He said nothing as he tapped the patch.

  This wasn’t some Hollywood production, where the hero had some pithy one-liner ready to go at just the right moment. Matt was running on fumes - adrenaline and determination the only things keeping him on his feet. The horror in front of him was illuminated by the tongue of flame that seared its chest before washing around the pile of jerrycans.

  With a loud WHOOOOMPF the spilled petrol caught, blazing up around the monstrous form of the Malicious Mother. It squealed in terror and pain at the sudden bite of the flame, rearing back on its hind legs. The shrill pitch of its agony sending Matt stumbling back a few steps. Clawed feet were coated in the slick liquid from the trampled cans, and it hissed wildly as the pain followed the frenzied attempts at escape.

  As the matriarch recoiled, other rats found themselves in similar straits. Paws and fur caught light, coated from their attempts to push through the petrol-soaked barricade of poisoned bodies. An awful cacophony of pain grew in the nest, like a choir being tortured in stages. As burning rats tried to flee from the inescapable agony, they only succeeded in spreading the flame to other patches of petrol-soaked detritus. Matty’s throws had spread the opened cans throughout the nest, and one rat after another found one of these patches with their burning paws, igniting each with a loud rushing noise.

  Matt stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the sudden intrusion of heat and light. Some of the poisoned rat bodies had fallen into the tunnel mouth, where they twitched frantically as patches of fur and skin blackened with guttering flames. The sound from within the nest was horrific - a chorus of pain and fear – and he could feel the waves of heat increasing, even through his clear air bubble.

  He held his spear at the ready, listening to the rushing and popping of fresh ignitions as the blaze spread throughout the nest. Leaning against the wall his body trembled from the exertion, and concern for his injured friend. He jumped as a burning body fell into the tunnel, stabbing down wildly, but it was already dead. As he looked down in revulsion, he could see fur burned away, skin split and fat bubbling, greasy smoke rising up from the body. Looking around, he could see a growing layer of smoke illuminated by his light patch, curling up under the roof of the tunnel mouth to spill upwards in an ever-thickening stream.

  Matt was determined to give his friends as much time as possible, but the first faint smells of death and pain heralded the limits of his breathable air. The animal sounds from within the nest were eclipsed now by the crackle and roar of flames as they caught on anything flammable. Reluctantly, he started back up the tunnel, ducking under the ceiling of smoke and fearfully looking over his shoulder as he went.

  Struggling out of the tunnel mouth into the open air felt like emerging from Hell, the waves of heat growing in intensity as they pursued Matt upwards. His bubble had fully expired and he coughed violently, expelling the smoke from his parched lungs.

  Leaning on his spear, Matt looked around and spotted the rest of the group struggling toward the playground where their bikes were stashed. Taking a deep breath - which triggered another bout of coughing - he stumbled after them. His mind and body focused on the ever-more-difficult task of keeping each foot moving and it was several seconds before he became aware of Arlee shouting frantically, the timbre of terror cutting through his mental fog.

  “Matt – behind you!”

  Spinning around, Matt saw earth being tossed into the air, as raw, burned flesh ripped free of the dirt, thick legs planting themselves and dragging a horrific sight out of the ground. The Malicious Mother had lost all but a few small patches of fur – she was a mass of burns and split flesh, blood running down her sides in sheets. Her powerful flanks heaved with the tortured sound of lungs seared by heat, and each movement was accompanied by a hissing chitter of pain.

  Dragging the rest of her bulk from the makeshift escape tunnel, she paused and turned back to the new entrance, a rasping set of squeaks echoing back down into the darkness. A column of smoke was boiling out of the hole, now that her body was no longer plugging the impromptu chimney. Eyes fixed on where she had emerged, the monstrous beast waited – repeating her call – but there was no answer, and nothing more emerged from the hole.

  Slowly she turned, fixing her eyes on Matt. Black, dead eyes gave no hint of emotion, or intent, but Matt could almost feel the rage boiling out from her, and he quailed as she took shuddering, pained steps toward him.

