Amidst the Flames

Chapter 1- Three Chances

"You don't need to do this, you know."

I chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that rolled like thunder through the crowded tunnels before dissipating into the fog of ominous sounds that seemed to hover around this once-abandoned mine system. "Of course I do. These skills may save your life some day."

Jo sighed, gently nudging me away. "It's your birthday, you should be relaxing, not trying to teach me something I'll never learn."

"First of all," I started as I strolled towards the wall that stood what we guessed was about 5 metres away. "You are learning. Your actually hitting the board now."

The only reply to come from Jo was a skeptical huff.

I rolled my eyes. "Secondly, how do you expect me to relax? How can anyone relax? One tiny, little mistake can mean the death of us all!"

I took a deep breath, steadied my voice. I had to remain calm, for her sake.

Jo strode over to where I was standing, right next to the charred plank of scrap wood we called a target. "I'm just saying, you only get to be twenty once."

"The way I see it, I get to be twenty for another whole year," I asserted, yanking out one of the three battered daggers jutting from the blackened board. "Which means this day really isn't that special."

"Come on Clayde," she put her dainty, dust-covered hand on my shoulder, staring me down with those defiant green eyes of hers. Jo was lucky enough to inherit Father's lively emerald eyes, whilst I'm stuck with my slighty strange eyes from Mother's side of the family. Don't get me wrong, having pale goldish-green discs for eyes is interesting, but I just hate the odd looks people give me when they get up close."Take the day off- you need it."

With a soft yet slightly grumpy murmur I tugged free another rusty blade. Jo had become exceedingly stubborn as of late, and I'm not sure whether it's just something with sixteen-year-old's or if all the tragedies in our life, especially during the last five months, have finally taken their toll on her. Nevertheless, she was still right. I've been working my arse off helping the group, and the work only seems to get harder, seeing as we lose good people quicker than we seem to find them.

I pulled the last dagger out of the plank with a crackle, snapping off a large splinter of wood as I did. Flicking the chunk away, I surveyed the throngs of lost and lonely people huddled throughout our hideout. The shattered families, mourning dead loved ones while trying to comfort one another, too absorbed in the past to try and fight for the future. I don't blame them though- I know how they feel, and it's certainly not easy to deal with. Others sit alone, for they have no family left, fingering strange trinkets and praying to various deities as they wallow in self pity.

Then you have the menacing loners who crouch in dark corners, sharpening unseen weapons and glaring at passerby's who stray too close. They're the type that'll do anything to survive, including risking the lives of others. In my opinion, they shouldn't be around, but people are people, and we care for our own. Even if they do nothing to help out.

Everyone else laying about basically fit into one of two groups. We have the willing, capable people, like those who obtain and distribute what little resources we have or help get everyone out quickly and quietly when we think our refuge has been blown, defending the majority if need be. That's how Father went. Then there is the slightly less capable, such as youths who lack expertise or skill, like Jo. There used to be elderly ones, and some that were downright stupid. They all died off long ago, though. In these rough times, it seems that only the fittest survive.

I turned to Jo. "You know as well as I do that I can't afford to slack off."

"Sure you can." she said, tucking a stray lock of her pale brown hair back behind her ear. It used to be so long and pretty- it would just flow down her back like a waterfall when she had it out. These days, she likes to keep it shoulder length, and under our current conditions, its ends are all split, and splay out in every direction. "Everyone needs a break, especially when..."

A shrill cry of fear pierced the air, abruptly cutting Jo off mid-sentence. Shocked gasps and panicked mutterings seemed to rise from the very depths of the cave itself as people emerged from the shadows. A women stumbled through the mass of people, blood seeping through her ragged clothing and leaving a trail of crimson splashes in her wake. Her eyes blazed with agony, and it was easy to see why- four foot-long spines protruded from her back.

"DRAGONS! The dragons are attacking! Run for your lives!" she shrieked.

The moment the words left her mouth, everything erupted. People screamed with terror, bolting in every direction. Order evaporated, the strong trampled the frail, and in the chaos of the moment, Jo was swept away in the crowd.

I was shoved from side to side as the sea of frantic people dashed past, but I was fortunate enough to have a sturdy build, and I was close to the wall, so I manged to stay on my feet. Half dazed, I scanned over the swarm of heads.

Jo was nowhere to be seen.

The shouts of the many men trying to calm the mass of people were barely audible over the turmoil, let alone my yelling for Jo. She might have already been pushed into one of our numerous preordained escape routes, but she may also have been trampled. Either way, neither she nor anyone else would hear my calls.

I could feel my berserk heartbeats thumping in my chest as I hugged the wall. There weren't many more people left to race past, and as the flood of frenzy receded, I saw a body. It lay crumpled and badly bruised on the ground, but it was unmistakably Jo.

I fought my way through what what was left of the crowd. Jo's clothing was ripped and torn, zigzagged with bleeding cuts and blotched with swelling, purple bruises, but she was still breathing. Still alive.

Just as I reached her, a blood-curdling roar blasted through the caves, amplified in echoes. Fearful wails could be heard from deeper in the caves, and I swear my heart skipped a beat. I heaved Jo up onto her feet, and we started down the tunnels, nervous sweat pouring down my face.

With another deafening bellow the dragon crashed through the tunnels towards us. I heard a muffled yelp from Jo as I spun around.

Standing not twenty metres away was a massive, tan-coloured monstrosity. It had a compact build, with legs that were short for a dragon and a small neck topped by a roundish sort of head, but a long, well-muscled tail. Its eyes were the maroon colour of dried blood, and although it lacked wings, chilling spines poked out all over its body. The spikes on its tail were large and spread apart, but its back was a forest of needles, thinner, closer, and long enough that they scraped against the cave ceiling.

I tightened the grip I had on the three blades that I still held in my hand. "Go, get out of here Jo!"

Everyone says that you can never best a dragon, that your only chance is to run, hide and hope that whatever gods you choose to worship favours you. Father always told me though, right back from when I was boy, that every battle, no matter how hopeless it seemed, could be won.

So, three daggers- three chances.