Mrs. Falls a lot's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

The dragon lay dead on the cracked stone. Fire still ringed the arena, but the beast inside it was cold. Mrs. Falls a lot stood over the carcass with a beer in each hand. Somebody had to make a fire big enough to cook a mountain of red scales. Big Larry solved it. He was the heavyset hillbilly who played harmonica in her band, the one who followed her into this world just to find her. He wiped his mouth and looked at the dead dragon like it was a hog on a spit. "Cooked lizard back home all the time," Big Larry said. "This ain't much different. Just bigger." Buzz laughed. He shoved cracked timber from the broken floor into a pile. Nuts dragged over a snapped beam, cigar clamped in his teeth. Mrs. Falls a lot set one beer down long enough to help stack, then snatched it back up. Big Larry struck a spark off the scorched stone. The wood caught. Flame climbed fast and hot. They rolled the dragon onto the fire, all four of them shoving at once. Scales hissed. Fat popped and dripped. The smell that rose was not meat. It was beer, thick and sweet, boiling out of the beast she had filled to the throat. "That there," Buzz said, breathing in, "is the best thing I ever smelled." They ate. Mrs. Falls a lot tore off the first piece and bit down. The dragon tasted like every drink she'd ever chased and never caught. Warmth spread from her belly outward. She didn't sip it. It was already in her, working. Buzz ate and hollered. Big Larry ate and went quiet, chewing slow, eyes half shut. Nuts ate with both paws, cigar set aside. The fire burned low as the four of them worked through the beast, greasy and grinning. Then it hit. Mrs. Falls a lot felt her head go loose and light. Not from a bottle. From inside. The room tilted the way it did after a long night, except she'd taken no long night. She swayed. Both beers stayed cradled in her hands, safe as always. Buzz fell off his log, still laughing. Big Larry lay flat on the stone and blew one soft note on his harmonica, then let it drop. Nuts leaned against a chunk of rubble, sunglasses crooked, grinning at nothing. "We're gone," Buzz slurred. "Clean gone. Ain't touched a drop in ten minutes." He was right. The beast had put them all under, permadrunk and free. Mrs. Falls a lot looked at her two beers. For the first time in her life, she didn't need them. The wasted feeling came from her own body now, steady and endless. She lifted a bottle anyway. Habit. Or pride. She drank. Then the world went soft, and she went down with it, still holding on. THE END.