Last Gasp

“What are we doing out here, Greg?” asked Yoshi warily.

Greg was clearly distressed and a little angry at Yoshi’s deliberate obtuseness, “You know exactly why we're here, Yoshi,” he grumbled through his thick black beard.

Greg’s second in command had some inkling as to their mission, but still, he couldn’t come to terms with it. Shaking his head as their purpose dawned he pleaded, “She’s your granddaughter, Greg! For God's sake how...?”

The grizzled old man looked up from the small bundle he held in his lap, tears staining an already cold and unkempt face, “You choose Yoshi! You lead!” he accused his companion.

Yoshi stopped rowing, leaving them to bob where their small dinghy stopped. Neither man would speak Yasmine’s name, for fear of making their onerous task impossible, “She’s...,” he stopped unable to muster an argument or a plea. If Greg could do this to his own granddaughter then how was he to argue? The least he could do would be to not throw his guilt back in his friend’s face.

A calm came over the large man, “I know, Yoshi. But it’s the only solution. You know what we need to do, we need to be able to move...fast. A baby is bad enough, but this...? She would get us all killed, and sooner than later. I should have done this the moment she was born, but I’d hoped it might have been over...You're sure it was a burn you saw?”

“It could have been a lightning strike...?” answered Yoshi unconvincingly.

Angry again at his friend’s continued deflection, “Was it a lightning strike, Yosh?”

“No...it was a burn,” replied Yoshi definitively.

“That’s settled then. We can't keep her, she would eventually get us all killed,” said the large man as much to himself as his friend.

“I know you're right Greg, we’ve come so close so many times.” Both men absently touched their collection of scars. Yoshi’s right arm, all the way to his shoulder, was a picture of melting and healing, almost looking like the flames themselves licking up his limb. His rowing, despite this, remained strong.

Greg’s left side of his face, although also healed, was a mess of fused and ridged tissue. He had grown the beard in an effort to make it less horrific. Hair, however, doesn't grow on burnt skin. In the end, it exaggerated the appearance of the wound by highlighting it. By then he no longer cared how he looked. Neither did the people he led. “Escaped by the skin of our teeth!” he said, repeating a common joke between the pair. He gave the customary grin that was more akin to the most menacing of grimaces. Revealing on one side a full view of teeth and gums with no lips protecting them.

“You know she’ll never forgive you, don't you?” added Yoshi continuing to row.

“Margarit won't be the only member of that club. When she wakes, my daughter will hate me. Most likely for the rest of her life. Hopefully, that life will be long. Or at least longer than most” His leader nodded for Yoshi to stop, “This’ll do.”

His friend was still confused, “Why here?”

“I dived here a couple of weeks ago, looking for food. There’s a kelp forest below. It looked...peaceful...nice,” he sniffed briefly, wiping his nose while he explained, “They say drowning can be pleasant. Hopefully, the poor thing won't know, and then it’ll be over.” He brushed away the blanket from the child’s perfect face, revealing a cherubic smile, blonde hair, and blue eyes. The twelve-month-old infant looking happily up at her grandfather. To remind himself of his resolve, Greg pulled away the rest of the blankets revealing the deformed and useless legs. Wrapping her up, he lifted her softly from his lap and began to place her, arm's length, over the side, into the gently waving sea. The child beginning to stir.

“Greg, I...,” again Yoshi faltered, unable to find an argument against this horrible task.

His leader looked at him, both annoyed at the delay but hopeful of any other solution. Anything. “How did Yas’s father die?” he asked.

Yoshi looked away, remembering, “He died trying to save someone who couldn't be saved.”

“And this, Yoshi?” Greg was almost daring to scream now, tears flowing freely, “Do you remember how I got this?” he whispered hoarsely, pointing to his ruined face.

Yoshi no longer noticed the phlegm and spittle that erupted from Greg’s wound whenever he spoke passionately. His friend’s distress was evident, never before had he wanted to relive the moment he’d been burnt, “You fell onto a slagheap trying to run away from the madness...”

“But running Yoshi! And I got away. Running is all we have! From the first day, it has remained time and time again our one and only option for survival! To run!” He looked again at his bundle, hovering above the water, “What’s she gonna do, Yoshi? She’s gonna get killed because she can't run. Probably get her mother killed too. Me? You?”

His friend joined him in his crying grief, “I'm sorry my friend, I just wished for another choice, for your sake as much as hers.”

For his own certainty and for Yoshi’s as well, he continued the catechism, “How many of us are left?”

“Twenty-five, Greg,” answered his friend quietly, “there are twenty-five of us left. We haven't seen anyone else for over a year,” he finished disconsolate.

“It’s not just about me and you or even Margarit living anymore. It’s more than that. I would give my soul in a heartbeat if it meant Yas could live out a full and happy life. You know that?” pleaded Greg.