  He turned and hurried after the others, but quickly saw that the rat would catch them well before they could make their escape. As the others struggled on, Matt sorted through the flame tubes he was carrying, almost crying in relief as he saw a glimmer cross one of the patches. He had a single shot left, and while it might not stop the beast, it would probably make it pause – maybe even turn away.

  Any hope was blown away as the tortured abomination lunged forward with astounding speed, fresh rivulets of blood pumping out of the larger splits in its flesh at the exertion. Frantically, Matt triggered the flame-tube, but the burned horror was not to be deterred, squealing in fresh agony as its face and chest cooked, before slamming into him, throwing him to his back on the ground. The spear flew from his stunned grasp and before he could act, it was upon him.

  Great jaws gaped wide and closed on his torso, as Arlee’s wordless shriek of horror echoed around the park. Matt was raised into the air and shaken violently, but despite fetid breaths thundering around him, the teeth did not slice into him. He had not been at the forefront of the fight in the nest as Alan had, and his armour was still strong. And spiky.

  Great gouts of blood flew from the cavernous mouth as raw flesh was torn and gouged against the spikes. In the grip of some madness – whether due to pain, or primal rage at the loss of its nest and kin – the great rat bit down again and again into the unyielding force surrounding Matt’s body. He was covered in the beast’s blood as he flailed with his free arm but the beast seemed not to notice to his blows. He was a moth fluttering at caging fingers, and his armour would not last through much more of this continuous punishment.

  Matt’s free hand still gripped the spent flame-tube, and he used it to batter the side of the rat’s head as it bit down him. Each impact was heralded by a horrid, pulpy squelch as the seared flesh of the rat further split, but even this was not enough to deter the great beast, blinded by frenzied pain and rage.

  He paled as he began to feel pressure from the biting jaws, swinging his improvised club with mounting panic. The rat seemed oblivious though, continuing to gnash down on his struggling form. Sound billowed around him, rushing air and a crack of air.

  There was a sudden spasm, and Matt was jerked upwards as the rat’s head whiplashed into the air. The pressure which had been building to painful levels released as the rat’s jaw gaped wide in a silent squeal of pain even its frenzied state could not ignore. Matt dropped to the floor in a heap, rolling to put some distance between them before he dared to look up.

  With claws dug into the spine and flank of the mother rat, Oswald’s jaws were clamped tight around the base of the beast’s neck. Where moments ago, the burned monster had been jerking manically, now it twitched as its spine was slowly crushed within the dragon’s jaws.

  Matt gaped at the sight of Oswald, the formerly human-sized embodiment of human myth and legend, now grown to almost twice the length. As his jaws clamped down on the weakening rat, his claws raked down its back and sides, tearing gaping wounds, shredding muscle and tendon.

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  Releasing his merciless bite, Oswald reached forward with his foreclaws and held the rat by either side of its ravaged head. Rearing back, Oswald thrust his gaping mouth forward and spewed a focused spike of flame into the top of the rat’s skull. As it writhed weakly, squealing in pain that eclipsed even its previous torment, the flame continued erupting from Oswald’s mouth, driving deeper into the weakly struggling form underneath him.

  The rat gave a weak spasm as the finger of flame drove all the way through its skull to burst out from under its bleeding mouth. With that final desperate action, it collapsed under Oswald’s claws and lay still.

  Matt struggled to sit up, body aching and mind stunned at the magnificently terrifying scene just feet away from him. Oswald hopped down from atop the burned and broken corpse, pulling his claws through the dirt to remove the viscera. Looking around, he slowly approached Matt and offered a claw to help him up.

  “Are you well Mr T? That foul beast must have been a terror indeed, but it seemed to have suffered greatly before I arrived. Has your quest been successful?” The dragon’s voice had deepened somewhat with his growth but still held the polite formality that was his signature.

