Resistance

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. For that matter, there weren’t always dragons. As I look out over the scorched and barren landscape, it occurs to me I might well be the only person left who remembers what it was like here before they came.

Seeing dragons in the Valley is a common enough sight now, but I’m shocked at how many beasts I see sleeping below. Their hybrid bodies rely on sunlight to recharge the nanites in their retroreflective scales during the day, storing up energy for their nightly hunts. Perhaps that is why they started nesting in the Valley. With its East to West orientation, the wide basin enjoys full sun most of the day. I quickly begin counting but stop around seventy. Based on the section still uncounted, I know it will be over a hundred. Give or take a few from that number won’t really change anything.

I’ve known for some time their numbers were increasing, but I never imagined it was this extensive. Just a few months ago, this Valley was home to maybe a dozen dragons, at most.

“Why are you here?” I mutter. Not that I expect them to answer. From my high perch on the mountainside, I can tell most of them are fully grown, which means their increased population is the result of migration, not procreation. They seem to be gathering here intentionally, and nauseating tendrils of dread thread their way through my abdomen as I ponder this fact.

I sometimes wonder if the scientists had any reservations about the work they were doing back then, or if their hubris was truly unbounded. Genetic engineering and nanotechnology were both in their infancy, each one bringing extraordinary and terrifying possibilities to the table. But when they combined them, it spawned the stuff of nightmares.

I was a teenager when the world fell apart. I have vague memories from before, hearing words like “biomedical nanotechnology” or “next gen web”…and the way the scientists and government officials on the news patted one another on the back. I was 15 when the high-fives turned to finger-pointing, when it first came to light that their programmable, genetically enhanced war beasts were no longer fully under their control. The nanite technology that formed their neural networks and allowed the scientists to program their actions ultimately allowed the dragons to establish a networked consciousness of their own that the scientists knew nothing about. By the time they figured it out, it was too late.

From secret labs in military bases all over the world, in every country in the UN, the creatures attacked. They attacked networks first, either merging with or burning out every connection, whether wired or wireless. Within minutes, every power grid was blown. Ever missile silo compromised and nukes exploded across the globe. Next, they targeted the remaining countries, showing no less mercy than they had to their points of origin. Finally, their last campaign targeted the remaining humans everywhere. Using their vocal cords to create sparks that ignited the noxious gas their lungs produced, the dragons burned to the ground every human heat signature they found, leaving the world in ruins.

It was sheer, dumb luck that we survived it. Dad had taken me spelunking for my 16th birthday, in the Valley and Ridge region of the North Georgia mountains. Hundreds of feet underground in the pit cave, our heat signatures were undetectable, and with no cell or electrical signal that deep, we avoided the initial massacre. We were also far enough away from any of the missile locations to avoid radiation fallout. So while we didn’t know what had happened at first, we knew something was very wrong by the way the earth shook for hours on end. When we tried to make our way out, we found that our harness ropes had burned near the cave entrance leaving us stranded. For the first two days, we honestly thought someone would come to rescue us. By day three, with very little food left, we knew we had to do something, and it took another four days to work our way through the intricate network of caves to find another way out. By the time we emerged, half starved and dehydrated, a week had passed in which the world as we knew it had been destroyed, and the human race near extinction.

I scoff at myself, mentally mocking my use of the word, “near.” Because the truth is, extinction is probably just a matter of time. I suspect there are others who survived like we did, but there is no way to know for sure, no way to communicate. And of our original group of 9 spelunkers, I am the only one left.

I force myself to push this thinking aside, refocusing my attention to the dragons below. I am lost in thought, so it startles me a little when I hear, “Why are there so many, Tiva?”

Along with the whispered question, I feel a small hand slip into my own. I look down at the wide, trusting eyes staring up at me. With the smattering of freckles across her light brown face, sunlight turning her unruly curls almost blonde in the light, I feel my heart lurch. I love this face. How can I possibly protect her from so many dragons?

“I don’t know, Seega,” I answer truthfully. “Something is drawing them here.”

She wrinkles her little forehead quizzically, taking in the terrifying view with far greater calm than I feel. “I’m glad they’re asleep,” she observes finally, and I have to agree. We wouldn’t want to be caught on this hillside when they were awake.

Her restless mind jumps quickly to another topic, and her hazel eyes dance as she asks, “Tell me the story again, what it was like before the dragons?” For good measure, she prompts, “Once upon a time…”

A smile teases the corners of my mouth despite the danger that rests nearby. “Yes, little one. Once upon a time… the world was very different. But the rest of the story will have to wait. The sun will be going down soon, and when the moon rises…”

“…so do the dragons,” she finishes.

“That’s right. Good girl.”