“Of course, Greg. You've sacrificed yourself so many times for so much less,” conceded Yoshi.

“And so I must sacrifice again. I must murder my beautiful grandchild or others will die for her, and then she will die anyway!” with a blubbered, mournful bellow he plunged his arms and granddaughter into the water. He wanted to fully cry out, and scream at the cruel circumstance that had forced him to this point, but he daren’t. He felt the infant struggle some more. He had been determined to hold her under until she ceased moving, but found his resolve disappear into more tears and anguish. He let the still struggling, submerged child go and lifted his hands from the sea. The grandfather’s last glimpse of his dark swaddled descendent, descending into the thick strands of kelp below.

What’s this we have here then? mused the leviathan.

The dragon burst through the surface of the water, splintering the small boat into a thousand pieces! Greg and Yoshi thrown asunder, flying through the air and splashing down at least a hundred metres from one another. The emerald serpent continuing its ascent, leaving the ocean for the air, now soaring instead of swimming, circling to assess its impact.

The grandfather broke the surface, gasping. Water, seaweed and debris, parts of his former vessel, showering him. He looked desperately for Yoshi and then saw above him the source of his calamity. Suddenly, all urgency was lost. With the disintegration of hope, came calm. He watched the dragon turn and dive back towards him. So the child will be the death of us anyway, he thought ironically. His only hope was that Yoshi might escape while he himself burned or boiled alive. The creature glided in towards his position, looked, assessed and then rose again into the sky.

Presented with a spate of serenity, Greg again looked for Yoshi and began paddling towards the beach. He saw ahead, that his friend had been fortunate, thrown closer to the shore. Now making his way groggily onto the sandy beach. Looking back, Greg thought he might have another opportunity to gain some time for Yoshi. He stopped swimming and began treading water, looking at the now-returning dragon squarely in its eyes. As a last tearful prayer, Greg whispered, “So sorry Yas, sorry Margarit.”

Again the dragon looked with jaw closed and flew away once more.

Not questioning his reprieve, Greg launched into a full swimming stroke. Yoshi was safe for now, perhaps he might live as well. By the time Greg had reached the shore he had not looked back once.

Lying, gasping on his back while the tidal foam caressed him, Greg could see the creature perched on the tallest hill on the island. Clearly watching his and most likely Yoshi’s, progress.

“COME ON THEN!” the grandfather daring to yell for the first time in years. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!” It was then that he felt someone tugging at his arm, trying to drag him up the beach.

“Shut up, you silly old man. You trying to get us both killed?!” said Yoshi.

Greg rose from the sand, turning his comrade’s help into a half hug, “We’re already dead, Yosh, you know that as well as I do.”

The bearded man’s resignation infected his friend as he too stopped, looked up at the hill and saw the creature. The two, arms over each other’s shoulders, stared at their imminent destruction. Still, it sat, glaring at the pair of insignificants. Greg and Yoshi of course had been on the receiving end of a dragon’s malice before. But never so directly. All of their burns had been a result of radiant heat. For to be exposed to the full blast from a dragon, was to be obliterated. Not so much as a cinder remaining. Their fire melted cities. Humans were incidental. To be faced with one of these reptiles having its sole attention towards them was to see utter despair made flesh.

As though reaching a decision, the serpent took to flight and headed directly towards the two men.

Both braced themselves for what was to come. Not just the fire from the stuff of legend, but an intense oxy-acetylene blistering of the landscape. A disintegration of everything that had been or could ever hope to be. The dragons had been so successful in their utter devastation that it appeared they were now reduced to incendiarising individuals.

Again there was a harmless but intense fly-by, with the once mythical animal circling and then returning to where the two men still stood.

“I guess they’ve run out of cities and millions to melt?” said Yoshi to his mentor, “It's almost kind of cool you know. One of those things destroyed New York in a week. Never known them to particularly enjoy the kill before. Might buy some time for the others?”

His old friend could only agree, “These bastards are now wasting all their energy on the likes of us.” The two men laughed bitterly at their fate, while the dragon landed on the beach a hundred metres away, slowly moving towards them. Seeing his friend's anguished look, Greg apologised for their predicament, “I'm sorry Yoshi, sorry for making you help me with that horrible deed. Sorry for getting you killed...”

The smaller man eased, still with his arm around his leader, “Are you sorry for saving my life all those other times as well? As far as today goes, we did what we had to do. I know that now,” Yoshi paused, “It was just Beatrice you know. She won't know why I'm not coming home. I hate the idea of her not knowing and fretting.”

Greg tried to lighten his friend's load with his usual gruff response, “That mangy, flea-bitten, cantankerous, old thing?”

