* * *
If Tank had been conscious, which at the moment he wasn't, and had looked over in the direction of the lacrosse pitch, he'd have seen his friend weaving her rather special blend of magic, and not the sort the three friends had to keep secret. Running full tilt towards her opponents' goal, ball cradled in the head of her stick which was twisting and turning as though it were cursed, the enigmatic and beautiful Richie Rump was on a mission, as always when playing lacrosse. Dropping her shoulder one way, and then in an instant cutting back the other, the smallest of openings lay visible before her. A natural calling took over, instinct on its basest level. With a movement that seemed so slight and yet contained so much power, the ball shot towards the goal as if it had been discharged from a cannon. If the opposing keeper had been given all the time in the world, she still wouldn't have saved the shot... it was THAT good. Whirling round, Richie pumped her stick in the air, her teammates slapping her on the back as they all turned to run back towards their own half. It hadn't even reached half time and the Salisbridge team were already cruising at 4-0 up, much to the delight of the spectators, who were mostly regulars and either friends or family of the players. As the gentle breeze whipped her curly brown hair across her freckled cheeks, a sense of freedom and openness engulfed the female dragon. Letting it wash over her, she fed off it. A beaming smile cut her face in half, that is until a slight tinge in the background threatened to burst through. Despite being the star of the show, the one everyone wanted to be... the captain, the leader, the inspiration... it didn't seem to be enough. She wanted more... or was it something different? At first the feeling was unrecognisable. But it stirred a memory deep within her, a memory from the previous bonfire night, the one when Peter had nearly died fighting the dark dragon Manson. It had nothing to do with that, or the psychopathic dark dragon. Leaping out at her clear as day, just before the restart of the match, she had felt the exact same way looking at all the human parents with their children on that fateful night, the night she had spent snuggled up to Tank, watching the fireworks explode overhead, while Peter was systematically tortured, nearly to death, only yards away. She was feeling... JEALOUS! But of what? The revelation came as something of a body blow, but she had no time to dwell on where or why it had come to her, now, in the middle of a lacrosse match. Taking a deep breath, and with the determination that was part of her natural make up, she sprinted off in search of the ball, pushing the thoughts from her mind, desperate to make the opposition pay even more than they had already.
* * *
Tank had been carried off by two of his team's substitutes, both of whom now felt as though they'd played an entire game, despite not having come on yet. Having recovered from his momentary lack of consciousness, something only he seemed aware of, which, in his mind was a good thing, because he was determined to go back on and make amends. How, he wasn't sure... but he would, one way or another.
* * *
At half time on the hockey pitch, both teams were enjoying the ancient tradition, which had turned into something of a rarity, of having delicious orange segments to sustain themselves, along with the usual assortment of liquids, of course. It was a nice touch, Andy the captain of the second team thought, and most visiting teams seemed to appreciate harking back to a bygone era.
* * *
Having scurried back into the bar as soon as the whistle blew for half time, hoping he hadn't spotted her, Janice was pretty sure she hadn't been caught up until now, and today seemed no different. Having been very careful, she even had an excuse prepared. "Just checking to see if any normal glasses have been taken outside, instead of the usual plastic ones that are supposed to be exclusively used out here." That was her justification, and if the need ever arose, that was what she would be sticking to.
* * *
Determined to put as much distance between him and it as he could, he'd headed south west on the main road after leaving, believing that to be the best route to get as far away as possible, in the quickest amount of time, and he'd been right. It had been just under an hour since he'd screamed out of the car park, much to the dismay of everyone there, and in that time he'd covered nearly fifty miles. Safe, probably ten times over from what little he knew, that didn't stop his need to keep on driving. Now he was hurtling along a busy dual carriageway, having slowed from ninety miles an hour to a more sedate seventy, for fear of attracting police attention. Even if they pulled him over, there was nothing to find: no incriminating evidence, nothing untoward in the car itself, nothing in his background to suggest anything unusual. With every passing mile, a weight lifted from his chest; the stress blew itself out of the driver's open side window. All in all, things were looking pretty good, he thought, pulling back into the nearside lane, having just overtaken another of those pesky caravans. Flicking the car's indicator back into the off position, thinking about just how pointless caravans actually were, suddenly... BOOOOM!!!!!!!!
* * *
Watching yet another posh car overtake him as he carefully maintained control of his car and the heavy load it was towing, he could almost see the driver of the BMW thumb his nose up at him as he did so.
'Ahhh... a BMW, what a surprise," he thought, as the sparkling black car cut back in front of him, some two hundred or so yards ahead. In the blink of an eye the pristine black vehicle, without warning, turned from a glinting, speeding beast, into a splintered, ravaged fireball. Depressing the brake pedal hard, causing his wife to spill her drink in the seat next to him and his children in the back to cry out in fear as they lurched forward, their safety belts preventing anything more than a nasty shock, the driver and his family managed to pull up just short of the deadly ball of flaming metal that now encompassed both sides of the carriageway, all to the sound of squealing brakes from the traffic behind them. Being a teacher at a primary school, a job he loved dearly, he had of course been trained in both adult and child first aid. But even without that training, just by looking at the fireball, the plumes of poisonous black smoke that spiralled into the air from it and the splintered wreckage strewn all around him, he instantly knew that nothing on this or any other planet could have survived what had just happened. In weeks to come, the police would of course investigate. But by then it would be too late. Their resources would be stretched, and they would have more important things to keep them occupied.
* * *
On the wooden desk inside the locked chairman's office, red digital numbers continued to count down, in unison with all the other devices across the world. Time was running out. The hour was nearly at hand.
* * *
During the half time break, Tank had successfully pleaded his case with the coach and had been allowed to line up for the second half, the other players glad to have him back, particularly for his attitude, the encouragement and belief he gave and his own self control. Little did they know that his renowned willpower had all but got up and left. "Deeply disappointed," would have been his description of how he currently felt, strong words indeed for such a mild mannered dragon. Worse still was the fact that he was looking to get even with the huge man mountain of a human opponent who'd laid him out only a short time ago. In his mind, it was just a matter of how he went about it. Harking back to something Richie always droned on about, something he normally didn't agree with, her words came flooding back to him.