Drako

By Wilbur T. Scrivnor

From a special place between the Milky Way and Earth, a friendly dragon manages to escape the confines of forced retirement and is now attempting to fend for himself in Michigan. As botanist Ernie McCord heads to the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes with his class from Grand Valley University, he has no idea that he is about to have a chance encounter with Drako, a giant dragon with a giant problem and only one person in mind to help him solve it.

Ernie hikes to a summit to view Lake Michigan and sits on what he thinks is a tuft of scrub and sandonly to discover he has accidentally planted himself on Drakos back. After Drako introduces himself, he asks for Ernies help in finding Bela, his dragon girlfriend. It turns out Drako has heard of Ernies reputation as a ladies man and hopes he can use his new friends experience in his favor. As a bizarre chain of events is set into motion that attract the attention of the media, a Pentagon major, and a circus manager, Ernie is pursued by two former girlfriendsa matter that only complicates his life further.

In this amusing tale, a friendly dragon and a man-about-campus become unlikely friends as each embarks on a journey to pursue true loveand their destinies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Nov 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458212191

Wilbur T. Scrivnor

Wilbur T. Scrivnor is a US Navy veteran, music teacher, former editor of Peninsula Poets, and current fiction editor for Senior Perspectives, for which he writes short stories. He lives with his wife in Grand Haven, Michigan, in a log house on the Grand River.

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Copyright © 2013 Wilbur T. Scrivnor.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-1220-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1219-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918253

Abbott Press rev. date: 10/31/2013

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

A Monday in June

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

How do you say no to a dragon? Ernie McCord didn’t, and thus begins a unique tale of a dragon, a college instructor and the love-of-his-life, Jonnelle Gordon. So, how does one say no to a dragon? Ask Ernie. He knows.

Robert James Jackson

Author, Moon Strike

Drako is a quirky blend of fantasy and fun. I had a smile on my face the entire time I was reading it. It’s one terrific tale.

Dolly Moiseff

Book Reviewer, Oakland Press

Prologue

IN A SPECIAL PLACE BEYOND THE SEVEN GATES (SOMETIMES called Black Holes), between the Milky Way and Earth, to where at one time most dragons chose to retire, an ancient Dragon Father was trying to comprehend what his Senior Page was saying. They stopped near the entrance of a cave, set in a lifeless asteroid.

What do you mean? the Dragon Father asked, lifting his massive scaly head, and shooting a warm firestream in the air. Who’s gone without permission?

He’s gone out through Gate four and can’t get back in. The Senior Page moved with caution out of the way, as the Dragon Father shot a bit warmer firestream from two small chambers where his neck joined his shoulders.

The Dragon Father was troubled, now, disturbed by the news. Of course, he can’t get back in. He has to go to Seven for that. But, I repeat: ‘Who is it?’

Drako. Who else?

Who else, indeed. A sound like a sigh escaped the Dragon Father, his hot breath making the entrance glow red. Nothing that scamp does surprises me any more.

Do you want me to alert the guards to go get him and bring him back? asked the Senior Page, as he moved to a protective niche in the cave’s wall.

The Dragon Father took a few steps to drag his 50-foot length to the entrance and look at the night sky glittering in its brilliance. His cave was part of a huge rock about the size of a football field, accessible only at one end. Three pockets along the tunnel served the Dragon Father well as its living quarters.

Ah, to be young again, mused the Dragon Father. No, I don’t think we’ll interfere. I know how those urges plague one. It occurs to me that I’ve grown accustomed to life here and I feel no need for more jewels, and I don’t find frightening maidens of much use these days. No, I think we’ll just let Drako fend for himself for a while, unless he finds himself in danger. Where is he anyhow?

America. Michigan, answered the Senior Page. And I’ve noticed that Bela is missing, too.

The Dragon Father erupted with a cough-like rumbling laugh, warming the wall still more. He edged back around and moved toward the first pocket, a large living room—doubling as a bedroom—with a cushioned mat in its center and a display of gems and trophies on the walls.

I remember. She’s been leading him a merry chase all over the galaxy. See that she’s left to tempt Drako, and we’ll see what happens. Some day she’ll understand. They both will—oh, and make sure Gate Seven is operable. I don’t want to chase after them if we don’t need to do so. Bela ended up on the wrong cave last year. Easy to do among the twenty asteroids in the dragon colony.

As you wish, sire. The senior Page hurried off to see to the Dragon Father’s wishes, and seek a rest in the second pocket—where the two Pages lived. The few slaves remaining lived in the third pocket. When the Senior Page disappeared from sight, the Junior Page took his place behind a protective niche, and the Father Dragon moved toward his sleeping pad. He was thinking that Drako and Bela may not be aware of the history of dragons. There was a time when man and dragon fought for control of the planet, with an all-consuming hate. But, little by little, it became a losing battle. Man’s curious mind defeated even the most deadly of dragons. There’d been explosives, guns, cars on the ground and in the air, and an arsenal of deadly weapons. He gave up trying to outwit them, even as he admired mankind for their inventiveness and it could no longer be said that he even hated them.

