Deep within the bunker the dragon had burned its way free of the Production Floor. By blasting the concrete enclosure of the Production Floor with searing flame of almost volcanic intensity, the dragon had opened up vast holes in the surrounding walls. The concrete had actually disintegrated under the unrelenting, infernal assault as the aggregates and reinforcing steel melted. Some of it simply burned away, leaving behind smoking, white hot clinker.

Slithering through these holes, the dragon explored its new domain. Every door was pushed open by its inquisitive snout. The contents of every room flashed into ash under the waves of baking temperatures that radiated from the beast like a wall. Clawing its way along the semi-circular corridor, the dragon rapidly turned its environment into a white hot hell of shimmering intensity.

Despite this, the bunker's construction did not give up easily. The dragon had to gouge and blast its way through the complex, making slow progress as it did. The passageway to Suzuki's quarters was opened up but something drew the enormous creature away from the dark opening. Instead, it headed to the stairwell, feeling within its being a call that had long been absent. Its mind felt clouded with billowing smoke, obscuring essential parts of itself. Glimpses of its past swam into view as if on a lake of molten metal then sank beneath the torpid pool, beyond reach and understanding.

After roaring with frustration, the dragon blasted away the steel door at the foot of the stairwell, which offered no more resistance than if it had been made of ice. With a low growl, it squeezed its serpent-like body through the narrow opening and began to climb up the staircase, wrapping its way round the circular construction like some giant worm. Something called to it from above, something barely remembered.

***

It was probably about mid-day when the children emerged onto the beach. The rain had dotted the sand with tiny craters, the wind whipped the palms back and forth, whistling between the fronds and the sea had become a choppy grey frothing mass. There was no sign of their fathers, or anyone else for that matter.

They had slipped and scrambled down the volcano far faster than they had going up it. A track had led from the mortar emplacement down through the forest and almost right up to the mercenaries' camp. At first they had been rather tentative, keeping to the trees and ferns in case anyone should spot them, sitting silently in the pouring rain but after only a few minutes they had realised that the camp was abandoned. Charlie and Carmen had scurried through it, grabbing a few essential supplies on the way but they had not lingered amongst the wind scattered detritus. Their fear of the soldiers still made them cautions.

Now they sheltered with their backs to a fallen palm, enjoying the cool of the wind as it cut up from the sea. They were cold and wet but they were filled with a sense of relief that they had reached their destination. Out in the bay they could see the Catalina bobbing up and down as it rose and fell with the waves. Carmen had opened a ration pack that they had foraged from the camp and was wolfing down some sort of chicken curry for breakfast. Charlie was hungry too, but the tension of waiting for his father and tiredness were getting the better of him. He just could not face eating anything yet.

"I hope they don't take too long," Carmen muttered through a mouthful of chicken as a dribble of orange tinted grease oozed down her chin.

Charlie nodded and yawned. His legs felt leaden and all his eyes seemed to want to do was close. It took immense effort just open them each time he blinked. He shook his head and looked at the Catalina. They were going to have to swim for it. The rubber boat was lost and there was no other way of getting to it.

He did not like the look of the sea either. Charlie was no fool. Years of visiting Dungeness had taught him a degree of caution when it came to questions of the sea. Swimming through the churning bay to get to the Cat was going to be pretty hard. He wasn't sure if he could do it. If only the Catalina was closer to the shore.

***

Rick and George had gone quite a way along their path which had curled around the cone of the volcano, taking them down onto the northern slopes. They passed the remains of military installations with weirdly intact equipment buried under jungle foliage and growth. Rick counted off two anti-aircraft guns, an anti-tank emplacement, a heavy plant machinery park where bulldozers sat beneath camouflage netting, entangled in tree roots and vines.

"If any of those worked, it would make short work of this forest," George grumbled.

"Well let's give one a go! I'm dead on my feet and I could do with a break" Rick agreed.

They stumbled over to the bulldozers, which ironically turned out to be huge pre-war American made machines. Rick pulled down enough plant matter so that he could climb into the driver's seat. It was a well used machine but just like everything else on the island, the rust he could see was cosmetic and probably due to it's working life, not a result of the last decades on Solitude.

George laughed when they got up close to the machines. "I learned to drive on one of these, Rick. They were all over Tonga after the War. If there's gas in the tank, I should be able to start this no problem!"

George clambered up and started rooting through a tool box in the drivers position. He found the crank handle that he was looking for, flicked a couple of switches and levers in the cab and climbed down to the front of the hulking machine. "The Yanks must have sold a ton of these to the Japanese before the war. I can't imagine any other reason for them being here," He said happily as he inserted the crank into a hole in the bulldozer's engine cover. "Here, Rick, turn this would you? I just need to get a hold of something up in the cab."

Rick nervously slotted himself between the massive steel treads of the bulldozer and its body, placing his hands on the greasy crank. "You sure this thing's not in gear?" he called up to George.

"Good point!" George said, and threw a rather large lever forward. "OK, turn that thing towards you!"

Rick pulled the crank round and much to his surprise the engine caught and roared into life on the first attempt. Great gouts of blue smoker chugged up through the exhaust and quickly filled the area around the bulldozer in a choking miasma.

"I don't think we should hang about here! We're gonna get gassed!" Rick yelled over the engine noise.

"Let's go then!"

Rick climbed up over the tracks and slotted himself behind George. With a grunt, George pulled the gear shift back and threw the bulldozer forward. Snapping vines and the crack of one small tree's trunk accompanied the revving of the engine as the great yellow beast surged on. With barely a pause, it burst from its vegetal prison and thundered through the undergrowth spraying mud, leaves and fronds everywhere.

