Standing safely out of the way, Peter watched the impressive rubble moving feats going on all around him, not knowing what to expect. Would there be enough for him to identify her? Would there just be the odd body part or two? To some degree it frightened him, but on another level he just knew he had to be here, if for no other reason than to give himself some sort of closure.
* * *
Tank, meanwhile, was in the middle of a dressing down, and was loving every minute of it. Ranting and raving in the only way he knew how, the old shopkeeper was still going on about "how worried" he'd been, "how just a short message would have been sufficient," about "who was going to make sure he had the right medication," and how "it was all very inconvenient."
Almost smiling, knowing that this dressing down was Gee Tee's way of showing that he cared, yes, he was worried, more so than he was letting on by the looks of things, and not for all the selfish reasons that he proffered. But Tank could see from his body language and the look in his eyes, that what really scared him was the thought that he'd been caught up in that explosion. It was then that he remembered Richie, her brown curly hair, her freckly complexion, her lack of inhibitions and the fun loving way in which she lived her life. His train of thought was interrupted by the old shopkeeper.
"Are you alright? You must know I don't mean everything I say."
Tank nodded, his face full of sorrow.
"Then what is it, youngster?"
"It's Richie, she was caught up in the explosion. She's dead!"
It was all Gee Tee could do to stay on his feet.
"Dead, you say?" he uttered softly.
Tank nodded, the tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to hold it back, but with very little success.
"I'm sorry youngster. I know how close the two of you were."
Tank nodded, unable to speak, while the old shopkeeper thought carefully about what to do. Over the course of his incredibly long life, he'd found himself in this position on a few occasions, and while most thought him uncaring, devoid of emotion and rather self obsessed, those close to him knew otherwise. Wrapping a large, flimsy dragon wing around his former apprentice, the master mantra maker ushered him into a chair in the workshop and asked him to recount exactly what had happened, hoping that this would help unburden his young... friend.
* * *
Standing and watching for just over an hour as the mountain of rubble and debris, that would normally have taken days to excavate with human machines, was sifted through carefully and methodically, he wondered just how long he'd have to wait and if they'd find anything at all. After all, he'd witnessed the sheer extraordinary raw power of the explosion, enhanced by the laminium. It would have been no real surprise, to him at least, if every last trace of his friend had been wiped from existence. Abruptly, a cry from one of the mantra using dragons startled him out of his thoughts. Other dragons working alongside finished moving material they currently had hold of, before moving to join their colleague. Skirting around the edge of the crater until he reached the gathering of dragons who were all staring intently down into the large gaping hole, Peter followed their gaze, having to enhance his eyesight with more than a little of his magical power. When he did, he let out an almighty gasp. There, poking out from beneath a huge chunk of rubble, were two arms.
'No, hang on a minute,' he thought. 'Not two arms. Three arms!' By now, the dragons around him had sprung swiftly into action, just like the cohesive unit they were. Two of the dragons held all the debris back on both sides of the area with the bodies in, while at the same time one of the other dragons gently lifted up the rocks on or around the twisted corpses. Once the wreckage had been removed, their leader used his magical abilities to levitate out the two broken, battered and bloodstained carcasses. Gently, he lowered them onto an area of finely cut grass off to one side, as the whole group moved to gather round the two blast victims. It seemed like the right thing to do. Looking down at the two lovers, side by side, for that's who they were, he assumed it had been Tim in the cellar with her, and he was proved right, not that he took any comfort from it. Lying there, perfectly still, their pale faces in total contrast to the blood soaked clothes they wore, they reminded him of the story of Romeo and Juliet. Part of him thought how fitting it was that she'd died with her human lover, sure she'd have thought it a suitable way to go. Swallowing awkwardly, thinking about just how short her life had been cut, it made him sad to his very core.
And then it happened. A racking cough of epic proportions, followed by a huge mouthful of blood, shot out of Richie's bruised and cut mouth. Instinctively they all took a step back, at first anyway. But these were well trained dragons, trained for nearly anything... any eventuality. Once again, with a professionalism that would put any human to shame, they launched into action. Drawing out his mobile phone, much as a cowboy would draw his pistol, the leader started speaking into it, telling whoever was on the other end to "initiate medical protocol three, at Salisbridge District hospital." To most it would mean very little, but Peter understood only too well, as the very same thing had been implemented for him after his battle with Manson on that cold November night. Right at this very moment, a room deep in the bowels of the hospital was being readied, shifts and rotas were being changed, dragons of all sorts were being moved like chess pieces on a board, into strategic positions. Just as the leader said the words "dispatch an ambulance," a sickly coughing sound erupted from the other body, followed by a mouthful of vomit.
"NO, make that two ambulances," the leaded screamed into the phone. All the time, Peter stood watching in complete and utter amazement.
'She's alive,' he told himself. 'She's alive!'
* * *
Both ambulances duly arrived, each staffed by dragon paramedics. The two survivors were quickly carried on board, having already received the benefit of over a dozen well crafted healing mantras. Peter had wanted to travel in the ambulance with Richie, but he hadn't been allowed, so instead followed in his car, breaking the speed limit just trying to keep up. In the end he lost them, but it didn't matter because he knew their final destination.
After parking his car, he sprinted through the main entrance, fairly certain of how to find the obscure area in which they were being treated. As he did so, it suddenly occurred to him that Tank needed to know what had happened. Finding himself a quiet corner of the gleaming white corridor, he phoned his friend. Typically, he couldn't get through.
'He's gone straight to see Gee Tee, I bet,' he thought, not blaming him for one second. Momentarily, he thought about what to do next. Despite sporadic mobile reception areas underground, the coverage was subject to change all the time. In the past he'd managed to reach his friend at the Mantra Emporium, once or twice, but knew that it was more than a little hit and miss. So he decided to send a text, knowing that the instant there was a signal, the message should shoot straight through to his phone. Thoughtfully, he typed in: RICHIE FOUND IN CRATER. BADLY HURT BUT STILL ALIVE. MEET ME AT SALISBRIDGE HOSPITAL ASAP. PETER. Sending the message off into the ether, he tried hard to remember the maze of corridors and passageways that would lead him to where he wanted to go.
* * *
It felt good to have let it all out, get it all off his chest, so to speak, knowing full well that's what the old shopkeeper had intended all along. Not only was he mantra smart, but he was people, no... dragon smart as well, thought Tank, waiting for the kettle to boil in the tiny little kitchen off to one side of the shop floor in their place of work. Just as he was about to pour the steaming hot water into both giant mugs, filled a quarter of the way up with the blackest looking charcoal you've ever seen, the back right pocket of his trousers started to vibrate.