Page 4 of Pierce

2

Pierce

Oh,the humanity.

I walked through the oversized store with a cart already overloaded with food. Six full-grown dragon shifters needed all the sustenance we could get our hands on.

I thought back to the days in Scotland, how we had to hunt to stay alive. A trip to Costco wasn’t unlike one of those hunts in many ways.

Was it ever not busy there? That was the first question which always came to mind when I entered the store. No matter the day of the week we chose or the time we ventured out, there were always throngs of people from all walks of life milling about.

I passed a woman wearing a smock and a nervous smile, offering free samples of some frozen concoction.

The shoppers gathering around her brought to mind a group of jackals at a watering hole. They practically elbowed each other out of the way in their greed.

The meat case was a free-for-all. People eyeing the cuts, considering their options, firing questions at the employees behind the window. Did they have anything better back there? Could they trim more of the fat off a ten-pound roast? What about cutting a pork loin into chops? I rolled my eyes and elbowed my way through.

Even though I knew very well why we couldn’t have supplies delivered, it never stopped me from fantasizing about how lovely it would be to let technology handle everything for us.

Simply picking up a delivery at the mouth of the cave every other week or so. Not ever having to come into contact with humans if I didn’t want to.

No such luck. A lot of good it would do us to announce our presence to the rest of the world. That was what my brothers and cousins were kind enough to remind me of the first and only time I tried to helpfully suggest we let twenty-first-century conveniences make life more, well, convenient.

“Sure!” Fence had yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “Let’s invite the United States Postal Service to the front door! Let’s put it on record that six men live in a fucking cave!”

The rest of them had laughed or sneered or scoffed, though I was willing to bet every single one of them had wondered at least once if they could get out of making the twenty-mile trip.

“All right, all right,” I had replied, trying to wave him off. “I get it. It’s a bad idea.”

The dragon inside me growled dangerously when I faced the prospect of choosing a checkout line. All of them were at least three carts deep.

I wondered if the risk of discovery was truly more dire than the threat of the dragon escaping my control and wreaking havoc. The human world would find out about us. They’d know all about us after I tore the building down and buried the occupants alive.

It was a fantasy, of course, but it was all that kept me sane whenever I had to interact with humans. They were all the same: greedy, lazy, ignorant. Obnoxious. They went out of their way to please themselves but very rarely thought of the basic needs of others.

I wondered how much of what they purchased and hoarded like starving vultures actually went to use. Could any family honestly find use for a case of canned peas? Or a carton of deodorant sticks? They bought, and they stored, and they guarded their stockpiles with the same vigilance as my family and I guarded the cache we’d been assigned to guard, locked deep beneath the mountain in which we lived.

But it wasn’t the same thing.

We weren’t greedy, and we didn’t live in fear of some far-off, unlikely doomsday. It was our job to guard it, as it had been ever since its arrival in the New World.

Naturally, it wasn’t considered the New World back then, over a thousand years earlier. Even so, the Vikings had buried their mysterious stockpile deep within the mountain and called on the world’s fiercest dragon shifters to guard it into eternity.

The tunnels and rooms in which we lived came later. The creature comforts we’d adapted to, even later than that.

“Having a big party?” The girl ringing up the items on the belt dropped a comical wink.

Like we were suddenly friends, in on the same joke.

“I enjoy buying in bulk. It’s economical.”

She didn’t seem to notice my flat, just-the-facts tone of voice—either that, or she chose to ignore it.

“You’re not much like most of the folks who come in here, you know.”

You have no idea, lady. “Oh? And how’s that?” I wouldn’t normally have asked, but her assessment was intriguing.

What did she see about me that I tried to hide from the world?

---