Kidnapped!

Andrew Chandler © Copyright  2010

Brandon exited the restroom stall and walked to the sink. There wasn’t any knobs or handles so he waved his hand under the nozzle and water washed over his hands. He reached out and squirted some soup from a dispenser into an outstretched palm. As he rubbed his hands together he heard the creak of the restroom door and turned his head to see the new comer.

A tall burly figure stalked through the door wearing holey jeans, chains, and a hoodie with no sleeves (the hood was pulled over his head in such a way that it clouded his face from sight); the other feature Brandon noticed was that the man had a tattoo of a black dragon snaked up his arm… or no just a muscle twitch, but what really caught Brandon's attention was the fact that he had brass knuckles in both hands.

Brandon turned his head and tired not to think of the man. He finished rinsing his hands and reached for a paper towel.

“Hey kid,” said a gruff voice, “got a light.” Brandon slowly turned around and stared into the darkness that enveloped the man's face. A cigarette stuck out of the dark.

“I'm... afraid not,” Brandon said, a little nervous.

The figure sighed.

The man pulled back his hood. A mass of scars, burns, and two crimson eyes.

“Yeah...well try your breath dragon!”

A fist. A glint of brass.

Then blackness.

Brandon yawned and blinked, “Hey were am I?” A rush of pain, discomfort, and realization hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. Brandon tried to feel his face for broken skin or blood, but his hands were handcuffed together behind him. He tried shifting his weight, a sharp jab to the side made him stop.

“No funny business 'k kid, I've got me a heater, so none o' that mystic magic stuff.”

Brandon slowly turned his head and looked at the man with the gun. The man was right he did have a gun, two guns in fact, and so did the man siting beside him; they sneered at him, Brandon gave a weak smile. And turned to the girl siting next to him who had a steering wheel in her grasp and shifting the stick. Well girl was too young a word, Brandon thought teenage female worked better.

“Uh...?” Brandon started but there was another jab of the gun and the man behind him almost screamed, “No Talking!” The driver turned, her expression menacing, and went back to her driving.

Time slowly passed as it does on the freeway until they exited. Brandon stared at the exit sign and tried to memorize the numbers. Who knew when the next time would be when he saw a phone.

The road jostled them as they drove, the wheels would sometimes get stuck in pot holes and it would take a few seconds before they drove free. The large clumps of trees were now dotted along the flat landscape. The large clumps seem to merge together the farther they went down the road, until just one huge forest rolled past, hiding the road from the sun. They came to a stop at what looked like the outskirts of a a small town; it (the town) like the road was canopied with trees, blotting out the sky completely. All-of-a-sudden a massive blue-green fire ball shot into the air and exploded on under side of the canopy; leaving no apparent harm to the tree branches.

“I figured something like that, eh?” said the other man who hadn’t spoken yet.

“Yeah, you felt it too?” the driver spoke for the first time, her voice was as slick and smooth as oil.

“Of course I did,” he retorted, and mumbled something incoherent.

“Who's stay 'n with the lizard,” said the man who yelled a lot, there was a hiss and a “'K, you do it then.” The three captors bolted out of the car and streaked toward the flashing lights.

This left Brandon a little confused, but he thought he might as well take advantage of the situation; he morphed his mouth to have the capability to breath fire; and skin into scales, tough, thick, blue, but most importently fire proof. But he was still half human.

“You shouldn’t,” a voice like wind made Brandon stiffen.

A shadow moved around his feet. Something padded up his left leg.

It blinked. Brandon jumped hitting his head on the ceiling and crashed down painfully twisting his arms and legs. He’d only just then realized that his legs were cuffed too.

There was a soft chuckle.

“Who's there?” Brandon said not too sternly.

“The questing isn't whom, but what,” said the soft voice “What is a specie of small dragon called Sermothens, known for their toxic poison, powerful enough to kill dragons.”

“Is that a threat?”Brandon squeaked.

“In a way, yes,” the voice became more conversational then threatening.

Kidnapped!

Andrew Chandler © Copyright  2010

August 23, 2010