The two men laughed with delight and surprise. Rick pointed downhill and George steered the antique down through the forest, avoiding the bigger trees and ploughing through everything else.

***

Winthrop-Smythe walked up through the crashing surf and collapsed onto his knees when he was free of the touch of the sea. His body spasmed then threw up a huge quantity of seawater. It wasn't enough. He could still feel a great weight of it in his lungs. There was an uncomfortable heaviness within his chest.

The awful truth had occurred to him whist he lay on the bottom of the bay, looking up through the water at the blurred outlines of the launch above. He had drowned. That damned creature, Hargreaves, had dragged him down to his death in the billowing sand as he had desperately wrestled the marine, trying to escape. He hadn't been as scared of the thought that he died as he thought he should have been. His mind felt clouded with a kind of dullness as if he just wasn't bothered by anything. There he had lain; food for crabs and other scavengers. However, the thought of that had sparked a response from him. Horrified and much to his surprise, he had simply got up and walked his way off the bottom of the sea, back to the shore. Hargreaves had apparently chosen to remain behind.

He turned and faced the launch. Dusty looked back at him, unsmiling. Winthrop-Smythe considered swimming back to the launch and throttling the dreadful little man but doubted he had he buoyancy.

Cursing, he stalked back up the beach and sat on a rock. The launch rocked in the surf, out of reach. Frustration built within him. How had he come to this? He had plans! He had things he needed to do! Who would look after his pair of black Labradors?

Within him, he knew he could not leave Solitude. He felt a pull to the centre of the island that had not been there when he was alive. It was like an invisible rope, tied around his chest that pulled on him constantly. Despair welled up through him and burst from his mouth in an anguished cry.

In answer to this, he head the launch's motor. Looking up, he watched Dusty steer it further out into the bay. Damn the man!

The pull on him became more and more of an irritation as he sat there. What could it be? What drew him? Eventually he succumbed to its lure, got to his feet and started walking through the forest, back toward the centre of Solitude.

After all, it was not as if he had anything better to do.

***

He had hammered at the bunker door with a broken branch for what seemed like hours but eventually he had been answered. Trev stepped inside the threshold quickly and greeted the little Japanese.

Suzuki moaned, "It's too late. It's loose, Trevor Blackstock! There was nothing I could do to prevent it."

Trev nodded sympathetically, "It's all right, Mr Suzuki. I'm sure that you tried your best. Now we've got to get you out of here. My friends will be leaving soon and you should go with them."

"It's too late for me," Suzuki said, and stepped into the light, where Charlie could clearly see the bullet hole between the old man's eyes. "I think I will be staying behind."

"Oh!" Trev said. "I see. Well. Um. I very sorry to see that you've had an erm...accident?"

"It was no accident! That devil woman did it! I can only hope that the dragon catches up with her!"

Trev brightened up at this. "Yeah, it would be no more than she deserves. Anyway, I've really go to get a move on. I don't want to be here when that dragon comes through, and neither do you! I think I know what I am here for." Trev quickly explained his suspicions to the old man.

Suzuki nodded. "I will lead the way."

The dead boy followed the dead man through his exquisite quarters to the first of the living cemeteries. Trev could hear the uproar within through the closed door. Apparently the dragon's release was not the best news that the inmates had heard recently. Suzuki opened the door and Trev passed through to the first of the cemeteries occupants, gliding over the carefully raked gravel as he did so.

"Hello!" he said.

The skull simply screamed at him in terror. A name carefully painted on the crate, which contained the poor man's bones, simply read Joe Kowalski, Private, United States Marine Corps.

"Hello, Joe," said Suzuki softly, "I've brought a friend to see you. You have to be quiet now. You have to listen carefully." The old man picked up the skull and gently stroked its brow. "He has brought you a present."

The skull stopped screaming. "A p-p-present?" it quavered.

Trev took this as his cue to speak, "Hello, Joe. My name's Trev. You have to leave the island now. I can help. I think I am here to act as your friend, to carry you away from this place, to help you find peace. Will you let me help?"

The skull was silent for what seemed like ages before it spoke. "Will I see my Ma and Pa again?"

"I don't know. All I can offer you is a way off this island. I don't know what you will find after you leave these bones."

Suzuki spoke up, "I think it's right, Joe. I think this boy has been sent for a reason. I hope he'll be able to take me because I'm going too." He pointed to the hole in his forehead.

"I'm real sorry to see that, Hiroshi," Kowalski whispered. "It don't seem right, you being such a nice guy and all. Oh, I guess it's time. I guess the time has long gone that I shoulda passed over."

Trev wasn't sure what would happen next but somehow he knew what he needed to do. He placed his hands on the skull. Tiny, silvery wisps like threads emerged from the surface of the bone and wrapped themselves around Trev's fingers.

"Can you forgive others for what they have done to you?" he asked.

"I guess."

"Can you forgive yourself for what you have done to others?"

Kowalski paused but eventually answered, "I guess. I mean, if I can forgive others for what I am then I really shouldn't leave myself out, should I? If I cursed others to be like me when I was fighting then I've pretty much paid the same price for doin' that."

"You tell him, Joe!" called another voice, presumably from one of the other trapped spirits within the cemetery.

"Then come with me, Joe," said Trev. The silvery wisps thickened and Trev could feel the spirit that was Private Joe Kowalski flow up through those threads, into his fingers and up through his own body. In his mind, he could see the smiling, freckled face of a boy only a few years older than him. The boy waved. "Hi, Joe," Trev said to himself, "Better make room because it's going to get crowded in there!"

Suzuki led him to another crate. Sergeant Kenji Sato looked up at him expectantly through the ruins of what must have been a dreadful head wound.

"Here we go again," said Trev. He rubbed his hands together and stepped up to Sato.

---

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