Dragon Fodder

"Well, Doc, am I gonna live?" smiled Fred, his arthritic fingers painfully fastening the buttons of his drab cotton shirt.

"You're in great shape for an eighty-one year old," replied the Doctor stroking a tiny goatee on his chubby chin, "but--"

But, thought Fred the same instant the Doctor said the word.

"If you don't start getting some exercise, your condition could change drastically."

"I know, I know," Fred said, bobbing his head side to side like a teenage girl as he sat down in front of the doctor's large oak desk, "but with me on a fixed income, joining a gym is out of the question."

"THEN WALK," the doctor shouted, his pudgy body trembling. "A quarter hour is all. Remember your promise to Tina."

That was low, Fred thought.

Driving home, Fred tried to think of a safe, level place in Detroit to walk. There ain't a place in Detroit that's safe to walk. Maybe I should try elsewhere.

As he thought, he recalled a little state park, Hathaway Park, where Tina and he use to walk--before Tina became ill--just north off Interstate 75. I'll go there on Thursday. It's about an hour's drive but... what the hell, all I've got now is time.

For the moment he was hungry, so he pulled his black '55 Chrysler into a Burger King located in the mouth of a large U formed by three buildings. It was here he'd first met Tina.

Gingerly, he pulled into an undersized parking spot and stiffly raised his lanky six-foot two frame out of his antique automobile.

Opening the large glass door of the Burger King with a grunt, he entered and stepped up to the counter. He ordered a Chicken Sandwich, small bag of fries, and a Coke from an overweight African American woman with heavy, pendulous breasts. Then he lowered himself into a seat, two rows from the window, facing the parking lot.

Fred bit into his chicken sandwich while he studied the parking area through the glass. His gaze focused on a particular spot which made him reflect to sixty years in the past. It was on that spot, third parking place from the main street, he met Tina.

The wind on that November day sliced through his winter coat like a scalpel through flesh and the vibrant autumn leaves danced around like marionettes on the parking lot. It was Chuck's Chicken then and Fred ate there frequently.

He'd been half-sprawled on the seat of his black '27 Ford pick-up truck eating a chicken breast. As he took a large bite, a gray coupe pulled into the parking space next to his truck and out stepped a raven-haired, snow-skinned beauty about his age. Stunned by her good looks, he either breathed or swallowed at the wrong time and started to choke on a piece of chicken. Long before Dr. Heimlich invented his maneuver, people were aware a sharp slap on the back or jumping on a choking victims chest could dislodge a piece of something that was stuck in their windpipe.

Now Fred who couldn't slap his own back and was unable to dislodge the obstruction by pounding on his chest, observed the young lady walking across the lot from her coupe. He exited his vehicle and fell to the asphalt--his left leg had fallen asleep. He stood and struggled toward her, stepping with one foot and dragging the other, all the while clutching his throat, a peculiar guttural sound emanating from his clogged windpipe. The young lady heard the strange commotion, glanced at him over her shoulder, let out a shriek, and ran in the opposite direction.

The whole comical sight made Fred explode with laughter and fall on his butt. Either the fall on his butt or the sudden burst of laughter caused the obstruction to dislodge. After the young lady cautiously walked back to him, he stopped laughing and explained he'd been choking.

"I thought you were going to attack me," the young woman replied, bashfully. They laughed and that's how a young Fred met his Tina.

She was in her first year of college studying to be an anthropologist. Within a year, they married.

Fred's gaze through the window was interrupted by a small movement directly in front of him. He brought his eyes to a seat next to the window. A little, red-haired boy with a blast of freckles waved a tiny speckled hand at Fred. Fred smiled and returned the wave with just his fingertips. A large, stern looking woman with a lantern jaw, sitting next to the boy put her arm around him protectively and gave Fred a death look. Fred picked up his Coke, saluted her with a mock toast, and took a sip.

The woman gathered the boy up and left.

Thursday arrived and Fred couldn't wait to get out and take his first walk in years.

At ten a.m., he strolled to his car from his modest one bedroom apartment across patchy spots of green and brown lawn, sniffed the morning air, threw his daypack and cane in the trunk, started his car, and drove off.

The once one-hour drive now took a nerve racking two hours on the congested interstate, but upon his arrival at the park, everything changed; his thoughts, his purpose, his whole outlook. After parking his black behemoth next to a cluster of brightly colored vehicles beneath a massive, bright red, pin oak he emerged, took a deep breath, and retrieved his gear from the trunk.

The daypack was light and colorful--like his mood. The cane was wooden and heavy--but reliable and he needed it. He started walking on an old dirt trail--one of many that meandered from the parking area--at a moderately fast pace. A vague familiarity encouraged him to proceed with his trek.

