[Camelot.exe] Chapter 1: A Dog Named Dragon

[camelot_exe]

A Dog Named Dragon

run camelot.exe_

I met his dog first, though I’m still not sure it was a dog but a full-blown dragon. It came barreling toward me, its raised hackles of black-and-silver fur glinting like medieval armor, and its breath steaming in the coastal chill.

I’d stomped out of my father’s house thirty minutes earlier, his words still echoing in my skull: “Arthur, your position in the family always comes before personal needs.” These were the exact words he’d used when he took over his father’s company thirty years ago. The same words he used when he married my mother. He expected me to say the same words now, to propose to Grace and take over his company.

When I need to clear my head after an argument, I walk. Two miles from my office sits a landfill-turned-beach where an urban creek dumps its flotsam: grocery carts, plastic wrappers, and the occasional murder victim, according to news reports. It’s not nature, but it’s the closest thing to it for miles. I weave through tall fortresses of evasive grass and spiky alien-looking plants, keeping half an eye out for muggers. Still, most days, it works.

On the evening I now call Dragon Day, the sunset burned like fire. Salt wind cooled my face while my maroon tie snapped like a battle standard, and my $1,200 Italian shoes crunched over sand and broken glass. For a moment, that uncanny sky color and the gulls’ harsh cries drowned out my father’s demands and my girlfriend’s expectations.

A strange tremor disturbed my tranquility. Instead of the logical conclusion of a minor earthquake, I had the absurd thought that an elephant might be nearby. Then the reeds parted like the Red Sea, and something enormous charged through. In my terror, its fangs gleamed like ivory daggers; its feet pounded the ground like rogue hubcaps. Every cell in my body screamed “run,” yet my autonomic system selected “freeze” from its limited crisis repertoire.

“I’m going to die,” was my last rational thought before the beast chewed me into unrecognizable paste that would require dental records to identify.

Then, far away, I detected a sharp yell. “HALT!”

The single-syllable command froze the monster mid-lunge. But its wrinkled face kept rippling even as the rest of it fell still, and ribbons of spit slung from its jowls smacked me full in the face like mud under a spinning tire.

“Dragon!” a voice shouted. “What’s gotten into you?”

I froze like a condemned man awaiting execution, only to find myself spared from bullets. Instead, drool now soaked my cheeks. The momentary reprieve vanished quickly. Where terror had reigned seconds before, a hot fury now took command.

“I’m sorry.” The voice was deep, a little out of breath. The sunset behind him was blinding, so all I saw was a dark silhouette, ears, and hair tips lit in a fiery halo.

His apology did nothing to ease my anger. I erupted in a torrent of expletives that climaxed with, “I’m calling the cops on this beast!”

As I wiped spittle from my face with my forearm, my mouth opened to continue, but shut when I heard my would-be attacker’s low, threatening growl. Only then did I discern it: not a saber-toothed monster, but a hideous dog.

It looked like a cross between a mastiff and a rhinoceros, with a sagging face that resembled a month-old jack-o’-lantern. Its yellow eyes locked on me with a feral intelligence, the kind that promised it would tolerate no harm to its master, verbal or otherwise. Its weight was impossible to determine in pounds or tons, but its size was colossal, and my fear exaggerated it. But it didn’t need its size to intimidate; the sheer grotesqueness of its face was enough to frighten anyone into obedience.

“Please don’t. He is usually a friendly dog—”

His owner stepped out of the sun’s rays. Only then did I see a man, somewhat thin and dressed as if he chose each item from a dollar store with no regard for size or fashion. His hoodie was too small, a pocket sagging with a field notebook, and a frayed satchel hung from his shoulder with a battered ThinkPad half-slipping out. His hair matched the black of his glasses, cut short enough to expose ears so bright and large I could see the red capillaries threading their pink lobes. No one would ever call him traditionally attractive.

He pulled off a striped knit cap and held it to his chest like a man stepping into church. Then he studied me like a scientist who’d come to observe Homo sapiens dogmeatus in its natural habitat.

“It’s all right, then. No harm done,” I said. Was it his calmness that steadied me? His simple kindness? For a heartbeat, I felt I already knew him. Though, of course, I didn’t know him from Adam. “But isn’t it the law that dogs should be on a leash?”

The dog-beast’s owner smiled, and his face seemed to beam with a light that went straight through my chest. He reached into his pocket and lifted what looked like a thin green string.

“Yes,” he said. “I carry a leash. But he responds 100 percent to my voice command.”

“That’s a leash? My mother uses thicker thread for needlepoint,” I said, though my sweet, non-crafty mother had been dead for years. The quip left a crooked smile on my face as I gestured toward his beast. “That thing wouldn’t hold back a hamster, much less this dragon of yours.”

The man chuckled, and dimples creased his cheeks. A blush rose from his forehead, down his neck, and (at least in my imagination) continued beneath his shirt. My face grew warm in sympathy, mortified that I’d allowed even a private randy thought to bloom.

How could this lanky man, with his Goodwill wardrobe and unfortunate haircut, make the vice president of Camelot Enterprises blush like a schoolboy? Yet I was charmed, bewildered, and worse, embarrassed by my being charmed.

“Thanks for understanding. And again, I’m so sorry about…” His voice trailed off.

“As I said, no harm done.”

He smiled again, eyes crinkling at the corners. He was standing there, and I was standing here, neither of us quite sure what to do now that the drama had evaporated. I rubbed my palms against my thighs, cleared my throat, and said, “Dragon is an appropriate name for your dog, considering its size.”

I wanted to add, considering it’s the ugliest god-knows-what creature I’ve ever seen. Instead, my gaze drifted to his sweatshirt, the same blue gray as his eyes.

“Oh no,” he chuckled softly. “He got his name from a scar on his chest. See? It looks like a dragon.” He pointed somewhere near Dragon’s massive torso, and I swear the beast smiled back at him. The man radiated such effortless warmth that I felt a pulse of…what? Weird happiness?

Do you believe in love at first sight? Or in past lives? I never did. I thought sudden love was Darwinism’s practical joke to trick us into making more babies. But if this was only infatuation, it was merciless. God was a mad scientist, pouring grand amour chemicals from his glassware into me. The side effects: a stomach of Red Dye No. 2 Jell-O and a spine melted clean into butter.

I was about to introduce myself when a small crowd appeared halfway up the trail. I heard only laughter rise above the gulls’ cries, the steady slap of waves, and our soft conversation. The sound seemed to make him uneasy. He murmured a quick, “Sorry,” then turned and hurried down a lesser path. Dragon followed with a grace that belied his size and ugliness.

I stood there, stunned that I’d let him walk away. I had no choice but to leave, too. By the time I reached my SUV, an ambulance siren wailed somewhere in the distance. I don’t remember the hike back to the car. I don’t remember driving home.

Read Chapter 2