Page 3 of Red Marked

I dive straight in to flush him out.

He stands his ground instead, and we go down together into the underbrush. His jaws close an inch from my throat, and I get a foreleg braced under his chin.

“Hold him!” Cindy’s voice is sharp over the noise, close enough that I know she’s got a line if I can just keep him still one more second.

My muscles start shaking from the sheer exertion. I get one leg under him, buying Cindy the half-second she needs.

The dart takes him in the shoulder at point-blank range. He roars in fury and thrashes hard enough that I start to lose my grip.

Then he goes down, folding sideways into a stand of ferns. My shoulder’s bleeding freely where his claw caught me. Thankfully, it’s a minor flesh wound that will heal quickly enough.

Atlas lands and shifts. “You good?”

“Yep.” I stand over the fallen dragon. “Scan him.”

Brian’s already there, pressing his fingers to the vein in the male’s neck. “He’s in good shape.”

When Cindy runs the reader, the screen flashes green.

CAPTURE.

“We have one.” Cindy grins. “His name is Quake.”

“Yes!” I clap my hands. “Look alive, everyone. We have to bring him in.”

“Finally,” Brian shouts.

“Get the sling ready,” I say. “You all know the drill. We don’t have a whole lot of time to get him back to the clinic.”

The rigging takes eighteen minutes, which is two minutes under our deadline.

The harness goes under his chest and hindquarters first, buckled to a rigid bar that keeps his full weight from collapsing in on his ribs the second we lift. Four lines run from the bar up to four carriers in fixed formation. The rest of us surround them.

Brian and Cindy ride together, harnessed to one of the relief carriers, the sedatives and rifle both within reach if either is needed again before we’re home.

Although we pass another feral male, he doesn’t come at us. We’re a big group. The ferals might be wild, but they’re not stupid.

It’s slow going, but we make it back to the clinic with time to spare. I land and shift the second my feet touch the pad.

Ground crew moves in fast, doing what they need to do.

I watch them work for a minute. My shoulder still throbs a little, even though the wound is already knitting.

Atlas stands next to me. “This is the beginning,” he says.

“The first of many,” I agree, nodding. “We’ll sign him in, take a break, and then we need to get back out there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Rift says as she pulls on a shirt. Then she walks toward the debrief room, and I stay for another minute on the pad, watching the lights come on in the holding wing where Quake is being carried in.

I head inside to debrief with my team and to write my report.

That’s one down.

This is only the beginning.

2

Flint