While the Dragon Father was lost in his thoughts, the Junior Page looked out of the cave. He could see the large cluster of asteroids about them. Most were inhabited with other dragons—the most unique one was the one with the enormous chicken farm. Dragons did love their chickens. The Page recalled that the Father Dragon’s brother had almost starved in northern Sweden because all he had to eat were mice. Now, he was glad to feast on chickens. He must arrange to have some brought over. Their supply was diminishing.

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Chapter One

A Monday in June

ERNEST JUSTIN MCCORD, BOTANIST, KNEW EXACTLY WHY he had chosen the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes as a summer project for his class from Grand Valley University. The motor home in which he was now riding would take him to the Dunes.

He expected to meet the park staff, and possibly others interested in his research, but his real reason was to meet his former girlfriend, Jonnie. He needed to know if the flame still burned. She worked, he knew, at the Traverse City TV station. Unless he was mistaken, Ernie felt she would know he and his class were on their way. It’ll be interesting to see how she handles it.

Ernie and his students had left the Allendale campus about eight this morning. He and the drivers had agreed that it would be all right to take the coast-line Highway 31 by way of Muskegon and Ludington. They’d take a break just south of Whitehall and another south of Ludington, and were now just almost to Benzonia, where they would head for Frankfort.

At the moment, on a sunny, warm and pleasant day, Ernie rode in the front seat behind the driver of a traveling bus. He and the six students in his class were heading toward what was officially called the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. He was enjoying the scenery rolling by, the white birch trees among the oaks, the patches of wild flowers by the side of the highway. He’d agreed with those who said it was one of the lovliest parks in Michigan.

His young men wanted to stop along the way. Once it was a fake dinosaur display. Later, it had been an air field offering rides. That had all stopped the closer and closer they got to Empire.

Ernie turned to see that the inevitable card game still went on in the back and that the others dozed or read. Six young college men were spread around the interior of the bus—Miller was number seven. Ernie was a little young to be in charge of this research grant, but when he’d graduated three years ago, he was asked to fill the temporary vacancy in the science department, after the head botanist had accepted a grant to Oxford.

Can you see if Bob Miller is still behind the other bus? he asked Ray Donaldson, the driver of his bus. Bob had agreed to drive Ernie’s Fusion since Park vehicles were restricted to staff, and Ernie would need the use of a vehicle to be mobile. Also, college rules would insist that Ernie be on the motor home with his students. The motor home was skillfully designed so seats could provide fold-down berths, if needed.

Ray checked his side mirror and said, Yep. Ray was dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt with the GVSU logo on its pocket. Circling around the logo were the words: Grand Valley State University. He also wore a pale blue vest to ward off any chill—although the weather was pleasant enough.

Ernie was seated back of the driver, adjusting his tall athletic frame to the slight motion of the bus, like a reed in the wind. In the second bus behind him were seven young college women, along with Molly Sullivan, his co-instructor, and George, who was her husband, driver of the motor home.

As Ernie took out the memo book from his pocket, his thoughts turned to the unavoidable—Jonnelle Anne Gordon, current anchor and special news person at Traverse City WPBN, Channels Four and Seven. Had she ever got over her anger? He was about to find out. After graduation, she’d worked all summer in the newsroom at Channel 8 in Grand Rapids, and she’d never once tried to contact him. He knew she had a strong sense of justice, so she must know the truth about Pam by now. He replaced the memo book in his pocket. Well, he’d probably find out when they met again. He rubbed his hand behind his head, urging his brain to try to resolve the problem. Would she ignore him here, too? Maybe she felt guilty. Maybe she just didn’t care.

Jonnelle (Jonnie) Gordon—Ernie’s former girlfriend, and the object of his search—shrugged into her blue jacket with the WPBN logo on it. As special news editor, it had been no surprise to be assigned to check on the botany class at the Dunes. She’d known from a Park schedule that they were coming, and that Ernie would be heading it. Still, she was uncertain how to deal with their meeting. Underneath the uncertainty, Jonnie admitted that she wanted their meeting to go well. She wanted Ernie to forgive her and be friends. Deciding it was time to go, she grabbed her notes and clipboard and left.

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On the bus, a student, Thad Enders, saw Ernie checking to see if the bus was still neat and clean—no candy wrappers, no plastic cups. He caught Ernie’s attention, got up and lurched down the aisle.

Reaching the front, Thad asked, How much longer, Mr. McCord? He loomed over Ernie, all six foot plus a lot, thin but not bony, a mop of unruly blond hair hanging loose about his head. An egret with a bushy crown.

