Life Needs More Dragons

All fire dragons hatch on the hottest day of the year.

It was one of few things that everyone seemed to agree on. Regardless of where you were in the country, it was one of those well-known facts shared from mothers to daughters and sons, whether or not they've even encountered a dragon before.

I was hoping to study the great hatching event for my book; I was part-way through writing all about the curious creatures of the states. It isn't a subject most would care about. The general population couldn't care less about fairies, or basilisks, or wyverns, so long as they weren't stealing from their pantries or raiding hen-houses.

There is one thing I ought to make clear before proceeding. You see, all those aforementioned creatures are, in truth, rather tiny. Perhaps dragons, hydra, krakens, and the like were of legendary size centuries ago, but humans have long since hunted such specimens to extinction, leaving only their miniscule descendants. By means of survival of the fittest, the most likely to endure to breeding age were also the least likely to be deemed a prize by poachers.

In modern times, a lindworm grows to no bigger than a carrion crow, and griffins are about the size of a domestic house cat. The largest of these creatures anyone has seen in years was a peryton that was the size of a grown stag, instead of the ones normally seen, which tend to grow no bigger than a day-old faun. It was still killed of course - apparently the hunter who caught it owns a hunting and tackle store - he keeps it by the register.

As for all the other ancient giant creatures, they were either fated to an eternity in the museums and galleries  of the world, as private exhibits in mansions, or had their bodies and pelts carved up for clothes and traditional medicine.

And so the curious creatures of the wild are no more, for in addition, the land has long been divided for management. So no 'wild' land truly exists where they could be left to grow to immense sizes - even rainforests are used for timber, deserts for tourism, and tundra for oil. If I want to see pixies, I just have to look to my neighbor's yard and the bug-zapper he uses to incinerate them (I swear he does it out of spite rather than purpose - he doesn't like them flitting around him while he eats dinner on his stoop).

Everyone knows about the fire dragon hatching event because it is one of few creatures whose entire next generation emerges on the same day. Even if you lived in an entirely different part of the country that didn't have a resident population, you knew about the intensity of the hatching events.

I lived in one such region, so I packed a bag and boarded a bus headed to somewhere they were endemic to. The driver thought me nuts to want to go see it - who would deliberately place themselves outside on the hottest day of the year in the middle of a hatching? Even the locals knew to keep their windows closed and their shutters down to keep the 'stinkin' varmints' as they called them from getting inside.

But I wasn't like most people. I'd always been fascinated by the strange creatures of our planet. Naturalists tend to focus on lions, tigers, elephants, and whales - they rarely care much for the smaller things unless they are especially destructive.

Fire dragons are like cicadas. They hatch en mass, gorge themselves on mosquitoes, mice, and small birds, are old enough to mate in a month, then die afterwards (if they hadn't already been devoured by any animals larger than them). They were only called fire dragons for their spit (an irritant they could spray in the eyes of predators to scare them off, though also happened to be highly flammable), which historically was collected to use as lamp fluid. They don't do this anymore - after the population took a massive hit from over-harvesting, the practice was banned. And so fire dragons keep pest species under control with their annual emergence, but are otherwise seen as nuisances.   

I arrived in the town of Little Rockview the day before the hatching. It was already 105.8°F outside, and for a guy like me who was mostly used to the high 90s in the height of summertime, it was like standing by an active volcano.

I checked into a motel about a mile from the bus depot. It was quieter out there and away from all the traffic, since there wasn't much beyond except open country. The motel clerk let me know she didn't get many out-of-towners - the only guy she had staying there was some fancy business exec hooking up with his assistant. She was nice enough not to offer me the room next to theirs.

The first thing I did was check for bed bugs, and the lock on the door. Force of habit I guess, since the incident that happened in my dorm room back in college (don't ask). I took a cold shower to cool off and turned on the AC. It rattled like coins in a tin can - I knew there was no way I'd get to sleep with it on. I wasn't looking forward to my first night.

The motel clerk recommended a local diner, and I'm grateful that she did. I would have never set foot in the place of my own volition - from the outside it looked a century old, but I ordered what ended up being the most delicious burger and fries I'd ever eaten. I talked with the waitress too, since it was so quiet there she was happy to sit and join me a while. She took a few of my fries, though I didn't mind. I asked her about the dragons.