Seega’s capacity for learning amazes me, as does the joy with which she throws her whole heart into everything she does. She trusts me completely and that fact both terrifies and thrills me. I don’t know her exact age. My guess is that she is between three and four years old, but she has only been with me for the last year, and I know almost nothing of her history before that.

I had been alone for the better part of two years when she came along. Our original spelunking group had hunkered down in the caves, realizing it was one of the few places we were safe – or at least, safer than most. Over the next five years, however, our numbers dwindled, and by my 21st birthday, I was alone.

It was just after sundown the night when I heard the screams. I made my way outside just as Seega’s mother rounded a bend, running toward me, looking as surprised as I was to see another human. In the low light, I didn’t notice the child until she thrust Seega into my arms. I remember hearing rocks sliding down the hillside nearby, and the excited shrieks of the dragons echoing around us as they closed in, and I wondered if we could get back inside quickly enough to escape. But Seega’s mom was already running the other direction, drawing the dragons away from her child.

I know they caught her. I heard the screams just a few moments later and found what little was left the next day. I have no idea where she came from or who Seega’s father was. I can’t even say with any degree of certainty what her name was originally, but in the beginning, I called her Sweet Girl and when she repeated it back, it came out “See Ga.” In time, it stuck, but I think the name suits her. She truly has the sweetest heart, unblemished by our horrible circumstances.

It didn’t feel right to have her call me “Mom,” so I told her I was her “Auntie Vera.” I guess it was too much of a mouthful at the time and she settled on “Ti Va.” It’s fitting, in a way -- we gave each other new names when we began our life together.

“Come, Seega,” I whisper. “We need to hurry and finish.”

It’s an unpleasant task, but she doesn’t complain. We learned early on that the putrid odor of dragon feces not only helps to mask our own scent, but it’s highly flammable, serving as a fuel for fire now that most of the trees have burned. Keeping a fresh supply on hand is nasty business, but necessary. So Seega and I lift our scarves up to cover our mouth and nose, then finish filling our buckets in silence.

The hike back home is almost a mile and a half, and Seega makes the trek like a champ. The entrance to our cave is well camouflaged. A large rock outcropping blocks the entrance from view, while boulders on either side make it hard to achieve the angle needed to see past the outcropping to the opening. Unless you know where to look, you are unlikely to find it. At last, the anxiety I always feel when we are away from the safety of the cave begins to subside and I allow myself to relax a little. We leave our buckets on either side of the outcropping, then make our way inside.

_________________________________________

It’s funny how the mind works. Several details hit me all at once, each one being processed individually. It took a mere fraction of an instant, but it felt like an eternity as my panicked mind cataloged the fragments to assemble a recognizable picture.

The smell. Even over the lingering odor of dragon feces, the scent was unmistakable. It reminds me of the smell at the reptile house at the zoo -- musky, putrid, reptilian.

Seega. A step or two behind me, her keen nose actually caught the scent first, and she rushed to me, her small hands grasping at my pants leg for protection.

Light. The cave is usually pitch black as we enter, and I always go first to light a lamp for Seega – she hates the dark. But this time, there is something emitting light into the room. The photo-reflective scales, which soak up sunlight during the day, give off faint, residual light in the dark.

Eyes. Large, glowing amber orbs stare back at me in the semi-darkness. I feel my stomach drop as intelligent eyes take focus, the pupils narrowing to slits as it sizes us up.

As conscious thought catches up with my racing mind, the single words hits me: Dragon!

And right behind it, another word makes its way to the surface: tiny.

It is small, I realize. No bigger than a dog. I’ve never actually seen one this small, but with their networked consciousness, I know our location is already probably in jeopardy.

Without even thinking, I rush toward the dragon, swinging my walking stick up to force it backward. Having caught the creature off guard, I manage to push it back with surprising ease toward the corner of the chamber, where the opening to the pit is located. The young dragon’s eyes go wide, too late realizing it is no longer the predator, but the prey. It lowers its front shoulders, preparing to resist, but with a final shove, it starts to slide downward. It scrambles for purchase, its long talons scraping the stone edges the pit and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. For just a moment, I think it is going to catch itself, and I can tell by the look of triumph in its intelligent eyes that it thinks so, too.

A primal scream rips from my throat and I launch myself forward with every ounce of strength I can muster. Time seemed to stand still as gravity takes hold, and the dragon is as surprised as I am when it began to fall. Unable to get the wings outstretched in time, it slammed heavily into the rock floor a couple hundred feet below. It let out an angry bellow on the way down, which ended in a pitiful yelp on impact. I stand there breathing heavily in the ensuing silence, unable to believe I did it. Seega rushes to me then, and I pull her into my arms and we both sit trembling for several moments.

