Dragon Slayer Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  End Notes

  Dragon Slayer

  A Pulp Fantasy Harem Adventure

  Michael-Scott Earle

  Chapter One

  The shriek of Station 52’s alarm bell snapped me awake.

  “Fire, 12th and Kennedy Street,” the voice over the station’s P.A. system announced. “Truck 52, Ambulance 12.”

  Even before my eyes opened, I was leaping out of bed and racing toward the garage where the truck stood waiting.

  Boscoe beat me to the truck by two seconds. He shrugged into his gear with the speed of his ten years’ experience and clambered into the driver’s seat.

  “Probies in the back, DePaolo.” Boscoe flipped me a mocking grin and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  I scrambled into my turnout gear and climbed into the back seat as directed. I wasn’t the youngest member of Station 52, only the newest. My first two days on the job had been filled with hazing, scrubbing floors, and cooking. At least I could manage a decent meal, one of the few upsides of living alone for the better part of a decade. But this was my first real fire call, and I was eager to show them what Ethan DePaolo was made of.

  “Good timing, probie,” Lieutenant Greene said as she gave me a nod from the shotgun seat. The rest of Truck 52’s crew rushed into their seats right behind me. I was glad I hadn’t come in two seconds later, or I would have been the last one in.

  “DePaolo’s eager for his first blaze, eh?” Mendez shot me a wink as he took his place beside me and pulled his helmet over his close-cropped black hair.

  “Just eager to do my job,” I replied in as casual a voice as I could manage.

  Freeman, a burly Texan with more hair on his back than the station dog, Rover, elbowed me to the side and took his place behind Boscoe’s seat. He spoke little, but he was the sort of fellow you wanted beside you when clearing a building.

  “Stay close, listen to your radio, and keep your head on a swivel.” Mendez fiddled with the straps of his turnout gear. “We’ll watch your back, kid.”

  At the Lieutenant’s nod, Boscoe shifted the truck into gear and we were off.

  The sound of the siren filled me with eager excitement, and I had to restrain myself from bouncing in my seat. I couldn’t wait to reach my first fire. Everything I’d learned over the last year in the Academy had prepared me to save lives.

  Now, the day had finally come.

  The streets of Chicago rushed by in a blur as we headed toward the fire. Our destination was a burning office complex just ten blocks from Station 52, but I was too excited to pay much attention to our trip. I barely took in the L train clacking on its rusted track, the dilapidated graystone homes, and the trees losing their fall leaves to the wind. I had eyes only for the twenty-story Silver Star Tower building that would be my first real fire.

  The brakes squealed as Boscoe ground the truck to a halt twenty yards from the office complex. The moment we stopped, I leaped out of the door so that I was the first boots on the ground. I snatched my Halligan bar and axe from the lockers and raced around the far side of the truck where Lieutenant Greene shouted orders.

  “We’re working with Station 39 to clear the building,” her radio chirped. “I’ve just been told the top ten floors are empty, so that leaves ten floors between the two stations.”

  The Lieutenant turned to study the fire and the rest of us did likewise. Flames consumed floors eight through twelve, and smoke poured from the top stories. The lower levels hadn’t started burning, yet. Buildings like these tended to go up in flames quickly, given the shoddy materials used by contractors looking to cut corners and save on material costs.

  “Boscoe, you and the kid start on two and sweep up. Freeman and Mendez, head up the stairs and sweep from the top down. Make it quick.” The lieutenant glanced up and worry flashed in her eyes. “I give it maybe ten, twenty minutes tops before we need to set the water cannons on it. Save whoever you can, but the moment I give the word, get your asses out. Understood?”

  “Got it, LT,” Boscoe replied, and both Freeman and Mendez nodded.

  “Probie,” Lieutenant Greene said, “stick tight on Boscoe.”

  “Yes, LT.” Excitement set my heart pounding in my chest. My mouth was suddenly dry, and my breath was coming in fast. My big moment had arrived.