  Matt gingerly reached forward and took hold of the proffered clawed foot. He was careful to avoid the obviously extremely sharp points, which only a moment ago had shredded a rat the size of a small car. The plush feel had been replaced with more traditional scales, though they had a pliability about them, reminiscent of their cuddly origins.

  “Thanks Oswald.” Matt replied tiredly. “I thought I was dinner then, if you hadn’t arrived, I…” His words trailed off, the latest brush with death eclipsing the many terrible experiences he had faced since the advent of the weirdness.

  He bowed his head with fatigue and relief, before jolting back upright and looking around frantically. “Arlee, where are you?”

  “Here! We’re over here!” He heard his wife’s voice from behind the large tree which had been their refuge the last time they visited the nest. Matt scrambled to his feet and stumbled as quickly as he could over to them, Oswald padding along behind him.

  Rounding the tree, he found them both struggling to tighten a makeshift tourniquet around Alan’s leg. The wrapping was soaked in blood now, and his complexion was pale as he lay comatose on the cool earth.

  “We can’t stop the bleeding.” Matty said with a fearful tone. “He needs proper attention soon, or…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence; they could all recognise the critical condition their friend was in.

  “We need to get him back to Carry, right now!” Arlee said quickly. “I just don’t know how we can keep him on a bike to get back, and walking will take too long.”

  Matt cast around, racking his brain. Tying Lara to him had been awkward enough, but Alan was much taller and they didn’t have either the equipment or energy to try and transport him by bike. His eyes settled on Oswald in his newly enlarged form.

  “Oswald! Come here, quickly!” He shouted desperately. Arlee and Matty’s eyes went wide as they beheld him clearly for the first time, and their mouths gaped in unison at the shock of his appearance.

  “How may I be of service, Mr T?” Oswald said in his deep and rich voice. He seemed a little nervous at the looks of awe he was getting from the group, self-consciously keeping his eyes on the ground.

  “Do you think you can carry Alan home? Could you manage his weight for that far?” Matt asked with blunt brevity.

  The dragon looked down at Alan’s still body, seeming to deliberate for a moment. After a few seconds, he looked up into Matt’s eyes and nodded firmly.

  “I will be neither agile nor speedy, but on my oath I shall deliver him home.”

  Matt gave a thankful nod, before turning to Matty. “I hope you’ve got some legs left mate. Get on your bike and get back to warn Carry. She will need to be ready and can get help from the Neal’s to get Alan settled where she can treat him.”

  The young man nodded and ran off across the field toward their bikes, fatigue showing in heavy steps. Arlee and Matt raised Alan as gently as they could and moved him out from under the cover of the branches. At Oswald’s request, they set him down in a seated position, his head lolling about like a newborn.

  Oswald approached and moved chest-to-chest with Alan, before wrapping forelegs carefully around and under his arms. Holding tightly, he took a deep breath and bunched powerful rear legs with his wings reaching upward. He held this pose momentarily, then with a powerful kick he leapt into the air, wings beating with desperate energy to pull his burden skywards.

  Matt and Arlee held their breath as Oswald struggled to get any height, sinking between each powerful beat of his wings. Alan’s legs dangled beneath him, swaying limply. He was dead weight and for all Oswald’s growth, he was struggling mightily to bear the extra load.

  “Come on, Oswald, come on!” Arlee urged desperately.

  After several tense moments, the dragon’s desperate efforts paid off, achieving enough height to clear the surrounding trees and buildings. He winged off towards home, the drumbeat of his wings fading into the distance. Matt and Arlee collapsed against each other, arms holding tight as they wordlessly caught their breath.

  “Come on.” Matt said. “We’ve got to get back. The rats aren’t the only danger out here and Carry will need our help.”

  He stood, pulling Arlee up with him. The sky was thankfully clear of any circling raptors, so they collected their bikes and with aching legs headed for home.

