CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Instincts
We hiked almost a mile to reach the next marker. The day was heating up by then, and the waves off the desert rocks promised a scorcher.
“So, you’re working for the enemy,” Summer said.
“Since when is Build-A-Dragon the enemy?”
“They’re messing with nature.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re still into that organic, tree-hugging stuff.”
She glanced back long enough to narrow her eyes at me. “If by ‘organic’ you mean plants not genetically modified or doused with pesticides, then yes.”
“I don’t think our dragons are harmful to nature. They can’t even survive in the wild.”
“Then why do you make them?” she asked.
I shrugged. “People want them,” I said. I should do more to defend my employer, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“People wanting to buy something doesn’t make it right,” she said.
Her watch beeped before I could reply.
“Is that the waypoint?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
My watch beeped a second later. That wasn’t good, because I stood slightly in front of her. The terrain was already interfering with the GPS.
I grunted. “I’m worried we’re already off. But it should be close.”
We began an informal grid search, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Usually it was something man-made: a coffee can, a birdhouse, a little statuette, something like that. I’m not the giving up type, but after fifteen minutes I was losing hope fast. Summer’s shoulders had slumped a little. She started checking her watch again.
Then Octavius let out a trill of victory. He flitted back to circle my head, then flew over to a place in the canyon wall.
“We’ve got something!” I called. Summer and Riker hurried over.
The waypoint was a metal spike, the kind they used in old railroad tracks. Totally driven into the rock wall, with a face about an inch across. It took a tiny dragon to spot something like this. I leaned close to it, saw the faint outline of typescript, and knew we had it.
“This is it,” I called over my shoulder. “Ready for the coordinates?”
“Hit me,” Summer said.
The numbers were etched in tiny, block-like print. Summer punched them into her watch while I read them off. We did a double-check, just to be sure.
“Three quarters of a mile,” Summer said.
“We’d better get moving,” I said. I rubbed Octavius behind his ears. “Good eye, little buddy!”
He took off and zoomed around us as we hiked up. Maybe I praised him too much, but honestly, we probably wouldn’t have found it without him. And now he was really lording it over Riker. Gliding back and forth, humming a little song to himself that sounded uncannily like “We are the Champions” by Queen. I’d have said something, but after Summer’s comments about Build-A-Dragon, I wanted him to rub it in.
I’m sure that’s why Riker was so eager to sniff out the next marker. I let Octavius fly ahead, but the pig wasn’t about to let the dragon be the hero again. He bounded ahead, too, ignoring Summer’s calls for him to slow down. We picked up our pace, but the animals were both faster across the rocky terrain. The cliffs rose on each side of us, too, not quite a box canyon but close. Riker disappeared through a switchback ahead. Then we heard him give a sharp bark. A surprised, fearful sound.
“Shit!” Summer said. She ran into the switchback. I hustled in right behind her, not knowing what to expect.
She stopped so fast that I almost crashed into her. Her body had gone stock-still. Riker’s snort became a low whine. He was about six feet in front of her, in a little cut-out in the canyon wall. I didn’t know what the problem was until I heard it. The dry, quivering buzz that terrified anyone who spent time in the desert.
Rattlesnake.
“Easy, easy now,” I whispered. I put my hands on Summer’s shoulders and pulled her back. Slowly. We didn’t stop until there were ten feet between us and the rattler. Unfortunately, Riker cowered on the far side of it, penned up against the canyon wall. He had nowhere to go. The rattler lay coiled up between him and the trail.
Summer made a soft little sound, almost like a sob. “We have to help him!”
I scanned the ground, desperate to find a stick or something. No dice. I could try smashing it with a rock. That was risky, though. It would lash out at something. Probably the pig. The last thing I wanted to do was make it look like my fault. If that thing bit him . . . well, I doubted we could get him to a vet in time.
“Damn!” I hated feeling helpless. Especially in front of her.
Riker feinted left and then right, looking for a way out. The rattler’s head moved with him. It uncoiled slowly, closing in for the attack. Its black tongue flicked in and out. I wondered if I should turn Summer away, so she wouldn’t see it happen. But I couldn’t move. It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion.
The rattler rose up and reared back.
“No!” Summer cried.
I sucked in a sharp breath and braced myself. Then I felt a brush of air on my cheek. A scaly missile shot past me in a blur.
Octavius.
He slammed into the rattler like a meteor. The momentum carried both dragon and snake to the ground against the hot red stone. It happened so fast, I couldn’t move. Octavius came up with the snake’s neck in his jaws. He set his feet and wrenched it in a figure eight. Crack. The snake went limp, and the rattling faded. Summer and I stood there in stunned silence. Octavius rammed the rattler’s head against the rock wall a couple of times for good measure, then spat it out. I scrabbled forward, grabbed its tail, and slung it away.
Riker bounded to Summer. She crouched to hug him. I wanted to do the same thing. It’s not like I loved the mangy animal, but she clearly did. It was a tender thing to watch. It softened me on her.
I held out my arm, and Octavius flew to it. “Where did that come from?” I asked.
He trilled softly at me, as if not certain himself. God, but I was proud of the little guy.
Summer came over, still cradling a trembling Riker. For the first time, she looked Octavius right in the eyes. “Thank you.”
Octavius basked in her gaze, practically preening.
“Is he all right?” I asked, meaning Riker. He’d tucked his snout under her arm.
“Traumatized, but he’ll survive.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yeah.”
We didn’t even discuss the idea of continuing. We agreed to meet the following Saturday to try and finish. I let her mark the spot in her watch, but sort of forgot to save it in my own. Unless she was a horrible person—a prospect that seemed less and less likely—she’d realize I couldn’t continue without her. It meant we’d get together again, maybe on purpose this time.
Octavius had his instincts. I had mine.