He was already on the way to Celeste when she rang him. As he was just about to enter Mirrorvale's municipal limits after driving through Brookstone from upstate, Crawley answered it. He didn't bother to pull over, being acclimated to the danger of talking and driving simultaneously, his sense of automotive recklessness quite ingrained.

"Afternoon. Was just headin' to see y-"

The urgency in the voice on the other end was startling, interrupting him mid greeting.

"Wait, what did ya say?" He blinked. "Fleeing? Where?"

"Mhm. Mhm." He glanced in the rearview, still listening. The traffic was very thin, the road mostly clear, and he slowed a bit and spun the wheel, the Cadillac doing a swift U-turn. "Westbound now, still on Brookstone Parkway." He accelerated somewhat, the trees and rocky soil of the parkway's cutting flashing by. "Mhm. What about the- ... okay. Sure. West-northwest bearing. Hemingway Drive. Got it. You keep things locked down. Call ya soon. Ciao."

Snapping the phone shut, he tossed it onto the passenger seat. He wanted to nab a cigarette before the action got going, but it was only seconds until he saw the turnoff. Swearing, Crawley took the exit, skidding into the turn much faster than was safe and roaring off along the drive. He lowered the passenger window, one eye on the road, the other on the sky.

Any moment now.

If he hadn't completely fucked up the timing.

The Cadillac fishtailed slightly, skewing on the composite gravel-bitumen surfacing at the speed he was going. The reserve road was very rarely used, so he wasn't worried about oncoming vehicles so much as simply keeping control, but it took some concentration to do even that whilst simultaneously going ten mph in excess of the law. He was itching for that smoke now, his nerves too stressed for the unexpected bedlam, but then ... he saw it.

A red winged shape, wings flapping leisurely as it cruised just above the treeline.

Aha!

It sure had been a while.

The bearing was very close to accurate, speed decent, height inconspicuous. A couple of hundred feet away and going at a tangent to where the road would lead, Crawley was still trying, hectically, to steer, track it and figure out how he could possibly resolve this development when there was the ringing crack of a gunshot, then a second later, another.

The creature jerked mid-flight, wobbled for a second, then plunged in a barely controlled dive below the trees.

Crawley slammed on the brakes, a cloud of dust and loose metal puffing up around the Cadillac as it came screeching to a halt.

Things were about to get messy.

He was scooping up the fedora, then out, slamming the door, hat on head. Straight across the road and into the forest, brain fixated on where he needed to go, he was rushing at full tilt.

"Ya crazy bastard. Crazy stupid, stupid stupid." Muttering to himself, Crawley swung the cylinder out as he ran, slotting the S&W rounds into place and trying not to trip on the thick ground cover while he did so. Carpets of ferns and low shrubs came and went, woven between Japanese maple, birch and dogwood, with a mingling of black pine and white oak reaching above to form the mainstay of the forest structure. Crawley thrashed his way through it, feet thumping dully on the damp soil. "Yer gonna get yerself hurt. Damned fool!"

It didn't take long, barely a minute, and he pushed through a particularly thick leafy barrier, emerging onto a grassy slope scores of feet long. The decline was slight, sun blazing through from above, trees receded enough to let the sky make a proper appearance. Near the bottom of the slope, before the cover closed back in, there were two men. Hunting rifles were in hand, and they were a half dozen paces apart, one following the other with a hasty apprehension.

They were approaching a motionless shape on the ground, next to a thick oak trunk.

A wounded red shape.

"Hey Jimmy, what the fuck ya think this thang is?" The one in the back called to his buddy in a thick Southern accent. "Giant bat? Some kinda mutant lizard? Ain't never seen nuthin' like that."

"Dunno." From the distance Crawley could only just hear the reply, even though the air was calm and the volume was decent. "It's mah trophy anyhoo. Gonna mount that sucker on the wall."

Jimmy raised the rifle, bracing it against his shoulder, eye on the scope even for such a ridiculously easy shot at medium-close range, and without further ceremony, he fired, the crack of the shot much louder now.

Suicidal halfwits.

Speedily, the shape went from inanimation to righteous vengeance. It picked itself up from where it had landed, the wings unfurling from the protective wrap, the indistinct shape coalescing into an extremely angry reptilian 'trophy'. The eyes seemed to glow like coals, the jaw snapped open, and it roared; a throaty rumbling fury that echoed across the arboreal surrounds. There were two limping steps forward, the pain readily apparent, and it reared its head, the neck arching, the attention trained unfailingly on the attacker.

The mouth opened a little wider, followed by a curt inhalation.

Crawley knew exactly what was about to happen, and he was powerless to stop it.

The blasting spray was white-hot and it shot more than twenty feet to engulf the hapless hunter. The flame was very intense, and it was done with in mere seconds, the brief screams dying away, the crumbling ashen remains of what was once a man disintegrating into a pile.

"Oh Jesus! Lord save me! What- .. w-what EVIL is this?! God have mercy!" The other man couldn't manage more before his horrified monologue unravelled into incomprehensible fearful yelling. Backing up in a stumble, still beseeching the heavens, his arms shaking, the lone hunter raised his own rifle, but the dragon was not done. It was finishing the last of three additional hobbled steps, the gaze of its retribution fixed squarely on the offending human. The shot was somehow lined up, the horned skull in the crosshair, the trembling finger squeezing at the trigger

Too late.

The second jet of fire leaped out to coat him from head to foot in a stream of infernal precision. Clothes, hair, skin, flesh; all of it ignited and like Jimmy, he transformed rapidly into a charred mess, the unspent rounds popping as the burning heat-deformed rifle dropped to the grass next to the crumpled remains.

All of it in under a minute.

Even with business done, it still wasn't finished. In a perplexing physical action, it rose on its hind legs to maximum height, the wings extending fully open. It stayed momentarily balanced, like some sort of strange bipedal forest sculpture and the air around it shimmered. For a split second reality warped, and there was a short sharp sound, a plosive magical shhiiuu of an effect invoked, and the dragon vanished, wholly and completely.

Just like that, Crawley was alone.

"Son of a bitch." He strode down the now empty slope, clicking the safety back on, shaking his head. The Colt went into a pocket, and he withdrew the phone and smokes. To his surprise, there was still enough reception to make a call, and he navigated to speed-dial.

"Yer not gonna like it." He lit the cigarette, walking between the blackened heaps. Even the ground around each was scorched for a few feet. Beyond, there were signs of the creature's former presence, the grass trampled and mulched from its landing and movement. "Tell the Order to send people. Next of kin, cover story, ya know the drill." He grunted, listening to her as he got his head around the dimension and capability of what he had seen it do. This size, this distance, this fast, this hot. "Mm. Mhmm. Two of 'em, throwin' rocks at a goddamned tiger. Ain't all bad though. Got a first hand look at our runaway learnin' his speciality. Won't lie to ya, it's a lil bit concerning. Scaly bastard ported out like it was second nature." He paused again, listening to her response. "It's yer call. Might be necessary, or maybe just helpful. Either way, not much I can do. Make yer choice and keep a lookout. Mhm. Alright. Bye."

He snapped the phone shut, and deposited it back into the pocket. Inhaling deeply, Crawley looked up at the sky; small high clouds, mostly clear, and warm, only a light breeze. It was a beautiful afternoon.

The only thing spoiling it was the incinerated charcoal of two dead men.

He extracted a hip flask from another pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a good swig. Next, a tip of the fedora to the formless debris, an apologetic formality he didn't owe, but felt obligated to give.

Rest in peace, ya luckless clods.

Crawley began to trudge back up the slope, heading for the Cadillac.