  “Mask up,” Boscoe instructed. We retrieved gas masks and oxygen tanks from the truck and slipped them on before sprinting into the flaming building.

  Mendez and Freeman broke off toward the southern staircase while Boscoe and I headed toward the northern staircase. The building, like most office complexes, had two emergency exits on every level. Anyone trying to get out would be coming down those stairs.

  “Fire Department, call out so we can find you!” Boscoe’s voice echoed through our helmet radios as we pushed onto the second floor.

  The smoke hadn’t yet grown thick enough to obscure our vision. My breath sounded loud in my oxygen mask as we swept the offices. My stomach clenched at every empty chair and every darkened computer as if expecting to see someone needing my help, but our quick sweep revealed only empty cubicles.

  “LT, the second floor’s clear,” Boscoe called into the radio. “Heading up to three.”

  “Understood.” Lieutenant Green’s voice replied in my ear. “Smoke’s getting bad on eight. Fire’s spreading faster than I thought. Those twenty minutes just became fifteen.”

  Boscoe shot a glance over his shoulder. “Gonna have to hurry this up, kid.”

  “I’m on your heels,” I said into my radio.

  My heart pounded in my chest as we raced up the stairs. My training had involved controlled blazes, but nothing like this. Nothing with lives on the line. In the Academy, we always knew there was someone backing us up, ready to bail us out if shit hit the fan. Now, we were the backup. Boscoe, Freeman, Mendez, me, and the rest of the guys, we had to help pull people out of danger.

  Dirty gray smoke hung thick on the third floor. It wasn’t impossible to see, but the lamp on my helmet only cut through the haze for a few yards around me. Boscoe and I clung to the walls, pushing forward into the toxic black fog, and swept the rooms one at a time for survivors.

  “Fire department!” I shouted in a voice muffled by my gas mask. “Anyone there? Call out!”

  “Over here!” The call came from within the room to my left.

  I smacked Boscoe’s shoulder. “Someone is in this one.”

  “Go.” He waved me away. “I’ve got someone two doors down.”

  I pushed through the prefabricated wooden door and into what had to be a conference room, judging by the long oval table, projector screen, and plush executive chairs.

  “Fire Department!” I called because I couldn’t see the person that had called for help. “Where are you?”

  “Under the table,” a woman’s coughing voice replied, and I reached down to help her out.

  “What happened?” I asked as I saw the cut on her forehead. The woman looked to be in her thirties and even a hazy glance through my mask showed that she was very attractive.

  “The fire alarm sounded,” she replied in a dazed voice as she reached up to brush aside her shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair from her
bloody injury, “Everyone ran. I-I think I fell. If I try to stand, I get too dizzy.”

  “You hit your head.” I glanced at the cut. “It’ll need a few stitches. Let me help you.”

  I reached down, wrapped my arms around her, and scooped her up. She was short, barely five-foot-four, and weighed less than I expected. I guess all those hours spent dragging training dummies paid off.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” I told her as I smiled through my mask, but I doubt she could see my mouth through the glass and smoke.

  “Th-Thank you,” she murmured and curled her head up against my jacket.

  I raced back across the office floor toward the staircase. “Boscoe!” I shouted. “Got a head laceration. Gotta take her down.”

  “Right behind you,” came the reply. Boscoe appeared from the smoke, half-carrying two staggering and coughing men.

  Our little party hustled down the two flights of stairs and out of the now smoke-filled lobby. Three EMTs stood waiting for us and they reached for the blonde woman in my arms, but she gave a little murmur and clung to me.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. The paramedics will take care of you.”

  “Thank you,” she said in a voice turned breathy by smoke inhalation. “I owe you my life…?”

  “Ethan, miss,” I replied, giving her the smile my mother said had won her heart the moment I was born. “Ethan DePaolo.”

  “Thank you, Ethan.”

