Excerpt: Dragonslayers

Excerpt from Chapter One: The Gates of Hell Open

Robertson ran down the stairs into the living room, and then he turned toward the kitchen and ran. He picked the 270 up off of the kitchen table, grabbed the nearby box of shells, opened the door, and ran outside. A cool wind blew at him, and on it was the smell of manure. Robertson sucked in a large amount, oblivious to the smell he smelled since a child. He fired off a shot into the air to see if that would scare off the coyotes. At the moment the sharp crack of the gun sounded, the coyotes were silent.
“Hopefully that keeps them away…” Robertson mumbled. He turned toward the house again, but as he did so, an odd smell wafted toward him. It smelled like something was burning, but he couldn’t tell what. All he knew was that it made his hair stand up on end. He slowly looked around, trying not to miss anything unusual in the dimness of the yard light. Still he saw nothing. He began to wonder if he was going crazy, he felt as if something was about to happen.
It didn’t seem good either. He turned toward the house, then to the nearby milk-barn. He walked forward a few feet, the gravel of the driveway crunching under his rubber boots. Then there was a long, low, drawn out growl. It was of such a pitch that Robertson nearly thought it was the wind. It was at this moment that it occurred to him to look up. Above him he saw the clearness of the night. He saw the moon, red. Robertson didn’t believe in superstitions, but it still looked rather spooky. There was a rush of wind, soft, but still sounding powerful. Robertson yawned, then yelped as the moon was suddenly gone, and back again, in the matter of about on second. It was then that he realized that something big was circling above.
“ROAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!! RRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIII!!!” Robertson nearly did in his pants as the titanic creature roared, and a jet of yellow appeared. It was bright enough that Robertson could clearly see the beast. It had a dog-like snout, a smooth round head, bloody horns, a long neck, thick body and tail, four powerful legs like that of a guerilla’s, and two huge leathery wings. It was covered in scales darker than that of the night sky. The jet of yellow fire reached down upon the house and seemed to envelope it. In seconds, the entire house was in flames. Robertson stumbled back as the intense heat blasted through him. Then there was a blood curtiling scream.
Robertson realized that Marie and the baby were trapped inside. He yelled out no particular word, but a groan of anguish. He then raised then butt of the 270 to arm, raised the muzzle toward the hovering beast, lined up the open sight upon his target’s vile head, and fired. He worked the bolt back and forth, the smoking brass round pinging as it bounced along the gravel, and another sharp crack echoed out across the plains. The beast turned toward the milk barn and started to drop out of the air. When it hit the top of the building, it collapsed. It fell off balance and tumbled into the driveway about twenty yards from Robertson.
As it scrambled to get up, Robertson realized it was gushing blood from its neck and face, and took the opportunity to fire at it again. The creature reared back its head and started to suck in air. Robertson realized that it was about to repeat the process it used on the house on him. He had already worked the bolt, so he took aim, and fired directly into the mouth. The creature shrieked. Its head started bobbing up and down. Robertson opened the bolt, and grabbed a handful of bullets out of his pocket. As he started to thumb them in, the beast turned its head upside down, and a flat piece of lead fell out. Roberson slammed the bolt shut, five rounds ready, and fired. He immediately worked the bolt, and fired off a second round. Both rounds tore through the neck.
The beast roared angrily. Robertson almost dropped the gun because the sound rocked him so violently. Four headlights popped up about a mile away as they popped up over a hill. Robertson realized three vehicles were speeding to the direction of his burning farmhouse. Robertson fired off another two rounds at the beast. It looked back at him dumbly, as if it needed time to think if it should look up, down, or to send itself at the sounds of gunfire. Robertson fired off the last round, and the beast fell backward, further destroying the already collapsed dairy barn. Robertson thumbed another five rounds into the chamber. He fired those into the exposed belly of the beast, and then repeated the process again. As he looked through his pockets for more ammunition, the three vehicles pulled into his driveway.