The morning sun was merciless on his face and head, even with a baseball cap firmly planted in place. Passers-by would greet him with a friendly "hello" and he would nod, and "hullo" back. The world was serene and Fred was suddenly at peace.

The trail switched backed up small, rolling hills, across wild-flowering meadows, and over tiny footbridges that crossed delicate streams. He began to feel alive again, really alive. After a time he started walking with a spring in his step and even stopped using his cane. He grabbed it by its middle and carried it. The sweet smell of honeysuckle and wild roses were like a stimulating drug to him. The pain in his legs, which had plagued him for years, seemed to be temporarily alleviated. His fifteen-minute walk had already stretched into a half an hour, and he hadn't yet thought of turning back.

He walked on trails that were deep and old; he walked on trails where the surrounding vegetation was alive with color; he walked on trails that were a million miles from home.

Around a bend and over a knoll, beneath thick undergrowth, he could see evidence of an older, deeper trail continuing at right angles from the trail he was on.

Should I take that old trail? If I trip and hurt myself, I might never be found. He considered his dilemma for a short while and then said out loud, "Ah, what the hell." He approached the ancient trailhead and--with some difficulty--stepped onto a mat of underbrush spreading across it.

Fred felt adventurous for the first time in years. His heart was beating faster and his breathing quickened so much he sounded like an old warhorse. He wasn't sure if this was due to his new adventure or to his body coping with the overrun conditions. He stepped on large, moss-covered stones to cross a quiet, little, bridgeless stream that meandered across the base of a shallow valley. On the other side of the stream, the obscure trail ascended a far rise.

He soon came upon a large, flat, lichen-covered rock and decided it was time for lunch. Fred carefully rested his bony frame on the rock, took off his daypack, pulled out a plastic bottle of water, opened it, and drank almost the whole contents in one gulp. His parched throat accepted the cool liquid like in-laws to a barbecue. Next, he pulled a tuna fish sandwich from the pack and unwrapped it. His mind began to wander, as he bit into the sandwich, to years gone by--to the day she had died.

Fred had tried to call their only child, Jimmy, from the hospital because Tina wanted to see him one last time.

"JJ's (Jimmy Jr.) got a baseball game," said Jimmy. "We'll be up later."

"Well, ya better hurry," said Fred in his usual gruff tone. He hung-up and fought his way through the hospital maze back to Tina's room. She looked even paler than when he'd left, only minutes ago. "He's on his way," lied Fred in a not so gruff tone.

"He should be here soon," Tina said, Fred could sense she was perpetuating the lie.

"How ya feelin'?"

"A lot better," he knew she was lying again.

Fred was mad but, for Tina's sake, he couldn't show it. He was mad at that little bastard Jimmy; he was mad that a disease he couldn't even pronounce was taking his wife; he was mad at the whole damned situation.

He sat down on a folding metal chair and looked into Tina's fading blue eyes. He ran his fingers through her thin silver locks. Fred was not good at this, but then--who was? There were a million things he wanted to say to her, including he loved her--but it was hard for him.

Tina looked away and stared blankly at the plain

hospital curtains covering the sunny window. "We had a good life together, didn't we?" she said, staring at the unadorned curtains.

"Yeah," was all that Fred could squeak out as he sat holding her frail, little hand in his. Now was the time to tell her he loved her. "I... I... Lo--"

"I know," she whispered. He felt a tear trickle down his left cheek.

"I'm feeling a little cold," she said cuddling up in her blanket. Fred tried to pull the blanket up around her neck. "Fred, could you please get me another blanket?"

"I'll just push the button--"

"No! That'll take too long, Fred, please get one--now."

"Sure thing, Tina." He laid her hand down and rushed back out into the hospital maze. He found a plump nurse scratching her ass and asked her for another blanket. She handed him one and as Fred turned back toward the room, he was passed by a group of medical people running toward Tina's room. Fred stopped at the door and watched them labor on her frail, emaciated, body. He knew what had happened. He whispered a little prayer, "Please, God, not yet, I'm not done loving her!" However, his prayer went unanswered, or maybe the answer was no.

A huge shadow passed over Fred, jarring him to the present. He looked up and caught a glimpse of something big landing on the rise of the trail ahead. It appeared to be a large hairless dog at first glance, like a shaved St. Bernard but with a smaller head.

Fred threw his refuse into his pack and slung it over his shoulder, grabbed his cane, and lumbered toward the spot where the animal had landed, stopping briefly to massage his slumbering left leg. He whispered over and over, "What the hell was that?" as he hobbled to the spot on the trail where the "animal" had touched down.