  “All part of the job.” I’d heard the stories of rescued people tracking down their rescuer to thank them. I kind of hoped that she would be one of them, but I couldn’t spend too much time thinking about it.

  I had more people to save.

  “DePaolo!” The lieutenant’s voice snapped me from my momentary daydream. “Get back in there. Mendez and Freeman are on six, and they say the fire’s spreading fast. We’ve got less than five minutes to get those floors cleared. Hustle!”

  “Yes, LT!” I charged after Boscoe and raced up the stairs toward the third floor. We’d swept less than a quarter of the office space, so we’d have to hurry to get the other two floors cleared in time.

  “Boscoe, DePaolo, come in.” Mendez’s call crackled across the radio. “Where you at?”

  “Third floor, south corner,” Boscoe replied. “We’ll be done and up to four in a minute.”

  “Make it sooner,” Mendez replied. “Fire’s thick up here. Nine and ten are going to give any second, and I doubt the floor can hold up under the weight. We need to get the people out so the cannons can do their thing.”

  “Copy that.” Boscoe turned to me. “Can you handle this floor, kid?”

  I hesitated. The Fire Department procedure insisted that all firemen worked in pairs, but we had no choice. We needed to make sure everyone got out, and time was running out.

  “Go,” I told him. “I’ve got this.”

  “Get the floor cleared, then head up the north stairwell to find me on the fourth floor. Anything happens, anything at all, you get on the horn immediately, you hear?”

  “Got it.” I nodded. “I’m right behind you.”

  My chest tightened a little as Boscoe disappeared into the smoke. I’d been alone before, but only in the training warehouses. Now, facing the burning building on my own, it brought back painful memories.

  I gritted my teeth and told myself to fight against my fear. I had no time for the ghosts of my past. I had to save whoever I could in the short amount of time I had. I couldn’t waste it by thinking about the fire that killed my parents.

  The sound of my breathing echoed loud in my mask, amplified by the gallop of my heartbeat. I tightened my grip on my axe and forced myself to stay calm. One of my Academy instructors had compared the adrenaline of these situations to the rush of battle. The heightened senses, the rush of blood, and the anxiety-infused need to move and act could lead to panic if you weren’t careful.

  I took a deep, calming breath. “Fire department, call out!” One by one, I swept the remaining rooms of the third floor. The gray haze of smoke pressed in on me and my eyes darted around at every shadow. Hot sweat soaked my shirt, and I wanted to rip off my turnout suit, but finally I finished my sweep. The floor was empty, save for the sound of the shrieking fire alarm.

  I raced toward the northern stairwell to catch up to Boscoe. The moment I stepped through the doors, the wall of heat hit me. I glanced up and saw the fire blazing just two floors above me.

  “Boscoe, I’m coming up,” I called into the radio as I ran up the stairs. The heat mounted with every step. I was keenly aware of the crackling flames less than twenty feet overhead.

  “Copy,” Boscoe replied. “I’m twenty yards to the left of the exit. Come give me a hand.”

  Sweat dripped down my face, and I resisted the urge to remove my mask to wipe it away. The smoke on the fourth floor was thick and heavy. I had to feel my way along the wall. I stifled a bark of pain as I stumbled into a desk set along the wall. The beam from my helmet lamp couldn’t cut through the dim haze.

  “Boscoe!” I called.

  “Here!” came the reply, and I took a few steps through the smoke until I could see him wrestling his halligan bar into the frame of a door. “Damned thing’s locked, and the people inside don’t have the key. Get over here with that axe.”

  I ran over with my axe in my hand and slammed the flat back of the blade into Boscoe’s halligan tool. The first hit didn’t seem to do anything but make a bell-like chime that cut through the roar of the fire, but my second strike drove the tool through the door like a wood wedge, and we both grabbed onto the bar so we could heave together. The building may have been made using shoddy materials, but the door refused to budge. I’d caught a glimpse of the Halcyon Securities sign in the main office area. The company clearly wanted to protect whatever they kept behind the doors.

