eyes and do nothing about it. I don’t hate cats. I love them…I just can’t feed them in the After.

Living through the apocalypse has forced me to harden my heart.

With my bag stuffed full of my finds, I put the rest of the goods into a shopping cart and push it back to the bookstore. It gets stuck on the ruts and chunks of cement in the road, but I shove it along anyhow. Murr doesn’t carry any of it or push the cart, but I also don’t ask him to. I don’t want to feel obligated to him more than I already am. That haunch of meat we got? People have been killed for less in forts. Murr has been nice so far, but I also don’t want him to think he owns me or that I owe him something in return.

I heard some sketchy rumors about dragons in the last fort we were in, and at the time, I chalked them up to absolute nonsense. Now that I’ve met Murr and seen that he likes to hang around in his human form and touched my cheek, I’m starting to side-eye those rumors with new interest.

I heard that some fort was giving women to dragons so they wouldn’t get attacked.

Which is bullshit…right?

At least, I hope it’s bullshit. But Murr hasn’t attacked, and everything I know about dragons says that they’re vicious and unpredictable and will tear a human apart without thinking twice, so the fact that Murr has been friendly makes me uneasy.

He wants something, and I don’t know what. A smart woman would tell him to buzz off, but… he’s a dragon. I also know that him being in a good mood is also instrumental to us staying alive.

“Dakotah,” he says, walking next to me. Then he points at his hand and gives me another expectant look.

“You…want the word for that? Or something else?”

He wiggles his hand and points at it, then at me.

“Hand,” I say, lifting mine and doing the same wiggle.

“Haaan,” he agrees, and then recites all the other words he’s learned so far from me. I’m impressed. His pronunciation continues to be shit but his memory is excellent. He holds his forefinger out. “Haan?”

“Finger.”

“Tiiinger.” He holds out his middle finger and it looks like he’s flipping me the bird.

I snort with amusement at that. “Still a finger.”

He touches his middle finger and eyes me curiously. “Tiiinger…ha ha?” He cocks his head as we walk, the curious expression on his face. “Ha ha?”

I shake my head, still smiling at the inside joke that I can’t possibly explain to him. “We don’t have the words for that yet.”

And then I slow down as I push the cart, eyeing him speculatively. Maybe there’s nothing sinister about his interest. Maybe he’s just trying to learn human language so he can communicate with people? But if so…why? Dragons haven’t had any interest in talking to people for years on end.

Does it have something to do with the healed rift in the sky? Or am I grasping at straws because the Rift was healed a few months ago and suddenly I’ve met a friendly dragon after ten years of them being apocalyptic destroyers? That can’t be complete coincidence.

“I’m glad you’re a fast learner,” I tell Murr as we continue walking. “Because I have so many questions.”

He points at his thumb and waits for a word, oblivious to my musings.

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CHAPTER 15

DAKOTA

When I return to the bookstore, Rabbit has a small fire going out front, a hint of smoke in the air. She’s got the spit going over the flames and gets to her feet when she sees me approach with the cart.

“Mom, I’m cooking the rest of it,” she announces. “It’s starting to smell a little funky and I don’t want it to go to waste. Plus, the moment I came out here, the cats went nuts. I’ve been feeding them bits while we were waiting. I hope that’s okay.”

Her happy expression tells me that she’s loving the interaction with the cats. How can I be mad that she’s feeding them when Murr was the one that fed us in the first place? “It’s okay. Thank you for doing the cooking, honey. We’ll worry about smoking stuff next time.”

Rabbit looks wary and just a little surprised. Her gaze flicks to Murr, who’s picking up one of his cats, then back to me. “Is there going to be a next time? I thought we’d be leaving because of him. Because it’s not safe.”

I bite my lip and consider this. Logic says that it’s smartest to run fast and run far, but logic also doesn’t have much to say about situations like the one we’re in. I consider Murr and how he’s been acting. Other than that first day when he thought we’d stolen his kitten, he’s been calm and friendly. I shot him in the arm with a crossbow bolt and he didn’t lash out at us. He fed us, instead. He follows me and wants to know the words for things. “We’re not leaving just yet,” I say. “We don’t know how he’ll react if we try to leave. He’s clearly been collecting cats, so maybe he thinks we’re just a few more strays to feed.”

“I’m all right with that,” Rabbit says, and gives a little bounce in excitement. “That meat was so good I’m drooling for more.”

“I think he’s trying to learn English,” I admit. “He’s asked me a ton of questions.”

“Aww! That’s so sweet.”

I feel as if I’m a bad mom, though. Like I’m somehow not being stern enough about a random dragon-man showing up and taking over our encampment. “If you ever feel unsafe around him, though, I want you to tell me, okay? You’re my priority. I don’t care how nice he is to me if he scares you. Understand?”

“You could tell him to wear pants. I have a hard time looking him in the eye,” Rabbit says, and then giggles wildly when Murr jogs up. “Ohmigod, Mom, his dick is bouncing everywhere!”

I blush, too, because it really is. “We’ll get there, okay? Try and be patient for a little while longer.”

Murr, oblivious to our conversation, holds a cat up to me. “Eye? Dakotah, eye?”

I force myself to concentrate on the little calico being held up in front of my face and not the jiggling dong that distracts the eye. Because wow, it really IS distracting. I notice the cat is a younger one, eyes glued shut with yellow gunk. It meows, squirming in his grip.

Okay, this is good. He trusts me to help, and he remembers from before. “Heat some water, Rabbit. I’m going to get a T-shirt. Be right back.”

I gesture to Murr that I’ll help, but he needs to wait. Racing inside the bookstore, I grab my oldest shirt, because it’s also the softest. When the water is warm, I wet a corner of the shirt and instruct (with motions) for Murr to hold the cat still. I gently wipe its eyes clean, even though the cat cries in protest. Tomorrow we’ll try the cream, but I want to read up on it first.

Murr examines the cat and is pleased by the results. He showers it with affection, holding it close and stroking the triangular ears before setting it down.

“Here, baby,” Rabbit says, and holds a tidbit of meat out to the cat. It immediately grabs her hand with its front paws and snags the meat. This delights my daughter and Murr both.

The dragon-man immediately scoops up another cat and checks its eyes, then sets it down. He picks up another, and then another, and when he finds one that needs attention, he brings it over to me. “Eye?”

I nod and wet a fresh corner of the shirt. “Eye cleaning,” I tell him, and then gesture at the tabby in his hands. “Cat.”

“Cat hye cleeeng,” he agrees, pleased.

We clean the eyes of several cats of varying ages while the meat roasts and Rabbit goes through the cart, exclaiming over everything I’ve found. “Vitamins,” she cries. “We’ll be so healthy! And look, shampoo!”

It’s a sad world when your daughter gets excited about vitamins and shampoo. Rabbit reminds me every day to be grateful for what we have, and I want to hug her and squeeze her tight for being so wonderful. I would have given up a dozen times over if it weren’t for her sweet presence. She’s become my family and my everything. “I found a postcard, too. It’s near the bottom.”

Her joy fills my heart, and when I look over, Murr is smiling at me, too. Maybe all he wants is a family, too.

I get it. I really do.

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