  The following morning, Matt raised his head as early sunlight stabbed through the curtains directly into his face. Blinking at the sudden intrusion, he experienced a few moments of relative comfort before his nervous system came online, painfully listing the many aches, pains, bumps and bruises from the previous day.

  Stifling a groan as much as possible, Matt panned his eyes across the kitchen table on which his head and folded arms had rested. Alan’s sleeping form lay there, snoring gently and with his leg heavily bandaged and elevated on numerous cushions. The coverings showed some minor bleed-through, but it looked like Carry’s efforts had saved her husband’s limb.

  Matt and Arlee had pulled up to the house, exhausted after putting their remaining shreds of energy into the ride home. Carry had already been working feverishly in Accident & Emergency mode, and the blood beginning to pool on the kitchen floor spoke of the critical situation she faced.

  Without access to a surgeon and operating theatre, they had relied on the miraculous contents of Carry’s first aid kit. This was supported by a healthy home-transfusion from Matty, who knew his blood type as a result of a serious sports injury in his teenaged years and luckily shared the same type as Alan.

  Carry spent hours re-arranging bone chunks, removing splinters and stitching various bits into place, before splinting, wrapping and using every applicable medicinal compound at her disposal. After finishing, she allowed herself to be put to bed by Arlee, and Matty had collapsed on the sofa with a bunch of protein bars. Matt had spent some time cleaning up the room before nodding off at the table.

  “Beer.”

  The quiet, raspy plea roused Matt from his morning stupor and he stood, looking down on Alan’s cracked open eyes in concern.

  “Firstly – don’t move. At all. Doctor’s orders.” Matt reached down and held Alan’s shoulder, ready to keep him steady in case he did the usual and ignored what he always viewed as suggestions about his personal health and recovery. “Secondly, you can have some water. When Carry wakes up you can talk to her about other stuff to eat and drink. She put enough medicine into you last night that I’m bloody surprised you’re waking up the same shape.”

  “You’re no fun.” The raspy reply came. There was a pause as Matt filled a glass. “Did we get the job done? Is my leg…

  Matt returned to the table and helped Alan take a few sips of the glass, after which his head rested back, and he seemed to breathe a little easier.

  “We did mate, we did. After you…got hurt, we torched the place and it went up like Bonfire Night. There’s nothing left there to worry about. Carry worked her magic on your leg. It’ll…let’s see in the morning.

  Matt took a deep breath before continuing. “We haven’t been fair to you – or Carry. You’ve been at the front of every monster fight, every dangerous situation, and it caught up with us yesterday. I just hope that Carry was able to fix everything. We need to…”

  “What you need to do mate, is shut up and convince Caz to let me have a beer.” Some of the usual smirk had returned to Alan’s tired voice. “Who else are you going to have front and centre? You find me some soldiers, and I’ll let them take over. But right now I’m the best meat shield you’ve got, and you’re in charge of making sure we have the toys to stay in one piece.”

  Matt’s eyes glistened with tears as he clasped his friend’s hand, nodding. “Thanks Al. I don’t know what we would have done without you – both of you. I…”

  “Seriously Matt, pull up your big boy pants and get us both a beer. Isn’t that what happens in those movies and games you love? The heroes beat the final boss and have a celebratory bevy? We got the job done, and everyone here is doing their bit. The reason we work as a group is that there aren’t any shirkers, nobody leaching off everyone else.”

  Alan took another few sips and then lay back. “I’m going to crash out again, but when I’m better we’ll get everyone together and chat about what we do next, okay? There’s going to be other stuff out there to take care of, and more people to rescue like the big damn heroes we… are…”

  Alan’s voice trailed off and Matt looked down in concern but saw the rise and fall of Alan’s chest and relaxed. Feeling the strain of the last day, Matt laid his head down on his arms once more and closed his eyes.

  “No worries, mate. When you’re better, we’ll get everything sorted. Let’s get some more shuteye, then see about that beer.”