"Oh yeah, we'll be closed tomorrow from ten, three is the height of it - that's when you get the most of 'em." She dipped one of my fries in the ketchup on the side of my plate.

"Which direction do they come in?"

She gestured with her little finger. "Same as Val's motel, but they lay their eggs in the sand, so all over really."

"What do you think about them?" I asked, cautiously optimistic.

She shrugged. "Well, I've heard in places where they've exterminated them, they get swarms of flies this time of year. Personally, I think I prefer little dragons to blood-suckin' insects. They're kinda pretty too. You see the light catch 'em and they're like tiny, flying gold nuggets. My grandpa used to reckon they're lucky. He always said, 'life needs more dragons.' Still though, if they spit at you, that shit burns like hell. Most folk keep them out, just because they like wrigglin' in cracks in the walls. They either jump out at you when you least expect it, or you find 'em dead an' crispy two months later."

I asked her about more mundane stuff too - she was happy to indulge me long enough to convince me to pay for a slice of pie just to give me an excuse to linger (and leave her a more than generous tip). It got late, and the weather cooled off a lot, so it was a pleasant walk back to the motel when she finally told me she needed to lock up. My wallet felt a lot lighter, and that made my guts heavy. I had already bought a ticket home online, but I'd forked out more for the flexi-ticket that I could use any day within the next week, in case the hatching event got delayed at all, or if I wanted to spend a few days studying the hatchlings. How would I afford food for long if I splashed it all on another visit to that diner?

My room was still hot when I returned. The fans had done nothing except blow the hot air around more. I was tempted to just sleep outside, but after another cold shower, I only thought about sleeping on a soft bed. I watched the TV while preparing my equipment for the next day - it was some local station I wasn't familiar with, though the game show featured was entertaining enough. While I was drafting up my tables for a population count, the handle of my door rattled. I heard mumbling and giggling outside - that damn exec must have been stumbling back from the bar with his girlfriend and couldn't find his own room. Needless to say, being designated the room at the opposite side of the motel wasn't nearly enough to guarantee peaceful sleep, not when they ended up in the execs' car most of the night.

I didn't see a need to wake early but I did anyway. It was so damned hot! 104 and rising, yet it was only 8am. I lay on top of the covers in a sweat, peeling myself off and straight into the shower. Even the water in the pipes was hot. I meant to take a cold shower though it was more of a blood-heat. I decided to get some ice and try setting it up around the room to cool things off. After covering myself in sunscreen (I have very pale white skin, and burn easily), wearing only shorts, a t-shirt, sunglasses and a baseball cap, I stepped out of the room into the blazing sunlight.

There was an odd scent in the air - sulfur and copper - even over the stench of gasoline. This had to be the day of the hatching, no doubt about it. It would also be the hottest day of the year. I went to the dispenser and got two big bags of ice, carrying them over my shoulders for some temporary relief. I hung up the bags in the bathroom door, positioning a standing fan behind in the hopes of blowing some cold air about the room. It worked almost immediately - I might sleep a little easier tonight.

Breakfast had to come from the diner again, since the nearest general store had already shut up to prepare for the hatching event. The same waitress was there, along with another woman at least in her fifties behind the counter. I didn't know what to order, so I foolishly asked the waitress what she recommended. The house special - the second-most expensive item on the menu besides the 'body-builder's-breakfast,' which looked to be a plate of nothing but meat. The special was good though - grits with little bacon bits and scallions, two eggs, sausage, more bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. It was probably a good idea to have such a large breakfast - it meant I wouldn't need to spend any more money at that diner for the rest of the day.

I couldn't chat with the waitress for long - the diner was otherwise pretty busy with local folks wanting to get a good meal before heading home to prepare for the hatching. Apparently, workers were given the day off - since no business could be done on the day of the hatching anyway.

They were kind enough to top up my hefty half-gallon bottle of water for free, so I wouldn't have to worry about dehydration, and I helped myself to three cups of coffee just to keep me going. 10am rolled around and the woman behind the bar, who turned out to be the owner, sent everyone out so she could close up.

