Prairie Dragon

By S. M. Jake

“Daggum scientists!” Penny growled. Hefting her skirts higher, she tore through the brome toward a cluster of cottonwoods. A raspy roar echoed across the open plain, and she glared back at said scientist. “You just had to poke the Prairie Dragon!”

“Actually, dragon is a misnomer,” Benjamin huffed, struggling to keep up. He glanced yet again over his shoulder, that stupid boyish grin growing lopsided. “This would be Pterodactylous nebraskaneous. A descendant of Pterodactylous antiquus.”

Wings beat behind them, and Penny grabbed his arm, jerking him to move faster. Why did she keep accepting these jobs? Sure, East Coasters had a fascination with the Wild West and money to spend on it—the scientific crowd especially. Show ’em a bunch of layers in a rock, dig up a few wildflowers to watch the magic veins spark, point out a hustlin’ jackalope, or take ’em up a hill to look over grazing buffalo herds or sleeping prairie dragons, and they bubbled with excitement. But this guy? He was turning out to be a new depth of East Coaster trouble! Awkward and academic, perpetually curious, with a contagious enthusiasm that bubbled up over the most simple things. And the most deadly.

Sparks hit the ground. Hot saliva splattered her hem and boots, and a shadow swept overhead.

Penny yanked Benjamin into the meager tree cover, hopped down the shallow bank, and ducked behind a hefty cottonwood trunk. He missed the hop and fell, sprawling into the thick mud of the not-quite-dry creek bed. Penny cringed. All week, he had regaled her with tidbits and scientific facts: many delightful, some superfluous. But, in this moment, it bordered on infuriating.

“Benjamin, that ain’t a dinosaur!” She hated using his first name. It wasn’t professional. But she couldn’t manage the mouthful of his last name with her heart thundering like a runaway mule.

He pushed up onto his feet, tacky mud caking his chin and chest, eyes bright as he skimmed the canopy for the beast. “Not exactly, no. It’s related to the pterodactyl, which by definition isn’t a dinosaur, but of the Pterosauria order, to—”

A roar cut across the prairie, making the tree quiver against her back.

“If it looks like a dragon, and it sounds like a dragon”—Penny jerked her Colt from her pocket, a shower of sparks and coals falling through the canopy twenty feet from them—“and it spews fire like a dragon, it’s a dragon!”

She double-checked the pocket revolver.

“You can’t shoot it!” Benjamin stretched out toward her, fighting to free his feet from the mud. “They’re a symbol of the Great American West! A scientific marvel within the zoological world!”

“Like it’ll even feel a .31.” She fought an eye roll, watching for the tell-tale shadow. “I’ll be lucky if I can annoy it into leaving us alone.”

“But, if it leaves…” Benjamin finally dragged himself out of the muck, stumbling into the trunk beside her. “When will we ever get such an amazing first-hand experience? I mean, people back home dream of such marvels.”

Penny’s nose wrinkled at the scent of dirt and sweat clinging to him. Or maybe it was his absurd fascination with things that could kill them.

“Just watch,” he whispered. He reached around her, pointing out the dark shadow as it came out of the sun. “The way it moves, it’s completely unlike a bird or bat. The aerodynamics play so differently. And here, when it tips just so…”

The Prairie Dragon banked, light catching on its scales, flashes of blue and green and brown easing across the sky in a way that wasn’t exactly graceful, but flowing, strength radiating from each beat of its wings.

Penny’s breath caught. She’d lived near these critters all her life, growing up surrounded by the rugged charm of Nebraska Territory. How had she stopped noticing? When did she grow indifferent to this beauty? And how was it this city boy saw more wonder in the wilds than she did?

The dragon doubled back, and Benjamin shifted, unconsciously moving closer to her. She barely turned, watching the wonder and delight spill out across his face. Wide eyes, same blue as the open sky. Straw-blond hair tumbling across his forehead. The line of his jaw that much better with a bit of dirt on it. Something sparked in Penny’s chest, building as he smiled absentmindedly, stoking heat into her cheeks.

His gaze shifted, locking onto hers.

Penny’s face burned, and she threw her elbow into his ribs.

Benjamin stumbled backward with a wheeze, one foot squishing into the mud. “What was that for?”

She spun, fighting not to fan her flaming face, and spotted the dragon drifting lazily into the distance. She triple-checked her Colt anyway. “Daggum scientists.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S. M. Jake is an author of fantasy stories for those who love adventure, family, dad-jokes, wonder, and weird stuff. She draws inspiration from fairy tales and tall tales, and will take every opportunity to add a touch of the Midwest to her writing. Her other loves include her husband and two boys, their MCM house, singing at church, spotty gardening, and chaos, sewing clothing on ridiculous deadlines.

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