When I am sufficiently recovered, I look down into the pit. I can just make out the soft glow of the dragon, and I am relieved to see it is not moving. I realize belatedly that I did not think this through very well. The upper chamber is small and will not afford us much protection, and with night falling, we will not have time to make the two-hour trek to another entrance before the dragons are awake. For several long moments, I am paralyzed with indecision.

“Is it dead?” Seega asks, peering down into the pit.

I look down again. I’m not exactly an authority on dragons, so I can’t be sure, but I think the light in its scales would go out if it was dead. Wouldn’t it?

“I don’t think it’s dead,” I tell her. “But I’m pretty sure it’s hurt.”

I ponder our predicament for a few more moments before finally making a decision.

“We can’t stay up here, Seega. I like our chances better against an injured baby dragon that against the adults outside. We are going to have to go down there.”

Her eyes are wide and I can see she doesn’t like the thought of going down to the lower chamber. “Will it hurt us back?” she asks, her voice trembling just a little.

Good question.

“I hope not, Sweet Girl. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

“Together,” she echoes.

Many years ago, when there were more of us living in the cave, we had rigged up a pulley system to raise and lower a platform to the pit chamber. Despite losses in our group over the years, the pulley system remained in good working order. So together, Seega and I step onto the platform, and I pick up one of the headlamps we keep on a post and affix it to my cap. Then, with more than a little trepidation, I work the pulley to lower us into the pit.

_________________________________________

It is a long way down, and we ride in silence, our eyes glued to the young dragon the entire time, but it never moves.

“Wait here,” I tell Seega when we reach the bottom. "I’m going to check it out."

I can feel my heart pounding in my throat, and I hold my walking stick to the side like a bat with both hands as I approach. Its breathing is shallow and one of the legs looks to be at an awkward angle. Summoning my courage, I poke it gently with my stick, then a little harder when it doesn’t move. I jump when it lets out an exhale, but otherwise it appears to be unconscious.

“Okay, come to me,” I whisper, motioning to Seega to get behind me. She runs quickly to my side, taking my hand and hiding her face behind my leg.

“It’s alright,” I sooth. “Quickly now, to the back.”

In the back corner of the pit is a tunnel. I have to stoop to walk through it, but Seega is able to stand upright.

“Wait here for just a minute,” I tell her.

She is clearly still frightened but she does as I ask. The pit is where we spend most of our time, so nearly all of our provisions are here. We have small stashes at different points along the cave system, but this is our primary home, and I hate the thought of losing it.

I grab a backpack and start filling it with necessities – lanterns, our few toiletries, eating utensils and some food – and I grab Seega’s blanket. It is the only thing left from her mother and keeping it is probably even more important to me than it is to Seega. I debate for a moment taking more with us… I am loathe to lose our beds, but I ultimately decide to leave the rest. I don’t see how I will be able to carry everything alone.

I am frustrated and tired when I join Seega at the back of the chamber. The tunnel is wide, probably 20 feet, but only four feet high, so I have to stoop to go through. It is an awkward journey for me and Seega has to stop repeatedly for me to catch up. It is about 200 yards before we emerge on the other side, and I am sweating from the effort despite the cool temperature.

Our first year down here, we had rigged rockpiles at several points along the cave system to allow us to seal off sections if needed. I debate for a moment whether I should seal this end of the tunnel now, but decide against it. The tunnel’s low clearance would make it almost impossible for a large dragon to get through and the small one is in no shape to follow us. At this point, I think it is better to leave our options open and I pray it is the right decision.

Over the next hour, we travel through several more chambers. By the time we reach our next major cache, Seega is so tired she is weaving as she walks. I quickly locate the spare lanterns to give us a little more light before removing my headlamp.

Seega watches quietly as I set up camp, laying her blanket on a rock shelf. It won’t be very comfortable, but it will do for tonight. At bedtime, she usually tries to bargain for more time or ask for another story, but this time she lays down without argument and closes her eyes.

As I bend down to kiss her good night, I see a small tear slide out from under her lashes, and I feel my heart break a little.

“Hey, Sweet Girl. It’s okay. We’re safe now,” I reassure her, and I slowly rub her forehead to soothe her.

She opens her eyes, and more tears slide out as she takes a shuddering breath and whispers, “I’m worried about the little dragon. It's all alone, and what if it’s afraid of the dark like me?”

I’m at a loss to reply, so for several long moments I don’t. It never even occurs to me to feel sorry for the beast, given that its kind has all but destroyed the earth. And while I honestly can’t say I share her compassion, I am touched by it just the same. It is such a big part of who she is, and something I don’t want to see lost, so I weigh my words carefully.

“This is why I call you 'Sweet Girl,'” I tell her at last. “You have such a sweet heart. I love that you can worry about the dragon, even if they do try to kill us.”

I pause again, thinking.

“You know, it will probably be asleep for a while, but I don’t think you have to worry about it being afraid of the dark. Remember how its scales glow in the dark?”

