Draconic - Chapter 15

For a few moments, I am simply surprised. I stare at the sizeable egg, not entirely sure what to think. Following that, however, questions begin to appear in my mind. Why is it here? How long has it been sitting there? Where did it come from?

What do I do with it?

I really do not know how to react to this. It is not something I had expected. I thought… I believed myself to be the last of my kind, but here is another egg. All hope is not lost. My species… might still recover. For how long, I could not say, but if there is a second egg, there could be more. That said, even if there are no others, two is still better than one. Now that Carrie is gone, I feel that things may become terribly lonely without company. Assuming my draconic side has any social instincts worth mentioning, that is. For all I know, loneliness might just not be a thing for my race.

Still, I do not want to just leave it here. I cannot take it with me, of course. I am but a mere hatchling, and that egg looks heavy. Besides, how would I carry it? No, it would not work. Nonetheless, leaving it in the hands of these… humans is not something that sits entirely well with me, either. I do not want to leave what is potentially the last chance of my species in their hands. Who knows what they would do with it? Probably something stupid. Then again, it is pretty dusty… and certainly, it has been here a while. It will probably remain in the same place for a while longer, and as long as the lock remains broken, getting back would not be too difficult. At least, it would be no harder than anything else in this dangerous place, and if nothing else, getting myself out must still be my top priority.

What is in that fallen box in the pathway, anyways? The question is an abrupt change in topic, and I’m not entirely sure where it came from. Still, I am curious, and it could not hurt to find out. The box is already on the floor, and the lid looks cracked, so removing it should not be difficult. Now… it might be fun to try and guess what is in there, like some of those games that humans make. It could be anything, truly, because what I have seen so far doesn’t really hint towards any regularity in these storages. There’s probably a very sensible system behind it all, but I simply cannot see it. To me it just looks like they put the stuff wherever there happens to be empty space. In either case, I will guess for a… fish. It is a rather odd guess, I admit, and I cannot really smell any of those in here, but if I want to guess that there is a fish then I can do so. It is my guess; I can do what I want with it.

I move back towards the fallen box in a matter of moments. Prying the lid loose is not a difficult task. At least, if splitting the lid in half counts as prying it loose. It was a bit more fragile than I thought. Half of it is open, but that is enough, and as I remove the loose piece, the contents are revealed. The prize goes… to someone else, because that is some sort of white fabric, not a fish. I begin to pull it out, curious as to just how large it is. As it turns out, it is quite large. Even as I bury my claws in the fabric and pull, there seems to be more of it, not to mention several other objects which are mixed in with the fabric in question. I climb up on the surprisingly large pile of cloth, feeling myself sinking down into it even as I look over the various things my excavation has uncovered. There is a silver fork, a broken wristwatch, a yellow can about as large as my foot, a pack of cigarettes, some more forks, and an old phone which looks like it belongs on a museum. It must be well over a hundred years old.

The can catches my interest. I move myself a bit closer, trying to read the small, red letters amidst the sea of yellow on the front of the can. It reads ‘Surströmming’. I do not have the slightest idea what that word means, but curious I remain. Nothing for it, then. I shall simply have to open it. Doing so should not be too hard. The metal looks thin and my claws are sharp, although I must admit that the rather clear bulging of the metal worries me somewhat.

I crawl further into the box, reaching for the metallic can before pressing down on it with the closest claw, only to find the specific claw to be rather blunt after my earlier interactions with the vent’s fans. Grumbling in annoyance, I swap for another one, puncturing the metal and- by all that is holy, what is that smell?!

Gagging, I stumble away. The smell is just terrible. I feel sick. It is quite literally the worst smell I have ever felt. My nose starts to shut down, refusing to smell a thing since everything just smells so horrible. Who in their right mind would leave something like this around? It smells rotten, like it has been decomposing in a swamp for weeks. I’m not one to feed on carrion, and even if I were, even if I were part of a species which eats nothing but carrion, I think this is something I would have left well alone. I can’t breathe. Air. I need air, I… I have to get out of here.

I back away further, feeling the smell pushing on me like some physical thing. The need to escape it is all-consuming, swallowing my fear and my caution without the slightest bit of effort. Why, oh why do I have to have such a sensitive nose? This terrible stench is just awful.

The horrid scent rapidly fills the room, drenching everything else in a blanket of absolute stench. All that is left in its wake is a powerful need, a need to breathe free of its rancid reach. Perhaps it would not have been so bad had I still been human, but I am a dragon and by the stars does this smell bad. It could very well be poisonous. Already, it has redefined what a really bad smell is. Plain and simple, it is this. I could not define it any better than that.