  “We’re not getting in this way,” Boscoe told me. “It’s got to be at least a triple deadbolt with reinforced hinges.”

  “What if we go in through the side?” I asked. “They might have reinforced the door but not bothered with the walls.”

  He thought a moment, then nodded. “Good thinking, probie. Building like this’ll be all sheetrock. No way these floors can handle anything thicker.” He motioned for me to follow him. “This way.”

  “Help us!” The faint cry came from within the room. “Please, help.”

  “Don’t worry!” I called back. “We’re going to find another way in.”

  I followed Boscoe along the wall and turned down the short corridor until he thrust a finger at a spot on the wall about five yards down the hall. “Here, you’ve got this, kid.”

  I flipped my grip on my axe and brought the heavy pick-side swinging around. The wall crumbled beneath the force of the blow and the blade got stuck in the sheetrock. I wrenched the axe head free with a grunt and then swung again. Another section of the wall gave way to reveal metal supports, thick insulation, and another layer of thick sheetrock beyond.

  “Careful of the electric lines.” Boscoe pointed to a conduit running through the wall at waist-height. He spoke into his radio. “LT, has the building’s power been cut yet?”

  “Working on it, Boscoe,” Lieutenant Greene replied. “City’s taking their time with it.”

  “Last thing we need’s for you to get fried, kid.” Boscoe shook his head.

  “Nice to know you care.” I grinned.

  Boscoe threw up his hands. “You’re the biggest guy in the station, probie. I don’t want to drag your ass out of here if I don’t have to.”

  I swung the axe again and aimed below the conduit. It only took three strong blows to clear most of the wall away, and Boscoe stopped me so he could rip out the insulation.

  “Hey! You’re going to have to come out this way!” my partner shouted at the civilians after he shoved his head through the hole in the wall.

  Two men clambered out of the improvised exit. Both had the squinting, pale-faced, bespectacled look of I.T. techs and were coughing. Boscoe
and I switched off giving them a few breaths of fresh oxygen from our masks as we hustled them toward the staircase.

  “Mayday, mayday!” Freeman’s deep drawl crackled over the radio. “A roof beam came down, caught Mendez in the head. He’s down and we’re stuck on the northwest corner of the fifth floor.”

  Boscoe and I exchanged glances. “LT, we’re one floor down. We can head up to get them.”

  “Negative, Boscoe,” the Lieutenant’s voice crackled back. “I tried to send Truck 39 up there, but they couldn’t make it. You and the kid need to get back down here now. The building’s about to go.”

  Boscoe swore. He turned to me. “Get them down and out. Tell the LT I’m finishing with this floor and I’m on my way.”

  The look in his eyes told me exactly what he had in mind.

  “I’m sticking with you,” I said.

  Boscoe shook his head. “Damn it, kid, I’m not going to let you—”

  “If Mendez and Freeman are in trouble, there’s no way I’m letting you go it alone. You’re going to need help.” I turned to the two men we’d rescued. “Can you get out without us?”

  Though pale-faced and clearly terrified, they managed to nod.

  “Good.” I thrust a finger toward the stairs. “Then get your asses down those stairs like the building’s about to collapse.”

  They didn’t need to be told twice, and they ran down the stairs.

  “You’re an idiot, kid,” Boscoe growled. “Two days on the job and already disobeying the LT.”

  “I’ve never been good at following orders. Freeman and Mendez are counting on us. Let’s get going.”

  Boscoe gave me a long, hard look. “You’re either going to be one hell of a fireman or one hell of a dead one.”

  “Thanks. I think,” I replied as I smirked at the man.

  “Stick close and keep your eyes peeled. We’ve got to move fast.”

  “On your heels,” I said as he turned to run up the steps.

  The straps of my oxygen tank dragged on my shoulders as I raced up the stairs after Boscoe. The heat grew more intense until I could feel the burn through my fire suit. He paused at the door to the fifth floor and shot a glance at me.