Hannah

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.”

Hannah looked up at me, her eyes puzzled and challenging. That look caught me; those cola brown eyes, endless with innocence. The kind of look that only a child could have. When you tell them something absurd, and they are fully aware of just how outlandish the statement is, but they have that certain look; still waiting the reaffirmation that you’re only joking. Of course, in this instance, I wasn’t joking at all. And it occurred to me all at once, just in that very moment, that in her nearly ten years of age, I had never really talked about life before all of this. A flood of memories washed over my mind, and began welling up in my eyes.

“I know you’re joking dad.”

That statement was an earthquake, threatening the integrity of the dam that was scarcely holding back the tears as it was. The idea of a child, my own child, not even able to believe in a world so different from the one she knew, was almost too sorrowful to bear. I smiled at her, playfully messing up her hair, an attempt to lighten up the circumstances, which were now heavier than I could have ever imagined, and heavier than little Hannah could ever know. She had nothing to contrast and compare, no baseline of true normalcy. I imagined there were some advantages to that. To not knowing what life could be like. At that moment my brain envied her ignorance, while my heart simultaneously broke for what she had been robbed of.

“Actually, I’m not joking at all. In fact, it wasn’t even that long ago. I remember it well.” I forced a comically egotistical tone, almost flaunting that I knew something she didn’t.

“No way, really?”

“Yep.”

“Really, really?”

I nodded, smiling at her weariness of believing such a concept. I patted my hand against the smooth, hard tile floor of the classroom next to where I was sitting. Against the old cinder block walls, where the evening light still beaming through the antiquated windows, casting a long shadow of the old radiator. She quickly spread her blanket out and sat cross legged. She looked at me with inpatients on her face; a child excited about listening to a fairy tale. I braced myself, steadfast that I wouldn’t express the anguish that I knew would accompany reminiscing my old life. I doubted wether or I should even share such stories, for fear of padding her suggestible mind with false hopes, or worse, for stealing away that very ignorance that kept her oblivious to the wonders of what life was.

“Where to begin? I guess we’ll start with when I met your mom. You remember your mom, right?”

Hannah grasped at a necklace that hung around her neck, a rose gold sideways figure eight, a promise of infinity that had been broken years ago. I could never forget her mother, because I saw her in Hannah every day. She had her mother’s brown eyes, and long, straight auburn hair. Even her crooked teeth, and thin lips were a reflection of Sarah. The way she was always happy, and eager to help anyone who might need it, even at such a young age she bled empathy just like her mom did.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Well, I met your mother about fifteen years ago, when we weren’t that much older than you. In a small town nestled just down in the west valley, before dragons were anything more than a myth.”

“Can you show me?” Hannah’s curiosity was always so strong.

“Maybe someday, kiddo.”

Maggie Valley was a tiny town, hidden away in the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina. Tucked deep at the base of the mountains. To the west of our old school, was an overlook that gave way to a view of what was left of the town. It wasn’t much, but even from the distance, I could recognize the steeple of the church where Sarah and I were married. And I could still picture her, sitting on the porch with me as the early morning fog rolled through and hung low; where we would nurse our coffee and smoke cigarettes, waiting for the sun to burn its way through. I lost myself in memories, as I told Hannah about our lives before. I spoke of the early days of her childhood, about how her mother couldn’t wait to get back to teaching. She laughed when I complained about my mundane job in a factory as I made jokes about how not having to work was the only good thing about those monsters staking their claim to the low laying valleys of the mountains.

“So when did they come? The dragons?”

The hairs stood up on my arms as I began to recall that day. And I had to laugh to try and keep myself from becoming a waterfall of tears.

“Well, that was probably one of the hard—-“

Just then the door to our classroom swung open, reverberating the loud sound from the recoil against the wall. And as simply as our conversation had started, it was interrupted. My eyes were instantly drawn to the entry way, which presented Andy, eyes wide with terror. I knew of the bad news before the words ever escaped his mouth.”Dragons. To the boiler room.”

I crouched down, motioning for Hannah to climb onto my shoulders. “Alright kid, you know the drill, grab on tight.”

Hannah laced her fingers together around my forehead, just like so many times before. The hallway was quiet chaos, we became refugees on a hushed migration as we all moved in unison towards the boiler room of the old school, the lowest and most secure point in the building. A path so well rehearsed, I’m certain most of us could do it blind by now. It was a quick excursion; there were less than a hundred of us now. But each second was haunted by the torturous sounds of flapping wings, and the deep, throaty moans of the dragons in the distance. Separated from us now only by walls less than a foot in thickness. In the years since we had made it out of the valley, and taken refuge in this school, the attacks were infrequent and of short duration. We attributed this to the likelihood that they had no idea we even inhabited the school. The roof of the building afforded constant observation from all sides. The early warning gave us a chance to get out of view before they arrived.

