No one could tell if the military’s bombing had any effect. The news channels interviewed lots of people in uniform, and they said things like “calculated risk” and “viable targets.” But the bombing only seemed to make the dragons more angry.
Kay started to understand about people bringing food. After she woke up and emerged from the bedroom, Mom looked in the fridge at all the casserole dishes and Tupperware, and for a long moment, she just stared. She took a breath that sounded a little like a sob. Then she retrieved a tray of lasagna, spooned out a couple of servings, and heated them in the microwave. They had food without having to think about it. Otherwise, they may not have eaten at all. With all the food that Dad’s coworkers, Mom’s coworkers, the neighbors, and even a couple of Kay’s teachers had brought over, they wouldn’t have to think about what to eat for a while. There was something comforting about that.
It had only been a day. Kay had to keep reminding herself of that.
Mom spent time on the phone that evening, some of her friends stopped by—and brought more food—and they spoke in hushed voices in the living room. Kay retreated to her bedroom. Right before she did, her mother called to her, gestured her closer.
“If you need to talk, if you need anything, you’ll tell me?” She squeezed Kay’s hand, rubbed her arm, like she hadn’t done since Kay was little.
“Okay,” Kay said, her voice soft. Her mom was acting weird, which wasn’t at all surprising, but Kay didn’t know how to behave. She almost said, What do I do? How do I act? I don’t know how to act. People kept looking at her with gazes of terrible pity, and Kay didn’t know how to respond.
She fled to her room. There, she retrieved Dracopolis from its hiding place under her bed. Lying on her bed, she turned the pages, studying them, the pictures, the vines and flowers that wound around the text. She had an urge to run her fingers over the lines, over the stiff parchment, but didn’t dare. She wished she could read it but didn’t know how much further she could get on her haphazard translation. The pictures showed towns being burned. Did the words tell why the dragons did it? If she could pick that apart, maybe she could understand what was happening now. The pictures, which had seemed so beautiful, so benign, now seemed as cryptic as the words. I should be angry, she thought. I should be angry at them.
She studied the manuscript, searching for some kind of wisdom. This had happened before; people and dragons had been through this before. But she couldn’t translate enough of it to learn what it said. She had only the pictures to study, and she couldn’t tell what she needed to know from the ornate drawings. Why would dragons do this? She couldn’t tell if they started burning towns before or after people started hunting them. It seemed important.
She should never have gone back to talk to Artegal. Then she could just be angry.
Kay knew she should call Jon and Tam, but she still didn’t have anything to say. Nothing at all. They’d say they were sorry, they’d ask if there was anything they could do, and Kay would just shake her head. But while she didn’t call them back, she left her phone on. They’d call again, maybe. She wouldn’t ignore them next time.
Turned out, Jon stopped by with Tam and Carson.
A soft knock came at her door, and Kay shoved the book under her pillow before her mother came in. “Kay. Do you feel like coming out for a few minutes? Your friends are here.”
She followed her mother back to the living room. There they stood, the three of them together, looking as round-eyed and lost as she felt.
They apparently didn’t expect her to say anything. Jon took a step toward her; she took one toward him. Then they were hugging. Tam put a hand on her shoulder, and Carson, looking sheepish and sad, stood with his hands shoved in his pockets.
The funeral was at the end of the week. He was buried in the city cemetery outside town, a modern stretch of lawn with flat marble blocks for headstones. Crowds seemed to fill the place—the whole town was there, an honor guard of people in sheriff’s department uniforms, along with state highway patrol and people from the air force base. There were news vans and swarms of reporters. Just another news item. Hero and victim of dragons Sheriff Jack Wyatt, laid to rest.
A pair of jets wailed overhead. They patrolled constantly now. The sky still smelled like smoke. A haze had settled in the air.
Kay and her mother clung to each other and stared at the casket and the mountain of flowers around it. She hardly listened as the governor read a graveside eulogy. Tireless public servant. Devoted husband and father. She felt everyone looking at them. She wanted to go home.
She had decided to believe that Jack Wyatt had gone on a trip. He was just away. He wasn’t in that box. She’d pretend he was, to go along with what everyone else thought. But as far as she was concerned, he was simply parked somewhere waiting to set his radar gun on her and pull her over for speeding. She could live with that.
Afterward, fortunately, no one expected her to say anything. All she had to do was stand there and look sufficiently sad while people told her how sorry they were. An amazing array of people. The governor and his wife. The vice president of the United States. There’d be plenty of pictures for the newspapers. The deputies guarded them viciously, and when Mom turned to Deputy Kalbach and Deputy Olsen with a pleading look in her eyes, they formed a barrier around Kay and her mom, hustled them to a waiting car, and took them home, to microwaved lasagna and a too-quiet house.
They thought—or Kay hoped—that they were finished with the constant press of visitors and condolences. But the next morning, a knock came at the front door. They were sitting on the sofa and glanced up. Kay had never seen her mother look so tired as she hauled herself to her feet, then to the front door. She cracked it open, and Kay craned around to see who it was.
An unfamiliar voice said, “Ma’am, I’m very sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I could speak to your daughter.”
Kay scrambled to her feet and went to join her mother in staring at the man outside their door. The current deputy on duty—Michaels—stood a little behind him, shrugging as if to ask whether he’d been right in letting the man through.
The newcomer wore a blue air force uniform and a round hat with a brim in front instead of the olive green jumpsuit this time, but she still recognized him as the pilot who had bailed out over the border. The one who had seen her riding Artegal. All she could do was stare.
Mom glanced at Kay, who didn’t know what to say. All she could think was that her secret was done, finished. It was all over now.
The pilot gave her a thin smile, but spoke to her mother. “Ma’am, I’m Captain Will Conner, the pilot who went down a few weeks ago.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the forest. “I met your husband. Sheriff Wyatt’s the one who found me after I hauled ass across the border. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’d have liked to have known him better. But I’m mostly here to talk to your daughter, if that’s all right.”
Why had he come? Why didn’t he have the whole military there demanding that she tell everything she knew? He was being too nice; she didn’t trust him.
Mom glanced at Kay, clearly confused. “Why?”
Captain Conner looked apologetic. “May I come in?”
Kay’s mother opened the door a little wider. “I think I can make some coffee—I’m sorry, it’s been a rough few days.”
“I understand. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.” He took off his hat as he stepped inside.