The Very Last Days of Mr Grey (23 page)

But a dragon? What was he even supposed to do about that? How could he respond? If it was just one dragon, it wouldn’t be like the world would devolve into every-man-for-himself warfare. Also, what was he supposed to shoot? The most tantalizing thing about the zombie apocalypse was the video-game-like abandon with which he could hypothetically shoot up the streets, dropping the walking dead without hesitation.

“A dragon,” Sergeant Grant said, shaking his head, passing the pondering Private Peters and hopping up into the back. “This is stupid.”

“Load up everyone,” their captain ordered. He had been pacing as the eleven vehicles were loaded with troops, and apparently was now satisfied that a sufficient number of soldiers were present. Or he was anxious.

Peters climbed in and took a seat next to Grant. “You think it’s really a dragon?”

“You shitting me Peters? A dragon? Come on, zombies are bad enough. No way this is real.”

“Seems real.” Peters looked around at his fellow soldiers. None seemed interested in voicing their opinion.

The truck pulled out, and headed into the city.

They navigated the impossible streets that were filled with idiots trying to get footage of the mayhem. The police had some roadblocks, but a lot of the ones they passed were abandoned or destroyed—usually both.

They drove seemingly at random, trying to intercept either the dragon if it landed, or the two men who were running really fast through the city. Lucky for them, everyone, including the dragon, was within a block of each other—for now at least. Peters didn’t see why two men running fast was noteworthy, but he was a private, so what did he know. He badly wanted to call his dad to find out what the hell was going on, but didn’t dare. If it was really important, his dad would call him.

Then again, a dragon seemed call-worthy. And yet…

A hellish noise pierced the canvas-covered truck, and all the troops looked at each other as if to ask, “Uh?”

“Hole-y shit,” the driver said, pulling to a stop in front of a liquor store, and looking up through the windshield. Peters saw a news van stop behind them before getting up and going to the front to see what was going on.

Many had heard the screech, the whole city probably had, but the only squad lucky enough to get a good look, was the one Private Ryan Peters found himself in. And so Peters watched the man clasped to the dragon’s back, pummeling it with what looked to be his bare fists as they plunged toward the earth, directly toward—

“Shit. Brace for—”

And then the building they had stopped in front of was obliterated, and the vehicle rocked on its suspension, the windows all blowing out as debris slammed into them.

For a brief moment on that fateful day, all were still. The National Guard stood, disembarked from their vehicle, bleeding from various holes and orifices, but without serious injury, staring at the wreckage. News crews, having trailed the catastrophe like flies to— were silent, the cameramen undecided on what was more interesting to film, and so just letting the lens’s gaze fall where it may. The two agents had stopped their chase, their target somewhere in the rubble. Never before had anyone died in a dream, not of their own accord, but now Ehd wondered if there really was a first time for everything, and whether this would be it.

The National Guardsmen all had automatic weapons, grenades, rocket launchers. But none were held at the ready. In the sudden silence, and the complete and total destruction of the building in front of them, the dust cloud so thick that it would’ve hid the stars had it been night and had they ever been visible from within the city in the first place, none expected anything to have survived.

All were wrong.

“I told you to wait! Executive decision? I’m the president here, I’m the only one who gets to make that!”

Pause.

“I don’t care if they’re in position now due to your foresight! I—”

Everyone in the room was very quiet, pretending as best as possible to not be listening to her. She knew they were. She didn’t care. They thought she was too soft in these matters; let them see this side of her. In fact… “Listen to me you shitbrain, when I give an order, you obey! Do you understand me!?”

A pause.

“Good. Now get me feeds from everyone. Do not fire unless
directly
attacked. And if you screw up again, I’m pulling you.”

Pause. Then she hung up. She slammed the phone a bit harder than she meant to.

She looked around, hoping to catch someone looking at her. No one was. She sighed and slumped into her chair. She hadn’t realized she’d stood.

