Prairie Fire by E. K. Johnston Page A

and we all stopped. “Owen, you and McQuaid stay here.”
    I fell out of line, and came to stand beside Owen as the rest of our troop filed off in search of their beds. I considered my options. English dragon slayers were usually progressives and had a tendency to be a bit wild when stationed away from home, though they had nothing on the Australians.
    â€œLet me see your hands,” he said when the others had gone. I appreciated his directness and held them out for him to look at. Owen chewed on the inside of his cheek.
    â€œNot as bad as I was led to believe,” Porter said. “You’ll be slower than the rest, of course, but you’ve managed to get this far. I don’t see what the problem is, so long as you don’t get anyone hurt in the field.”
    â€œSiobhan, sir—McQuaid—is as good in the field as a dragon slayer,” Owen said. It was kind of the truth, and I appreciated it. Unlike most non-professionals, I excelled at knowing when it was time to run away. Except, of course, for that one time when I hadn’t.
    â€œNoted, Thorskard,” Porter said. He did not quite smile. “Now go and make sure your squad isn’t wandering around somewhere, hopelessly lost without you.”
    We both stood at attention again, and then headed off after the others. We found them already claiming beds in the barracks. The guys only had two spare cots in their room, but ours was more than half empty because we were the first squad to arrive. It looked like, once again, the women would be mixed and the men would be separated by squad. I looked forward to meeting squads from other countries. On every pillow there was a new UN-blue beret, striped with the red and tan colors Canadians wore in the Oil Watch, and decorated in accordance with our rank as official, if very new, members. It felt the same as my old one when I put it on, digging in above my ears and scratching against my shaved head, but when I looked at the others, I thought maybe it wasn’t the same at all. Alberta or not, we were for real now. The melody had shifted again.

WITH OUR BARE HANDS
    When Lieutenant Porter said “it’s our busy season,” what he’d really meant was “Shit, there are dragons everywhere. Duck.” I know this, because that’s what he said the next morning, as he was hustling us out of the mess hall while the sound of alarms filled the air. That last part was directed at Annie, who was about as tall as Owen and had walked under the short part of the arched doorway into the dragon shelter without realizing she was about to knock her head.
    This shelter was quite different from any I had ever been in before. For starters, it was above-ground, which I knew because there were also windows, presumably dragon-proofed, as much as that was possible. When I looked out of them, I could see the grey-washed cityscape of Fort Calgary, punctuated by the totem poles. We hadn’t been able to see much of it the night before. I knew that Calgary had a strict building code: no wood, no green, no exposed lines or wires—nothing that burned—but seeing it in daylight was something else entirely. Fort Calgary was a military base, with very few non-essential personnel. Even most of the practice courts were covered. When people talk about the “concrete jungle,” they usually imagine cities with interestingly-shaped buildings and telephone poles. This was more of a concrete wasteland. Said wasteland was currently under attack by a brilliant purple dragon, similar in size to a lakus , but apparently much faster.
    â€œCan anyone besides Josephson tell me what kind of dragon that is?” Porter asked. Laura looked a bit put out.
    â€œIt’s a Wapiti,” Annie volunteered.
    â€œRed or Blue?” Porter pushed.
    â€œSir, it’s purple,” Ilko said timidly, just as plume after plume of red fire poured out of the dragon’s maw, bathing the uncaring