The top of the rise where the critter had landed was covered with peculiar shaped footprints and the landscape seemed different somehow. Fred couldn't put his finger on how it was different but it was like he wasn't in Michigan anymore. Either the plants or the bird chatter or both were somehow... strange. The air was close like he'd just walked into a rain forest.

Ahead, along the left side of the footpath on the wall of a low mound was a small cave. He ran to the opening. His heart as youthful and free as an adolescent's. To his delight, he discovered a plethora of the same unusual footprints. There were tiny bones scattered about like someone had unearthed a small animal graveyard. He also found what looked like two-to-three inch pieces of translucent green tree bark.

Fred kneeled down, picked up a dozen or so pieces of the material, and stuffed them into his knapsack. While he was kneeling, he peered into the black void past the mouth of the cave. He could hear something.

Breathing?

He saw nothing except more bones half buried in the dirt floor of the cave. He stood up and hastily left the cave area for home.

The return hike seemed to take a fraction of the time of the initial hike, he stepped perkily and with purpose as he made his way back to the black beauty. Like Columbus, he felt as though he'd made a great discovery. His mind was giddy and nimble and he did not feel the fatigue that should have been weighting his elderly body.

Down into the valley, past the large flat rock, across the bridgeless brook, and up the other side he flew like Hermes.

The drive back to the city was uneventful, except for a stop in the suburbs at the home of a former colleague and paleontologist friend of Tina's, Dr. Franklin Wickerwire.

Fred pulled in front of Franklin's ivy-covered, brick home, scampered to the ornate front door, and rang the bell. After the second ring, the heavy, oak door slowly creaked open and Fred could see an eye staring at him through the crack. A familiar voice spoke as the door opened wider, "Why, Fred, how nice to see you. Come on in."

Fred entered, pulled the pieces of bark from his daypack, and said excitedly, "Look what I found."

Wickerwire, a short, dumpy, balding man with a pencil mustache removed his glasses from the breast pocket of his smoking jacket, unfolded them, slid them on his crooked nose, and scanned Fred's treasures. "Dragon scales," he said unimpressed. "I've got a million of them."

"Dragon scales!? There aren't any dragons."

"Oh, really, and when did you become an expert?" He turned from Fred and directed, "come with me." They walked (Fred limped, the hike had finally caught up with him) around expensive, antique furniture in Wickerwire's opulent living room to a large metal door at the rear of the room. A family portrait hung to the right of the door and to the right of the portrait was a crammed bookshelf. One of the many items on the shelf was a shiny brass key which Wickerwire picked-up to unlocked the door.

The huge door groaned open. Warily, Fred peered into a cluttered room where fingers of brilliant sunlight leaked through dull beige, Venetian blinds from a window at the far side of the room. They entered the cluttered area by following a predetermined zigzag path through stacks of dusty books, mounds of papers, and plaster casts of ancient bones.

They finally reached their objective on the far wall just left of the window. A bank of fifty wooden, file drawers. Franklin bent down and opened a well-worn drawer with the words "Dragon Scales" scribbled on the front in black magic marker. The drawer was filled to the brim with much larger versions of Fred's find. They were almost twice the size of Fred's, but the scales in the drawer weren't as vibrant as the ones he had found.

"Why are those so much larger than mine?" asked Fred pointing to the scales in the drawer.

"Because yours are from an infant, a young dragon."

"I don't believe in dragons, UFOs, ghosts, or any of that crap. Why would a professor of paleontology believe in something so outrageous?"

"Because of the bones and scales," he motioned to one of Fred's scales, "that I've studied."

"How come I've never seen one? How come no one's ever--"

"Listen Fred, no one has ever seen a dinosaur, either. Have you forgotten the diverse and ancient cultures throughout the world that have worshipped the dragon? It certainly suggests that someone down through history has at least glimpsed one. I've never seen one because they only hatch every two millennia. "

"Why then the difference in color between your scales and mine?"

"That's a good question. Leave some of these scales with me and I'll try to find out."

Fred left all but one of the scales with the professor. He kept it to show Jimmy and his family.

Dink rang Fred's worn-out rotary phone he's had since the early sixties. Dink it repeated its ring as he fumbled for the apartment door key on his crowded key ring. Dink it rang a third time as a tired and cussing Fred succeeded in opening the door only to trip on a hand crocheted throw rug, the bulky ring of keys clunking to the floor. He picked up the receiver before the fourth ring.

"Hello," said Fred.

"Hi, Pop," said Jimmy, "all set for Saturday? The kids can't wait to see you again and Ellen is preparing chicken potpie for dinner. Your favorite."