What came next would become iconic—the most viewed video ever, the therefrom derived three second gif displayed on the front page of every news site in the world for days to come. It was the first time in recorded history that this feat had ever actually happened. It was also the last.

From the rubble, something stirred. Weapons were trained, missiles were readied, cameras were unified in the direction in which they pointed.

And still, no one was prepared.

The rubble shifted and began sliding toward the onlookers. The onlookers all moved back in unison, even the two men in black suits who had been mostly forgotten for the moment.

Then the rubble exploded in a great cloud of dust and pebbles, and cameras and weapons followed the object that had burst out.

There, hovering in the air like an ancient god, captured in perpetuity by the masterful strokes of some forgotten painter, was a man, looking down upon them all, looking confused.

Ehd and Fredriks looked at each other, each with a similar expression of disbelief. This was more than most dreamers would be able to sustain. Most would have had their dream world collapse by this point, under such unimaginable assault.

But somehow not him. Not—

“Mr Grey!” Ehd shouted.

Mason’s gaze found them. He tilted his head. “You.”

“Give up this charade. It will not stop us.”

Mason floated down to them. Eleven fully automatic guns and nearly half as many cameras of all varieties followed him as he did. “I’m getting sick of your enigmas. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Come now,” Fredriks said, “do not make this hard on yourself.”

Ehd looked smug. “Just come with us, and this will all be over.”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ehd looked at his gun, then his partner. “Shall we convince him?”

Fredriks nodded. “That would be amusing.”

“And of course, the safest way to go about this.”

“Of course.”

Before Mr Grey had a chance to react, they acted, charging him.

The impact sent him back into the rubble.

A screech from the pile let everyone know the dragon wasn’t out of the game yet.

The two agents halted, watching Mason slip as he tried to stand on the wreckage of what was once a highly overpriced, highly inconvenient, convenience store.

There was screaming from the soldiers around them, telling everyone to stop, to calm down, but they ignored them and continued toward Mason when the dragon didn’t stir again.

Mason got up, slowly. “Ow,” he burst out. “Dammit, again?”

“Don’t make us hurt you.”

Mason shook his head. “I just wasn’t ready. You took me by surprise, it won’t happen—”

“Get down!” one of the soldiers shouted as he approached. Other soldiers shouted variations of this with more vulgar constructions.

Mason looked at the soldiers, really taking note of them for the first time. He had a hard time understanding what they were saying, as though they were speaking through thick accents. He didn’t need to understand their words, however, to grasp their intent. He put up his hands. “Whoa there.”

Ehd looked at his partner, an unspoken question. Mr Grey was fighting all his demons, and none seemed to be on his side.

The agents stood motionless, waiting to see how it would play out.

Perhaps Mr Grey would give himself away.

Nearly a dozen firearms were now trained on them. A group went to move in on the agents, but then as they neared the rubble, the dragon screeched again, and they fell back.

News anchors and cameramen became suddenly aware of the real possibility of getting shot in a crossfire. Or eaten by a dragon. They slowly edged away from the scene, zooming in as they edged back so as to keep an aesthetic composition.

Mason put his hands down, shook his head once.

The guardsmen shouted at him to raise them again, but he didn’t listen. He began walking toward the agents. “I’m getting sick of you two. I’m going to give
you
one final chance, get out of here or—”

Mason slipped as a piece of rubble shifted underfoot, and then the whole pile exploded as the dragon burst forth and into the sky, sweeping Mason up in its mouth. His faint scream could be heard before the debris began falling to the ground again, at which point the military and civilians scattered.

The agents stood there as heavy rocks rained down on them.

“I’m becoming annoyed with Mr Grey.”

Ehd nodded. “He’s using it to his advantage now.”

“We’ll put an end to it then.”

They looked at the apparitions around them.

“Leave them?” Ehd asked.

“Unless they interfere. The clock is tocking.”