I went back to the motel, and was greeted by the clerk. She advised me to stay indoors all day and to keep the shutters on my room's windows locked up tight. I let her know I intended to study the hatching, to which she scowled at me and scoffed,

"It's either inside or outside. You can't go back in until sundown - I don't want those horrible varmints all over the rooms."

I agreed not to go back inside until sundown. I grabbed my backpack, my folding chair, a sunshade, and one of the bags of ice before heading out to find a spot to watch the event. I walked along the side of the road out towards the open country, setting up my station about a mile from the motel.

The heat rippled on the horizon. It was almost unbearable. I planted the sunshade in the back of my seat so I'd be safe from the sun, yet it only cooled the air down by about two degrees, and it was only getting hotter as the day went on. I had a radio on me to pass the time, though the sound crackled and the plastic warped. In the end, I had to leave it under the melting bag of ice just to keep it from breaking.

I wrote a few lines as an introduction to my study in my notes, got through a quarter of my drink, and began to drift off. My pen rolled out of my hand, my papers slipping from my lap but caught on my shoes. I had bundled some of the ice into small packs for the back of my neck, my chest, my thighs, and my feet, though even they weren't enough to keep the heat from knocking me out. I slept out in the open, under my shade, with no one and nothing around me for miles.

I felt something scratch at my bare leg, creeping up towards my knee. I was a light sleeper, so it was enough to wake me. Slowly edging forward, breath held, I looked to see a tiny yellowish-brown dragon crawling up my shin. It hooked its little claws around my leg hair, sniffing as it went, and inspecting exactly what I was, if not a bush or rock. There was another on the underside of my chair arm, and another on my shoes.

Tilting my head to stare ahead of me, I saw the most unreal sight. They literally crawled out of the sand, poking their noses out first, then scurrying across the surface, dragging their tails as they went. They warmed their wings up like butterflies, basking under the sun until they were their full size, and then they took to the air. There were only a few dozen at first, and I was sure to record their numbers and emergence points in detail. I even had time to do a sketch of the one as it climbed my leg and made its way onto my shorts, nipping at the hem.

I had never felt such joy in my life. At a distance, they were too small and quick to appreciate. But up close, in intimacy with them, they were the most incredible things. Their scales were slightly reflective, and therefore did indeed sparkle gold when hit by the light. They had trailing whiskers from their cheeks and jaw to sense their surroundings, much like cats or catfish, and their tails curled ever so slightly at the end. I could imagine them at any size, be it their current scale, or how they must have appeared to our ancient ancestors.

Their numbers only increased as the hour went on. At least a hundred emerged from the sand over the course of five minutes before taking to the air. By the time 3pm rolled around, there were hundreds every second. I abandoned my chair, stepping out into the light to watch. The flock overhead almost blotted out the sun - a great swarm of dragons dancing and snapping at flies.

They would spend their first few days getting used to their wings, by a week old, they would be masters of flight, and capable of carrying off whole mice. They would display at a month old and lay their eggs in the sand where they hatched, and would die shortly after. It was a brief life, but extraordinary nonetheless.

The hatching event didn't go unnoticed by predators. Larger lizards snapped for them as they emerged from the sand, and birds caught them on the wing. Disheartening to watch, though I supposed it was all part of the circle of life.

The one on my leg had made it to my shirt, and I gently encouraged it to climb up my hand. It basked its wings under the sun before taking off to join the swarm. I wished it well, and after saying my goodbyes, I turned to see the waitress approaching me. She was out of her uniform, wearing a loose white top and a skirt with an oversized sun hat and shades. I nodded to her and she waved back, taking in the sight as she approached.

She chuckled when she saw I was practically covered in dragons. I showed her how to encourage them to her hand so they wouldn't spit at her, but I think they knew there was no reason to. They wouldn't be able to get us in the eyes anyway, and if we meant them harm, we would have eaten them already.

After ten minutes in the sun, we retreated to the shade. I made a few other notes, yet mostly spent the hours sitting with the waitress and watching the spectacle. It was a natural wonder that most didn't appreciate, and up until then, I feared I was the only one. She admitted to me that although she'd lived in Little Rockview her entire life, she had never watched the hatching up close. Like most, she had scorned their scratching at the windows and walls and attempts to crawl into the cracks of her home. But I think she said it best, or rather her grandpa did, "Life needs more dragons."