"I'll be there," panted an out of breath Fred. Must be the end of the month, that's the only time I'm invited over. The grandchildren, JJ and Chris, expected ten dollars each from Fred's monthly social security check (a practice started years ago by Tina). Plus now he had to help Jimmy repair his heap. Should I tell him about the cave and the dragon scales?... Naw.

"I'll bring a healthy appetite," Fred said.

"Fine, we'll expect you then. So long."

"Bye."

The evening was pleasant as Fred prepared for bed. Crawling beneath the covers, he heard the unmistakable ring of his defective telephone--Dink! This time he was able to answer after the second ring. "Hello."

"Fred?" said an out of breath voice.

"Yes."

"This is Franklin."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"No, I don't know what time it is," the voice said sarcastically. "Furthermore, I don't give a rat's heinie, what time it is."

"I'm hanging up now."

"No, wait! I'm sorry. Please don't hang up," pleaded a more-controlled Franklin.

"It's nine-fifteen. I generally go to bed around nine."

"WILL YOU SHUT-UP about the goddam time?" Franklin shouted and then trailed off to a whisper. Fred could sense the urgency in Franklin's voice. "I have to know, when are you going back to that cave?"

"Why?"

"I just need to know."

"Couldn't we discuss this in the morning?"

"NO, I NEED TO KNOW TONIGHT!" yelled Wickerwire. "I mean, I have to know tonight," he repeated more pleasantly.

"Why?" Fred asked coyly.

"Look, we found some living tissue in the scales that you left with me."

"So-o-o?"

"So that means that they came from a living creature no more than two or three days ago. That cave could be a lair. This is the discovery of a lifetime and if I don't find out when your next outing is, I'll not sleep."

"You mean, kinda what I'm goin' through right now?"

"Fred, please."

"Tomorrow, Sunday, at around ten AM, I was thinking of walking out that way."

"Don't you go to church?"

"Not since Tina died."

"Well, I'm booked-up all day Sunday. When's your next walk?"

Fred thought a moment and replied, "Tuesday, most likely."

"May I accompany you?"

"Sure, I'd enjoy that."

"I'll see you at your apartment on Tuesday at ten a.m.," spouted Wickerwire enthusiastically.

"Sounds good. See you then."

"I wait with anxious anticipation," said Franklin passionately. "Oh, and Fred."

"What?"

"I would not go near that cave tomorrow, if I were you."

"Why not."

"For your own protection."

"Really? Well... If you say so."

"Good-night."

Fred sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes mentally digesting everything Franklin had told him. He looked at the bedside table with the mass of photos of Tina. Then he laid his weary back down on his soft bed and dozed off.

The following day, Fred was up and ready for his second hike. He packed a little lunch, tested the batteries of an old flashlight, and crammed it all into his daypack. After a bowl of oatmeal, a piece of fruit, and a cup of strong black coffee he was off. The morning sun greeted him like an old friend. He drove the crowded highway in a glorious state of mind.

He reached Hathaway in record time and parked his majestic vehicle under the immense pin oak. He started his hike by almost forgetting his pack and cane, more aware today of the sweet smelling flowers and the ear-catching birdcalls. Fred felt twenty years younger and that made his arduous trek more a labor of love.

Fred trudged through the deep trails, past the flora covered hillock, off the trodden path, across the bridgeless brook, past the large flat lichen-encrusted rock, and up the far side of the valley.

The cave seemed peaceful and serene as Fred approached. There was new clover sprouting at its mouth and ancient river rock adorned the outer rim. He hadn't noticed these on his first visit.

"My own protection," Fred whispered mockingly as he set his cane down and took off the pack. He opened it and pushed the sandwich aside to retrieve the flashlight. His hands shook like a new bride with an apprehensive eagerness at what he might find in the rocky cavern. He thought of the rewards and how proud Tina would've been of him.

Fred laboriously lowered himself to his knees and switched the flashlight on. The shaft of light danced in the darkness as Fred, armed only with his cane, crawled feebly into the yawning mouth.

The quaint valley past the large flat lichen encrusted rock, across the bridgeless brook, and up the far side of the deep trails swallowed up Fred's final death screams as he kicked and fought a merciless foe. Fred's bony legs then lay motionless at the cave entrance until they were slowly dragged into its gloom.

THE END

Bio: Mr. Lytle was published in Planetary Stories, issue #28, June 12, 2013 and he's won Honorable Mention four times from Writers of the Future since 2011, which is no small feat. His last appearances in Aphelion were Captain Pops and Robot Soliloquy, both in our July 2014 issue.

E-mail: J. Eckert Lytle

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