She nods somberly at this, and I can see the thought comforts her, so I continue.

“The light is gives off will keep it from being too dark. And if it makes you feel better, I will go back in the morning and check on it. Okay?”

“Okay,” she replies as she yawns tiredly.

Involuntarily, I yawn in response. As she drifts off, I know I won’t sleep, despite how tired I feel. Because in truth, I don’t know how hurt the dragon was or whether it can follow us. So I sit next to her and keep watch, twirling my fingers through her hair as she drift off to sleep.

Time passes slowly when you are this far underground, but thanks to a small crack in the upper corner, I can see when night gives way to dawn because a small amount of light is visible. I think I might have dozed just a little, but not nearly enough and I feel groggy and exhausted as I rouse Seega. We fill our water bottles from a spring in the corner and I decide to splurge on our breakfast. Prepackaged foods aren’t exactly available at a grocery store these days, so the items we have left are precious and mostly saved for emergencies. Still, I figure our recent events constitute an emergency, so I pull out a can of peaches and a package of dehydrated pineapple. It’s not exactly the breakfast of champions and the items are long past their expiration date, but we are long past caring.

Seega is delighted with the sweet peaches, and chatters happily about everything and nothing as she eats them. When the last peach is gone, I let her drink the syrup left at the bottom of the can. The pineapple slices aren’t as big of a hit. They are hardened to the point that they are hard to chew, but she sucks the sugar off a few before spitting out the hard fruit. I eat mine more slowly, allowing it to slowly reconstitute a little before chewing. By the time the food is gone, we are both in better spirits.

We take a few minutes to clean up our sleeping area, fold the blanket and wash our silverware in the spring. Finally, we brush our teeth and hair. Not that anyone really cares what we look like, but I try to keep what semblance of normalcy I can for her, and this how we start each day.

I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I know it is time to go check on the little dragon, and I feel anxiety start to build in my chest. There is no parenting manual, so I don’t know if taking Seega with me is worse than leaving her here alone, but I opt for the former. If for some reason I don’t come back, I can’t help thinking leaving her alone would be worse than having something terrible befall us together.

“Are you ready to go check on the little dragon?” I ask, holding out my hand.

“Ready!”

I am so terrified, and she is so excited, I can’t help but feel a little amused. I re-don my headlamp and turn off the lanterns we have been using. Ready at last, I clasp Seega’s hand in mine and we retrace our steps through the cave system, back to the pit chamber.

_________________________________________

As we approach the end of the tunnel, I stop, taking both of Seega’s hands in mine.

“I’m going to look first,” I tell her. “Wait here.”

“I wanna stay with you,” she whines, and her hands grasp desperately at me. I take a deep breath, then kneel down and give her a long hug, rubbing her back reassuringly.

“I need to know that you’re safe while I check this out,” I tell her. “You can follow me to the edge to watch, but you have to stay in the tunnel, okay? And if you see the dragon get up, you have to promise to turn and run as fast as you can the other way. Deal?”

She squeezes tighter before taking a hiccupping breath and whispering, “Deal.”

“That’s my big girl.”

I give her one last squeeze, then begin moving the last few stooped steps toward the opening.

As always, my back appreciates it when I step out of the tunnel and straighten up. Almost immediately, I make out the soft glow of the dragon’s scales, but it doesn’t appear to have moved from the night before. I walk carefully and slowly, glancing back occasionally to make sure Seega hasn’t followed me into the pit.

Her little face is all but lost in shadow, and I realize belatedly that I should have brought a headlamp for her. She won’t like being alone in the dark tunnel. But I need the light more than she does at the moment, so I keep moving to get a better look.

“Hey,” I whisper when I am still a few yards away. Which is stupid really. What’s it gonna do? Say “hey” back?

But it does flinch, and I stop where I am. I see an eye crack open, glowing brightly in the dark chamber. I see the dark pupil narrow as it focuses on me and recognition and anger are clear in it’s eyes. It tries to get up then, and with a cry of pain, it falls heavily back down.

Suddenly panic sets in and it begins screaming. Or at least that is what I think it is going, deep guttural bellows that carry a clear message of the pain and fear and anger it is feeling.

I take a few steps back, glancing quickly to check Seega’s location. I can just make out the reflection of her wide, frightened eyes in my headlamp, but she has moved back, which is good. Turning my attention back to the dragon, I can see that it is trying to get up, but clearly unable to tolerate weight on the right front leg. The right wing appears damaged, too, because it drags the ground while the left flaps uselessly in circles, trying to lift off.

“Easy,” I tell it, speaking low and gently. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I take a step back toward it and it cries out again.

Suddenly the cavern is filled with the sound of answering shrieks echoing throughout the chamber.

They know.