What remains of my earlier meal is coming back up. I can feel it. I am already doing my best to prevent it, but I simply… cannot. I feel it coming up my throat… and then I puke. Thankfully, the meat pretty much seems to be digested by this point, but I am still surprised by how much there actually is in my stomach. My rather yellowish stomach juices splatter onto the ground, leaving me gasping for air, something which soon proves to be a big mistake as another wave of fluids comes streaming out. I am not so sure that opening that can was such a good idea. Next time I will make sure to leave the mysterious bulging can within the dangerous unknown facility alone.

I back away another step, still feeling sick. That was disgusting. The smell still is. Lesson learned: keep out of mysterious bulging cans. At least I learned one thing: I’m no carcass-eater. I suppose that bird which was my first raw meal –not something which you forget in the first place– must still have been relatively fresh. I clearly do not deal well with stuff that has gone bad.

Hold on, I hear footsteps. Many footsteps. Maybe half a dozen? It is hard to say for sure. Still, fate has a terrible sense of timing. I’m not feeling so well right now, and people suddenly show up? Terrible. Sense. Of. Timing. What do I do, what do I do? I look around, my sense of smell blocked by a mind running on overdrive. I think, trying to figure out what to do. How did they find me? Did they somehow track me from that little incident in the place where I checked the map? No, if that was the case, they would have found me sooner.

The old idea of there being a tracker in me resurfaces, and it does make terribly much sense. If there actually was a tracker, it would be odd that I have not been caught yet, but I suppose they cannot really hunt me down in the vents, and they probably figured that I would not come out of there were actually armed humans within sight. As far as I know, they haven’t operated on me or anything, but it could have been in the food. Finding the trap would have been hard without some sort of tracker, I’m sure, at least if one is a human. Then again, if that was the case, it might have come up just now. Or maybe I am just unlucky, and a patrol happened to come by right now.
I must hide, that much is clear. However, the only open box save for the one with the egg, wherein I cannot fit, is the stench-box. The one with the egg does not count, for I would not be comfortable with risking its safety like that, and who would have time to open a new box in a situation like this?

My time is limited. With little in the way of options, I am forced to let my sense of smell take the hit as I dive into the foul-smelling box. The stench is terrible, but my fear is greater still. The white fabric gets in the way somewhat, but not so much so that I cannot get into the box (even if it is a tight fit), and as the seconds go by, the smell gradually gets less terrible. My nose must be getting used to it and filtering away the bad stuff. At least I was lucky enough for the crates in here to be abnormally large. It is a close thing that I manage to get myself in, but I think it works for cursory checks, at least.

Hopefully they will not try to follow the smell. I am pretty much right on top of the source. Not only would it lead them to me, but I am certain that Marcie, at least, would have found the situation embarrassing. As for myself, I am not so sure. It is not like it matters all that much to me what impression the humans get right now. They are threats, first and foremost. I cannot let some misguided compassion for their kin pollute my judgement. There are plenty of humans, but only one of me. I know where my priorities lie.

I can hear them outside. They are talking, discussing the next course of action. Wondering about the smell. Trying to figure out how to approach. They seem hesitant. Some even sound a bit... afraid. Others are angry, eager for battle. I suppose killing several of their kind would do that. I can see where they are coming from... but that does not mean that I regret it. Their fault for attacking me in the first place.

If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that there are maybe seven or eight people out there, judging by the number of voices. Too many for me to fight directly, especially if one takes my already-extant wounds (which still hurt quite a lot, if less than they used to) into consideration. Their numbers alone are enough to pose a danger, and if they have firearms, a head-to-head confrontation would be a terrible idea. The thought is not exactly comforting, though its presence is still a great help. Were I not a former human myself, I have no doubt that my lack of knowledge would have led me to my death. As it is, however, I know enough to get by, although I am clearly no expert. I may have to become one out of sheer necessity, though. Should have listened to my more rational side before I started setting everything on fire. Who knows where I would have been now?

It is useless to ponder the prospect by this point. I need to figure out some way to get out of this situation. At least my instincts are not too pressing right now. True enough, I can still feel them... that urge to fight, to defend my life, to give in to the call of instinct... but is it really the best solution? Perhaps I could try something different? Surrender, perhaps? I do have white cloth, maybe I could try a white flag? That means surrender, does it not? Then again, how would I hold it? Jumping up on the box looking like some ghost on halloween is bound to end in disaster, and I have no hands, so tying it to my tail is out of the question. Biting off a more manageable piece should not be too hard, but I doubt I could use it. As flexible as my tail is, I am no snake. I could not simply curl my tail around a piece of cloth and hold it that way. Drape it over my fins, perhaps, but the bullet-wound still hurts and to be truthful, risking my already injured tailfins like that is not something I am willing to do. I think the injury will have trouble enough trying to heal as it is, without the limb being used as some... flagpole.