Half an hour, I think. Traffic is light and our turn is just ahead.

Thad continued to loom, adjusting to the motion of the bus, his hip in black cut-off jeans that were braced against the seat.

Ernie glanced at the black Grand Valley T-shirt—with BOTANY BASH 573—printed below in white, and, although he couldn’t see it, Ernie knew that the back read, CALL ME IF YOU NEED HELP WITH YOUR PLANTING. With his long, black shorts, Thad looked like a question mark, hovering over Ernie. Almost four hours, he said. Guess that’s why we left at eight this morning.

Well, we had to make those two pit stops, Ernie said.

There was a long silence before Thad finally asked, Think we’ll find anything interesting up here?

With his hand, Ernie rubbed the back of his head, and ran his hand through his shaggy dark brown hair. Depends. If you’re thinking of women, you’re on your own. Botany? Well, I might be able to help you there. He began to wonder if Thad had something special on his mind. He uncrossed his legs and flicked an imaginary fly off his tan slacks.

Thad, was there something else you wanted to ask me?

He held up his palms in mock defense. Yeah, but… I hope you won’t get mad, but. . .

Only dogs go mad, Thad. Now, what is it?

Is it true you used to feel the hots for some TV person up here? His grin suggested he didn’t look the least bit sorry he’d asked, although he noticed McCord had tensed.

So that was it? Ernie said to himself. He wondered if the whole class knew about Jonnie? He shook his head a little back and forth. That was a long time ago, Thad.

Three years I heard. Thad was beginning to be a little nervous. McCord was being too cool.

Could be.

Thad paused a minute. He didn’t want to anger McCord—it might affect his grade. But, in for a penny, in for a pound. I heard she works in Traverse City.

Could be.

There was a pause in the conversation again as Ernie sat all the way up and reached in the pocket of his bright orange sports shirt and took out a memo book. He chose not to wear the blue one with the GVSU logo on it. He’d stand out in a group this way. Wishing Thad away, he thumbed through the pages for the names of the park people who are assigned to help the class this summer. Sometimes Ernie wished he were older than his twenty-six years. Students like Thad wouldn’t be tempted to ask personal questions.

Well, Thad drew a number one in the air, I always think there’s nothing like mixing a little biology with the botany. Right? His grin was a little weaker, now, as he began to think he had gone far enough.

Could be. If you think so.

Thad straightened up, and still grinning, he ambled back to his seat without further comment. A few of the other guys dozed, and the rest were huddled over the card game at the back, with the volume rising now and then, as some special play was made.

As he sat down, there were shouts and pointed hands out the window. They passed a sign that read, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. However, no City of Empire signs appeared. The bus proceeded up Highway 22, passed through the heavily wooded landscape, by the Platte River area, and finally, passed the Empire Bluff Trail. And, there was Empire!

A cheer echoed throughout the mobile bus-home as it and its companion turned into the parking lot at Phillip A. Hart Visitor’s Center—the Park Headquarters. Ernie’s notes had told him Hart had been a U. S. Senator from Michigan in the 60’s and 70’s.

Each bus was a clever combination of transport and mobile home. Students had a choice of a bus bunk or they could register at a motel. Ray Donaldson drove Ernie’s bus-home to a marked location, followed by George Sullivan who was driving the other bus, followed by a Ford Fusion driven by grad student, Bob Miller. It was Ernie’s car, a luxury he provided himself, since only staff and volunteers were allowed to use Park vehicles.

George’s wife, Molly, was Ernie’s co-instructor for the class. Seven young women in her bus, five young men in his—plus Bob in the car. The bus was reasonably clean. There were paper trash bags hanging here and there, now filled with food wrappers, plastic soda cups, etc.

Empire! Thad half-rose in his seat, and pumped his arm in the air. The response was a shade below noise level. The thriving metropolis of the North and our home for the next two weeks. This was followed by an assortment of comments ranging from amused chuckles to uncertain groans. Students moved about, a few gathered traveling bags and other personal possessions, while the others preferred to wait until they found out more about the schedule.

Ernie frowned as he stepped off the bus. The seven young men and seven young women would join him soon enough, and he’d have his hands full. The mid-June air was scented with a clean pine scent and fragrant flowers that reminded him of yellow clover, a welcome contrast to the inside of the bus. The sun had already tempered the night chill to a pleasant temperature, and even the occasional car passing the intersection couldn’t spoil the feeling of serenity. How long would that last with fourteen college students added to the scene?

His co-instructor, Molly Sullivan, walked toward him.

Afraid they won’t behave? she asked as she grinned.

Ernie replied, They should know how to take care of themselves, although I didn’t give that a thought when I was trying to get funding.

To himself, Ernie was wondering how he was going to behave if Jonnie showed up.

Molly was still a slim