We all took a place along the walls of the room, dark and damp and riddled with the scent of mildew. A few lanterns flickered, small flames licking the stale air, casting just enough light for us to recognize the faces of those within a few feet. Children trembled against their parents, who incessantly tried to convince them that everything was alright, and that they were safe. Partially they did this for the children, and partially they did this for themselves. Hannah always was stronger than the other children her age, and I was always grateful for that. Whenever we found ourselves down here, she would simply lay close to me, her little head leaning on my side, and try and sleep it away. She didn’t show any fear that she may have, and on some instances, she would even calm down the other children, whispering stories and tales of princes and princesses that she remembered her mother telling her.

The latches on the door echoed through our little prison when they were secured, and this was always the last comforting sound that was heard for however long we might stay. After that, nothing but hushed murmurs, muffled wails, and the demons outside. Dragons, ferocious as they are, lack inconspicuousness. Even several feet below the earth, locked away behind that reinforced door, which lay behind the concrete walls of the school, they could still be heard. Those latches wouldn’t be opened again until eight hours past when it went silent outside, and they were gone. We would take shifts at the door, listening for damage being done to the outside structure, and to be ready if they so happened to make entrance into the school.

The boiler room was kept stocked with rations and water to support a stay of several weeks, if needed. Additionally, we kept a small stockpile of weapons; a small armory of sorts. A small number of rifles, shotguns and handguns, along with a very limited supply of ammunition. And a myriad of makeshift weapons; swords and spears of a mid-evil manner. Good fortune had lent itself to none of us having to have used any of these, except for occasionally hunting much more tame wildlife. The disappearance of some who used to be in our group, caused speculation that even our most powerful weapon wouldn’t prove to be of much success. Nonetheless, there was a certain comfort in knowing we could fight back.

Once that door was shut, there wasn’t much sound to be heard. Very faint murmurs, the occasional cough and shuffling of bodies trying to get comfortable in their temporary tomb. It had been about seven hours or so that we had been in that boiler room; Hannah was now fast asleep. I was barely gripping consciousness myself, when I was shaken back to reality. There was Andy, his long black hair a mess, his pale skin glowing in the dimness of the basement room. His eyes were blue, and bolstered their familiar look of complete panic.

“They made it in, they’re in the school.” He tried to maintain a whisper behind is hastened breath.

“Are you sure?”

“Come listen for yourself.” Andy, hasty and forceful, was beginning to lose that whisper.

“Alright, stay calm. I’ll go listen, get a crew ready and armed up at the base of the stairwell just in case.”

Andy nodded his head, and he was off to his task. I rolled my quilt, and gently lifted Hannah’s head, laying it down on the quilt, being careful not to wake her. I slid my boots on, tying them as I watched Andy, making sure that he was getting the others ready, although I was sure he was over reacting to some noise that he had heard. I quietly and cautiously made my way up the stairwell, where I crouched and placed my ear against the cold steel. My heart sunk in an instant. The breathing was unmistakably close, it couldn’t have been more that twenty or thirty feet from the door. And the steps, slow thuds accompanied by the pattering sound of claws against the hard tile floor, getting closer with each step.

I looked down at the group of men now gathered at the bottom of the stairwell, and placed my finger to my lips, motioning for quiet. I slid away from the door, and each step down was slow and calculated, fear of making any noise may give away our existence. Andy and a few others had began to wake everyone up, being cautious to ensure they didn’t make any noise. The climb to the bottom of the stairs was an eternity. I made my way back to Hannah, and covered her mouth as I sat her up. Her eyes grew wide, and I pointed at my ear, and then at the door. She understood immediately, and drew herself in close to me. I motioned for her to move to another group of children. She shook her head, and clung to my side. I wanted to speak up, to tell her that I loved her, but that I needed to join the others, to arm up and be prepared to fight with them. But I couldn’t. All I could do was nod in contradiction, and push her away as tears began to bead down her cheeks, washing away all of that strength that she had, and leaving only fear in it’s place.

The calamity in the school above us was loud enough to be heard through the floor now, as the massive beasts explored the rooms above our heads, the thick concrete flexing and moaning under their weight. They began screeching, first one, and then a distinctive second. By my count, there were at least three inside of the building, and likely more outside. They usually traveled in groups of five or six. A loud boom echoed through the boiler room. Something slamming against the door. A few gasps escaped from mouths somewhere in the room. Hannah quickly turned back and grasped me. I bit my lip, nervous of anyone who may start to panic. We quickly motioned for lanterns to be extinguished, and reinforced the importance of complete silence.

Another loud crash, an echo; the clattering of our latches and braces rattling from the impact. And then, what I feared most, a wail was let out. A domino effect followed, the quiet quickly becoming a roar of commotion as fear perpetuated itself into the physical world in the sounds of cries and screams. Now they knew we were stowed away down here, the blanket of our inconspicuousness ripped away. Steady blows began agains the door, each one seeming more forceful than the last, until it finally succumbed to the force. For a moment, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the steel door, tumbling down the stairway, one loud step after another. The dragon’s head barely fit through the void where the door once stood, and even in the complete darkness, it’s golden-red scales seemed reflective. Awe stricken into silence, everyone was crouched and motionless, listening to the steady breath of this behemoth, a warm breeze with each collapse of it’s lungs. And then finally, it’s head withdrew from the doorway. The relief was momentary, and fleeting, as it a loud wail was let out from the dragon, and it began tearing and battering at the walls.