"MINK!" I howled, then turned to struggle frenziedly with the bands which effectively immobilized me. Finally in desperation I tried something I did once in the Caribbean, and breathed my own flame across the bindings. My scales heated rapidly beneath my azure breath, then the pain started as that heat began to work its way through to the flesh that lay beneath. But the crimson bands that wrapped me began to blacken and shrivel beneath the flames like physical things, then suddenly erupted in a blast of ruby light, the shockwave of the suddenly unraveling spell ridding the window frames of what little glass they had left and very nearly knocking me out.
Finally free, I staggered across the floor, towards a crumpled mass of char that lay sprawled next to the heat-warped remains of his weapon. The few remaining guards, seeing my charging form, evidently had had enough, as they promptly fled back down the stairs unmolested by the surviving members of my team, most of who were staring at what lay smoking upon the scorched concrete at my feet.
There wasn't all that much left; the flame-resistant coveralls I'd outfitted us with had allowed my men to survive the Elder's first assault, but hadn't done one damned bit of good when it came to a direct hit. By some miracle Mink's remaining rounds of 40mm hadn't cooked-off from the heat, perhaps protected by the heavy bandolier he'd carried them in.
There was the sound of a combat boot scuffing concrete, and I lifted my eyes to see Deebs and Fields standing there, staring. A pause, then Fields swore softly. "Damn it, Mink; why'd you have to go and do that?"
"He did what needed to be done," I replied quietly "just like he always did." I closed my eyes for a moment, then lifted my head. "Find something to wrap him up in. We're taking him home."
Both Fields and Deebs nodded silently and went to scrounge something, while I continued to stare at what was left in the flickering light of several burning crates. A touch against my left foreleg caused me to start slightly, then look down to see the leader of my three children rubbing himself against my leg, followed closely by the other two, looking for all the world like they were trying to comfort me.
A soft WHOOMPH caught my attention then, and I looked up into yet another nightmare. The Elder's breath had ignited one of the spreading pools of solvent, and it had grown into a swirling mass of stinking blue and yellow flame that was quickly retracing the flow of flammable liquid back to its various sources. In seconds several dozen pallet loads of rusting steel drums were wrapped in hungry flames. Moments later a fire sprinkler directly above part of the conflagration went BANG, but all that issued forth was a small dribble of muddy goop that quickly tapered off to nothing.
It was time to leave. I turned toward our planned escape route, only to find the barrels we'd bypassed there piled against the door by the gray dragon's thrashings and already well involved. Feeling the rising heat, my children's incapacitated guardian gave a moan and began to blindly grope his way away from the flames.
It would only be a matter of minutes before those drums were heated to the point where their contents would cause them to go off like Roman candles, and our planned escape route was now out of the question. Deebs and Fields hurried back with an old tarp and the others pulled in from the perimeter, forced back by the rising flames.
I turned to the hole that the Elder had ripped in the floor, discovered the gray dragon had found it and was already slithering out of sight. I looked to follow, but was immediately greeted by a hail of bullets from below as soon as I drew near, several spanging off my armor before I could yank my head back. Nope; not that way.
"Max! Over here!" I whipped my head around to see Luce waving at me from next to the old cargo elevator we'd seen on the way in. Of course! Quickly I lumbered over, three increasingly frightened dragonets scampering along in my wake as Luce heaved the safety gate up out of the way and crouched, the muzzle of his G3 questing for a target as he warily scanned the interior. For once during this messed-up mission luck was on our side; the elevator was on our floor, and operational, probably having been last used to transport my children up from the building's loading dock.
I coughed, blinked, nictitating membranes reflexively sliding down over my eyes as I pulled my head down, out of the oily blanket of utterly black smoke that was beginning to fill the huge room in spite of the blown-out windows, the cloud of toxic chemicals steadily descending from the ceiling like some dark burial shroud. Behind us it was starting to look like a scene out of Dante's Inferno as we hurriedly crammed everyone aboard the elevator.
Luce slammed down the safety gate and reached for the controls, then paused and turned to me. "They'll be waiting for us," he warned.
I nodded my acknowledgement. I'd reduced my size in order to better fit within the elevator; now I expanded again, arranging my long body to act as a protective barricade. Luce hit the control for the ground floor, and with a lurch and a loud grinding noise the lift began to descend.
They were indeed waiting for us; the cargo elevator's noisy operation was obvious advertisement as to what we were up to. We had scarcely begun our descent when 9mm Parabellum began to sleet into my armored side from the floor below. I gnashed my teeth at what felt like the impact of a thousand hammers and twisted my delicate wings out of the line of fire as best I could, my head turned away. Suddenly there was a weight across my forelegs, and I looked down to see Grease laying there, a stream of bright brass casings tinkling off my breast as his assault rifle spat out its furious response.
Ten seconds later it was over as we sank below the level of the fifth floor. I lifted my head and warily eyed the opening as it rose above us, the burning sensation in the back of my throat strong as I and several rifle barrels waited for someone to be stupid enough to stick his head into view, all of us praying that no-one up there had a grenade.
As we descended past the still-empty fourth floor I was distracted by a low growl from adjacent my left hind leg, and looked down. Up to now the two groups, men and dragons, had been crammed up against opposite ends of the lift as far away from each other as they could possibly go. Now, however, my children's leader (eldest?) was beginning to slowly approach my troops, his spiny crest raised aggressively, and my other children were beginning to give the men a speculative look, as well.
Ashadh. I will call you Ashadh, my little impetuous one, until you select a name more to your liking. I hissed a warning, and my tailtip lifted to gently cuff the child, a blow that spun him almost completely around. Ashadh blinked, shook his head dazedly, then quickly began rub himself against my flank, crooning in apology while his siblings subsided into wide-eyed silence.