The humans still seem to be disagreeing on the best method of approach. They are discussing it, some expressing the belief that it's probably something entirely different that smells (well, they got that right, at least), but the group consensus seems to have already pointed itself firmly towards 'investigate'. Of course, they are discussing plans of approach. Within earshot. I can hear you, you know.

Heh. Morons. If this is the average level of intelligence within this place, I am starting to see how I have not been cornered until now. Are humans usually this stupid? I know there are some less... gifted ones for sure. That guy who sat next to me during my third school-year is living proof of that. He was such an annoying person. I do not think that all humans are quite that stupid, though. There have been plenty of smart ones over the years, and I am sure I was never as stupid as those people out in the corridor. I was not that stupid, was I? Honestly I doubt it. Though I suppose stupidity was what got me into this whole situation. I suppose everyone can be stupid at times, though to be frank, I do not really like the fact. It means, logically, that I too am stupid at times which, whilst true, is not something I particularly enjoy knowing.

Maybe they do not know that I can understand them in the first place? That could probably explain their apparent stupidity. Everybody makes mistakes; I suppose it should even out a bit with my own failings. Still, I have been pushing my luck lately, what with everything that has already happened, and I would rather not see it run out. I would hate to get this far only to fail because I got sloppy. Surrendering, as I considered earlier, would also put me back on square one. It must be a last resort only. I admit my situation right now looks rather dire, but maybe not quite bad enough for me to be willing to sacrifice all that I have already undergone.

What else can I do, then? Fighting them may be a possibility, but against this many humans, escaping without injuries is out of the question. I may even end up getting killed. Their firearms are too dangerous, too much of a hazard. The only reason I have survived this far is because of the element of surprise. If they get the drop on me, all they have to do is aim and pull the trigger. My senses may be better than theirs, but they are not infallible. Sooner or later, the humans will shoot first, and when they shoot they will eventually hit. Needless to say, I do not want that to happen. I have been shot at enough as it is.

Maybe I could convince them to leave me alone? No, that would never work. My mouth’s is no human’s, and writing out a message could take too long. At best, it could make them hesitate a bit, but it would also teach them that I can understand their words, and I cannot afford to squander what few advantages I have.

I should have paid more attention to the conversation. The people seem to be approaching, and I have no idea what they actually decided on in the way of plans. Of course, there is also the slight issue that I do not have a plan of my own. The last thing I want is to get shot, and without a plan, I have a feeling that I will just end up rushing straight into a hail of bullets. My instincts are as they are, and in this case, they would lead me to my doom. Brute force is not the answer here. Given the element of surprise, I could possibly kill a few, but if they are all armed, the others would make short work of me.

Perhaps I could just... hide here... and hope that they do not notice me. The idea is oddly tempting. It surrenders the initiative to the enemy, true enough, but it might just work. I certainly do not have any better ideas lying around.

It is decided then. I must hide. Simply sitting here and hoping that they will not go around the box is an awful idea, that much is certain. Thankfully, I have that white fabric. Whatever it was intended to be, the things I have in mind are certainly not amongst them, but if I cover myself with it, I may be able to escape notice from a less scrutinizing gaze. Regretfully, I will have little idea of what goes on outside the box. My sense of smell is still blocked by the... thing I opened earlier, and if the cloth is to be at all effective, I will not see much that way either. Listen, perhaps, but the sounds may be muffled a bit. Good thing my hearing is so good.

It is really tempting to remove the opened can before I start to work on hiding myself, but I cannot, for two reasons. Firstly, I do not have the time. The humans are too close, and I could very well end up unable to get the cloth up in time if I focus on removing the can. Secondly, I am not human, and so have no hands to pick it up with. I could grasp it between two feet, but that would leave me with nothing to stand on, and using my mouth is flatly out of the question. As much as I dislike the prospect, the can will have to stay where it is.

Already quite short on time, I begin work on pulling the large clump of fabric into a more serviceable position. It is some sort of sailcloth, thick and sturdy, albeit not as enormous as one would expect a real sail to be. Using mostly my mouth due to my unwillingness to put any more weight than necessary on my injured leg, I begin to drag the cloth over myself. My pace is slower than I would have liked, but at least I am getting something done. Regretfully, the end result is a bit of a haphazard one, as the humans end up sounding far too close for me to be willing to risk making any noise. Hopefully it is not too obvious. Having no choice but to simply wait, I pull in the last few bits of me which are still not under the shelter of the sailcloth, and lie really, really still.