They then took off, both Ehd and Fredriks moving faster than they ever could in their real bodies, looking skyward as they ran in pursuit of Mr Grey, and his nightmare dragon.

The lieutenant, still waiting to hear back from the general, again called in to report this latest development. They’d see it on the news soon enough, but procedure was procedure.

“Uh, General?”

“Lieutenant? Sorry, I forgot to get back to you.”

“Uh, sir, I’ve got a… another bogey.”

“Lieutenant?” The general looked at the POTUS as he awaited a response from his pilot. In the command center, something was happening, reports were coming in from the street. He heard another general shout something about comic books.

“Uh,” the lieutenant continued, “the same one, I guess. I’m not certain, I don’t see how that’s possible. But he appears to be… flying.”

“Falling?”

“No, just flying. Normally I’d…”

“Repeat that?”

“Sorry sir. A man appears to be flying under his own power. Unaided.”

The general shook his head.

“Sir? Orders?”

The general looked to his commander.

The president looked thoughtful, then said, “What is this… man, doing?”

The general asked.

“He appears to be going after the target. Again.”

“Which one son?”

“Uh, the dragon. The dragon-like weapon. He had a brief skirmish with the, I think I heard them being called Men in Black? In any case, the men in black, uh, suits, but the… dragon, uh, it grabbed him, sir, and they flew off.”

“So the dragon is the one flying?”

“Yes, as of now. But the man was flying on his own a few seconds ago before the dragon grabbed him. Hovering, anyway.”

“Grabbed him?”

“Yes sir.”

“How?”

“In its mouth.”

“And he’s alive?”

“Unknown sir. But, given what I’ve seen him survive so far, I’d say so.”

“And you said the man hasn’t attacked anyone else?”

“That’s correct sir.”

The president shook her head, waved her hand. “Leave him for now. Let this play out. We have dragons, so maybe we have superheroes helping us too. But keep him targeted.”

An aide approached, holding a phone for the president.

The general nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

The first sign that it wasn’t just dragons the people of New York needed to worry about came moments after the dragon lifted Mason Grey into the sky. The two large men in suits, who had previously run so fast, now did so again, and plowed through the three men who tried to stop them, breaking the hand of one, and injuring another severely enough to temporarily paralyze him. The third was unscathed, and was shouting for permission to shoot. But by the time the response came, in the negative, they were out of his sight anyway.

Two of the remaining uninjured stayed behind with them while the rest of the squad were given to follow the Men in Black without attacking while it was determined which agency they belonged to, for surely they must, given their attire. Not to mention their uncivilian-like speed.

In the sky, Mason by some miracle managed to extract himself from the dragon’s mouth, then shock himself when he didn’t immediately fall to his death, or at least into another void.

I’m flying
, he thought. Then he realized he was also on fire.

After some fast maneuvers to extinguish the fire, which were immensely fun despite
being
on fire, he flew after the dragon.

He got ahold of its tail, hoped it wasn’t like a lizard, and did a Mario, throwing the thing.

Unfortunately, he realized too late that throwing a yacht-sized object into a building, was not the safest course of action.

Two boys—possibly young men—sat in the dirt outside a fenced in area, light from the setting sun casting their shadows long ahead of them, merging with the fence.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sawyer whispered.

Ethan looked at him. “After what they did to my dad…”

Sawyer nodded. “Fine. Let’s just… hurry.”

Ethan nodded. “Go, I’ll cover you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because I have better vision.”

“That doesn’t make sense. And I’m wearing my contacts. So it makes even less sense.”

“You’re taller.”

Sawyer paused. That did kind of make sense. It would theoretically be easier for him to climb the fence.
And not castrate myself,
he thought, looking at the razor wire. “I don’t know.”

“Come on man, just go. We don’t have much time. They’re gonna come back out. We won’t get another chance like this.”

“This wasn’t the plan.”

“The best laid plains.”

“What?”

“It’s a movie. About plans.”

“Plains?”

“Yeah, like crops.”