“You were there when Beatrice and I got burnt. You saved both of our lives,” reminisced Yoshi.

“I remember, and it was your life I saved, not that angry bitch’s. She just got up, eighty per cent burns and all and just followed us,” Greg gave his usual nod of admiration whenever they talked about the alsatian’s deeds.

Yoshi’s eyes welled up, “She wasn't always like that.”

Greg smiled and held his friend a bit closer, “I know, you've always said she was the happiest of dogs.”

“She was, Greg, her ears were always up, and she always seemed like she was smiling. It wasn't the burns that turned her into the bad-tempered girl she can be sometimes. It was when they turned up,” said Yoshi nodding at the immense scaled creature, now only fifty metres away. “A day or so before the reports started coming in, her ears dropped and...she changed. Went from being the most lovely-natured girl to...I don't know, really skittish and...”

“Angry Yosh, really angry,” added Greg.

Yoshi chuckled, “Yeah I guess you're right, and I can't really blame her either. But she never stopped loving me and I her and that's what really matters,” ended Yoshi defensively. “At least this,” he said pointing to their slowly advancing doom, “will be quick for us.”

Greg gave his friend a small shake in agreeance, “I couldn't have hoped for a better friend, Yoshi, Beatrice is lucky to have you, thank you for everything. At least for me, Margarit won't know what I did today. I just hope they've seen this thing and are getting the hell out of here.”

“Funny, haven't actually seen one for a couple of years. Was kinda hoping they’d gone...” said Yoshi.

“Me too, but gone where?” asked Greg.

“Wherever it is they bloody well came from, that’s where,” answered his friend angrily.

The monstrous reptile was now only twenty metres away. This was by far and away the closest either of these men had ever been to a dragon. It was a spectacular creature by any measure. The two friends captivated by their imminent demise along with the serpent’s extraordinary presence. It rose from a crouch, rearing back in a movement both men recognised all too well. The precursor to a fiery blast that would have sublimated Hell. Greg and Yoshi closed their eyes, holding up their free arms in a futile warding gesture.

Moments passed and still, they lived. Greg opened one eye gradually, mortified at the prospect of what he might see next. He released Yoshi from his half embrace, both arms falling to his side. Catching his breath he whispered, “Yoshi.”

“What?” his eyes still closed.

Greg turned and looked at his friend, surprised at finding a laugh escaping his lips, “Open your eyes, Yoshi.”

He did so, gasping at the sight he beheld. Before them sat the dragon, full lengthed lying towards them its great jaw open, the cavernous maw beckoning. The beast’s tongue was larger than a king-size bed, and upon it lay strands of kelp surrounding a distraught Yasmine, crying desperately for her mother. The dragon closed its mouth, the bawling now eerily echoing in the newly created chamber. The creature shuffled closer towards the men, settled down again, opening its mouth once more. The two friends in response, retreated, raising their arms uselessly again to stop the fireball that never came.

Again the dragon closed its mouth and advanced. Again the men walked backwards along the beach, not understanding the dance at all. Finally, they were in the same position as it had begun. The two men half embracing each other, twenty metres from the dragon’s head. Its mouth open, the child crying, resting on the beast’s tongue.

“I think it wants us to take Yas?” offered Greg uncomfortably.

“Or join her. Anyway, she’s your granddaughter,” countered Yoshi.

The older man looked at his comrade again, he had always managed to make him laugh, even in the direst of circumstances. Greg once again released his friend, this time walking cautiously towards the magical creature. He had been so close to death, so many times over the last ten years. Greg was not proud of his courage, for he knew it was less than this, it was by now simply a lack of fear. He felt as though he had run out of scared a long time ago. So much so, that when he reached the giant head, he touched its bottom jaw, just below the neat, razor-sharp row of two-metre fangs. Running his hand along the scaly skin he could see and feel multiple dents, scratches and abrasions. Most likely a result of the almost ineffectual human arsenal. Nothing had worked. Guns, missiles, bombs and even poison barely left a trace of damage, let alone kill one of these things. It had appeared as though a battle between science and magic had been waged. With the wondrously devastating dragons the comprehensive victor. Greg looked up into the one golden eye. There was a depth and clarity in that orb, something that Greg would never forget. Vast intelligence, humbling, intimidating, eventually he had to look away.

The grandfather walked adjacent to where the baby’s wailing was the loudest. He looked up again, frustrated at his lack of options. “How am I meant to get in there!” he shouted to Yoshi.

“You can reach its lower lip and pull yourself up onto it,” offered his friend.

Greg turned in his direction clearly unimpressed, “And then what? Use its lip as a trampoline to bounce me over the top of these ivory bloody skewers? Thanks, Yosh!”

“Come back up to the front then. Its teeth are shorter there,” replied Yoshi helpfully.