…

Well, bodily, at least. My mind is stubbornly refusing to stay still. It remains frantically active, emotions and thoughts racing everywhere in a chaotic mess. Part of it is worry, worry of being discovered, blending with the fear associated with the same prospect. Did I conceal myself properly? Am I lying still enough? Will the humans bother removing the cloth to check? Was this a terribly bad idea? What do I do if I am discovered? They are going to discover me, I know it. This was a terrible idea. I should just have stayed in the vents, where there are no dangerous, armed groups of humans wandering about with instant death in their pockets. Any second now, they are going to take out their guns, shooting both me and the box around me full of holes.
Aaaany second now...

Huh. I guess not. Maybe this idea was better than I thought. Tentatively, some hope begins to leak through, seeping into the maelstrom within my skull. Things may not be quite as bad as I previously believed. The fact remains that I am in an unknown facility somewhere in the world, full of humans who seem quite intent on trying to kill me... but there is light at the end of the tunnel. I might just make it out of this in one piece after all. Well, more or less. There is little I can do about my already-present injuries.

My injured ear has started to itch. It annoys me, and I almost move to absent-mindedly scratch it with one of my claws – a bad idea for more than one reason. Not only am I presently hiding, but though the wound may be little more than a scratch compared to that which my knee suffered, I should not risk opening it up. My claws are sharp, after all, and who knows how the injury may react if I scratch on it. Of course, though I know all this, that does not help the fact that the itch is there, and it is starting to become really annoying. Nobody would notice if I just scratched my ear for a second, would they? My injury would be fine, I will avoid scratching at the wound itself, just… a little scratch would feel good. My neck is long enough for me to be able to reach my ear without much trouble, anyways, and… I am rationalizing away the danger here, aren’t I? For all I know, they could be looking right at me, and in that case I would definitely be noticed. No other options exist. I have to wait. I have to sit here, doing nothing for heavens knows how long.

Having come to a conclusion, I do my best to ignore the increasingly annoying itch. With no way of measuring time save for counting the seconds manually, I am left with nothing more than a rough estimate of how much time has passed, but nonetheless, it is better than nothing. My guess on what goes on around me is equally rough. The fabric concealing me is surprisingly good at dampening noise. I catch bits and pieces, words here and there, but most sentences are muffled beyond clear comprehension. My grasp on the spoken language of humanity may not be as good as it used to; the real meaning of the muffled sentences is unclear at best. Then again, not every sentence is as unclear as others, and with that in mind, it is perhaps not too surprising that my listening soon turns up something more usable…

“Seriously, what is that smell?”, a female voice asks, sounding rather displeased with the scent’s presence. Quite severely so, I would say. It almost sounds like she’s holding her nose. Perhaps the smell is affecting them as much as it affects me? My nose is generally more sensitive than theirs, but I think I read somewhere that the human nose was especially sensitive to some smells… Hmm, it does not matter. I suppose, if they are all holding their noses, that would explain why their sentences are so hard to decipher.

Another voice, also female, speaks; “Smells worse over here.” A critical fact registers in my mind. The voice was close. Too close. Practically right above me. My body and mind both freeze in abject fear, the threat of discovery looming over me. Barely daring to breathe, and with my muscles staying as still as they can possibly be, I listen intently for any sign of what is happening. I hear something moving above me, and a moment later, something brushes against the cloth covering my folded left wing.

I nearly jump, my tense nerves magnifying the occurrence beyond reason. The keyword, however, is nearly. It is by a terribly small margin that I manage to stop myself from reacting physically to the unexpected touch. With only a little less in the way of control, I probably would have moved, and after that, a fight would have been inevitable. As it is now, however, I manage to remain unmoving (albeit barely), my senses remaining on high alert and my muscles tensing up further in preparation for the battle that may or may not be imminent.

As luck would have it, however, the female seemingly remains unaware of my presence. Or as fate would have it, or the universe maybe. Whatever fits best. Who knows, maybe this is all some book and there’s an evil author making my life generally miserable? If so, I am filing a formal complaint. Regardless of that errant train of thought, however, I am in quite the predicament right now, and it would really help if my heart would stop feeling as loud as your average monster truck. I am scared. This is literally a life-or-death situation. The fact that my heart seems to be trying to escape on its own is not helping matters. Quietly, a part of me wonders if the little blood-pumping muscle perhaps has the right idea. They are so close. So dreadfully, terribly close. All it would take is one peak, one slip-up, and I would be in a battle that I could not feasibly win.

Given no other options, all that I can do is wait.