Retracing his steps, Greg arrived at the snout of the beast. “I could do with a leg up here?” he asked.

Yoshi hesitated then cautiously walked to his friend's aid. Clasping his two hands into a stirrup, he helped hoik Greg up onto the dragon’s lower lip. From here his leader was able to carefully step over the front row of incisors and onto the tongue of the creature. He had almost reached his granddaughter when the dragon gagged, closing its jaw. Plunged into total darkness, Greg felt the first hint of fear in an age. He was forced flat onto the tongue as it pressed against the roof of its mouth. There was a loud swallowing noise and then light, the jaw opening once more. Greg recovered to his feet, smeared in saliva and seaweed. The breath was hot and disgusting. Carrion mixed with sulphur, almost overwhelming.

“Think it was just a reflex action, Greg. You know just had its mouth open for quite a while, got a bit dry perhaps,” yelled Yoshi.

“Thanks again Yosh,” replied Greg sarcastically with a cough, pulling away the strands of kelp that had stuck to his torso. He looked down at his granddaughter, her tears forgotten at the sight of his familiar face. “Come here Yas. I won't do that again, I promise. I'm so very sorry.” Emotional and trembling, the large man bent down and picked up his charge. He wasted no time and made his way to the front of the mouth where Yoshi waited below. Choosing the least dangerous option, Greg stepped over the fangs and dropped the child into Yoshi’s waiting arms below.

Climbing down, Greg joined the pair and they once again retreated back up the beach to what was still an unsafe distance, eyeing the giant reptile. “What now?” asked Yoshi echoing Greg’s thoughts.

As if in response, the dragon rose and launched into the sky, the two men with their precious bundle staggered backwards, buffeted by its tremendous wings.

It flew towards the rocky hill on which it had previously perched. This time pouring an inferno of fire along its ridge, creating molten rock and lava flows. Despite the fact it was more than a kilometre away, the men could feel the change in temperature. A cool wind brushed their faces, rushing to replace the conflagrated air. Another pass and another strafing blaze, as though the hill had somehow offended or challenged the creature and was being punished. Then, with the rocky peak on fire and the brightest of orange colour, the dragon glided gently down into its midst and lay amongst the molten rocks. Nestling into the stony inferno, seemingly to rest.

The men watched, transfixed. With time, the temperature of the outcrop cooled and the rocks lost some of their glow. The dragon becoming indistinguishable from its surrounds. Now a part of the hill. Resembling nothing more than an active imagination’s fireside story.

The two men were brought from their reverie by a childish burp. They walked slowly back to their makeshift camp in silence until Yoshi asked what they had both been pondering, “What do you think all that was about boss?”

Greg thought some more on the subject. He had thought of nothing else since they had started walking. “I think...it might be over,” he said hopefully.

“What..? The dragon wars?” asked his friend.

“Yeah,” answered Greg, “You know what a lot of the chatter was when all of this started?” he asked rhetorically, “We were partway towards ruining this world. Warming the planet, rising seas, massive storms, we had made a right mess of it all. Then these things appear,” here he paused, remembering, “there were reports that the mountains had somehow come alive. Didn't think much of it at the time, maybe they were right.” Greg stopped and indicated the direction of the now almost fossilised dragon, “Then they rain down destruction on everything. Almost like a vengeance against our greed and thoughtlessness. They destroyed...melted everything we had built and killed almost everyone. Maybe they're done? Maybe we're being given another chance?” he looked down at his beautiful granddaughter, “Maybe this one is special?”

“Maybe this has all happened before?” said Yoshi, making his friend laugh once more.

“Could be you're right Yosh. They were always the stuff of legend from practically every culture on the planet. Seems like we still haven't learnt. Maybe this time?” he added with a sceptical look.

The pair reached the outskirts of their ramshackle base, a distraught Margarit racing down the path towards them. Beatrice, Yoshi’s heavily scarred alsatian, in tow, “Papa, where have you been? I was worried.”

Greg handed the child over to her mother, embracing them both in the warmest of hugs. “Sorry Marg, it was a nice morning, Yoshi and I were just taking little Yas for a walk.”

His daughter returned the hug, then pulled away looking at her father, “Are you ok Papa? You smell funny,” she could also sense a difference in his demeanour but could not put a finger on it. “We felt the change in temperature, saw smoke...”

“No need to worry love.” At this point, Greg looked down at Yoshi. He was on his knees eyes brimming with joy, Beatrice, happily licking his face, her ears pointing towards the sky. “In fact, I think we might be able to start putting down some roots. Building a proper home for little Yas to grow up in. Complete with ramps, maybe a wheelchair?” His daughter’s hope-filled smile brought one to his own scarred face. And for the first time since his disfigurement, it didn't look quite so menacing.