Silvern (The Gilded Series) (14 page)

Our bus comes to a stop at a concrete building on the side of the road. Nothing else is in sight beyond endless brown grass and rutted dirt roads. The building’s whitewashed walls and bare windows blend in perfectly with the barrenness of the countryside. Just ahead, a group of workers are pushing a wheelbarrow full of rocks. Every few feet they stop, pick out some rocks from the cart, and then set them into the dirt. They must be building a road.

A soldier marches onto our bus with an old Kalashnikov resting lightly in his arms. He barks in harsh, sharp Korean to exit the bus. Chu-won explains that we need to transfer to a four-wheel drive vehicle. “This bus could not survive the roads we will take,” he says. “Outside of the tourist zone, you will see the truth of how these people live.”

We clamber out of the bus, and the soldier points with his gun to a battered SUV that we’ll take from here. The fenders sag and the hubcaps are rusted. I wonder if it will break down before we even make it to the clinic. From the lack of cars I’ve seen on the roads, I figure it’s one of their best to offer.

The air is cooler here, as well as dry, and disturbingly lacking in any scent. It’s as if the deficiency of vegetation precipitates a vacuum of emptiness.

Two soldiers are transferring our boxes of medicine from a military truck into the SUV. The supplies must have passed inspection.

“What about our bags?” Michelle asks.

“The bus will remain here to take you to the hotel,” Chu-won says. “Your bags will be safe until we return.”

Safe? I eye the soldier standing by the door to the building. His visor hangs just above his eyes, which stare out unblinking and emotionless. He stands so still that his brown uniform maintains its crisp folds. Beside me, Marc doesn’t give the soldiers a glance. He’s staring off at a warped wooden telephone pole. I don’t like how his muscles are tensed or how his eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Marc grabs my arm and pulls me toward the SUV.

“You’re looking at a dilapidated telephone pole like it’s going to attack us. Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong.”

“We need to move,” Marc tells Grandfather.

With a nod, Grandfather hurries us all into the back of the SUV, while Chu-won slides into the driver’s seat. The soldier with the gun sits in the front passenger seat.

“He’s coming with us?” Michelle asks.

The soldier settles his gun on his lap. “You will call me Sergeant Han. I will be your keeper.”

None of us utters a word as the SUV revs up and takes off down the road apparently being cut this very moment by the group of workers. We rumble past them. One of the men lifts his eyes and studies us as we pass, our dust kicking into the air around him. He seems undisturbed by the cloud as he holds his rock, staring after us.

It’s a good hour of rough, bumpy riding until we come over a rise, and there’s the Dongdaewon Clinic before us. I don’t know what I expected, but this sure isn’t it. The building reminds me more of a long shed that would belong behind a barn in the United States than an actual clinic. Like most of the buildings in the countryside, it’s whitewashed with a flat tiled roof. The surrounding terrain is hard and barren, like the spirit lands of Haemosu and Kud. I shudder.

“Oh, look at those pretty bushes!” Michelle points at the few scraggly ones that line the front of the clinic, alone in the vast, desolate countryside. “It’s a nice touch.”

“Those are not bushes,” Chu-won says. “They are trees.”

We scramble out of the truck. My limbs ache from being jostled about, but my worries are quickly forgotten when I see a man wearing a doctor’s coat exit the building. He’s got a full head of dark hair, and he’s all smiles and bowing as he hastens toward us. Grandfather bows low to greet him.

“Annyeong haseyo,”
the man says, trying to bow even lower than Grandfather to show respect. Then he switches to English. “I am Dr. Jong. We are honored you have chosen to visit our clinic.”

“As are we,” Grandfather says, and then introduces each member of our group.

“Come.” Dr. Jong smiles, and I can tell from his bright eyes that we’re the biggest excitement they’ve had in a long time. “Please see our work.”

“Remember,” Grandfather tells the three of us, “do not enter any room with a patient with tuberculosis. It is too risky.”

“Sir?” Marc grabs Grandfather’s arm and pulls him back. “I need to speak to you.”

Grandfather frowns. “What is the problem?”

I move over to Grandfather and Marc while Michelle engages Dr. Jong in a conversation about the medicine and the patients.

“I think we should leave,” Marc says. When Grandfather looks at him questioningly, he just lets out a long breath and says, “I can’t explain it, but this place has a bad vibe.”

“Of course, it has a bad vibe,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We’re in a totalitarian country at a clinic for people dying of tuberculosis.”

“We will be careful.” Grandfather pats Marc’s shoulder. “Come, let us help our keeper unload the supplies.”

I hurry to join Michelle and Dr. Jong. He’s explaining how far they’ve come in their medical practices here in North Korea. “Recently I was asked to assist with a surgery on a young girl at Mount Taesong Combined Hospital. She’ll never walk again, but she’s alive.”

A pained look crosses Michelle’s face. “I wish I could meet this girl.”

We step through the crumbling doorframe of the clinic’s entrance. There’s a distinct smell of burning grass. Once I slip off my boots, the warmth trickles up from the floor, and I realize they use traditional
ondol
heating here. The smell must be coming from the furnace at one end of the clinic.

We enter a long corridor with rows of rooms on both sides. The walls are bare except for trails of yellow watermarks and grime. Dr. Jong leads us to their main room, where they have a computer dating back to the early nineties and chipped cabinets to store their equipment. Two ladies stand and bow deeply as we enter. We bow back as Chu-won rushes in behind us, holding a small box.

He opens it, pulls out a cylindrical object, and bends down to begin work. “This is the part you have been waiting for!”

The women chatter excitedly.

“We have waited nearly a year for this to arrive,” Dr. Jong tells Michelle and me. “We are deeply grateful you have come.”

“I want to meet the patients,” Michelle says. She’s fingering the small black camera, and I wait for her to pull it out and snap some pictures. She doesn’t.

Dr. Jong’s forehead wrinkles. “If you wish. I was not aware you were allowed to be so close to those infected with TB.”

“It’s fine,” Michelle says, waving her hand dismissively, and marches down the hallway. “I want to speak to them.”

I know I should stop her, but there’s a look in Michelle’s eyes and a set to her jaw that I’ve never seen before. Michelle has always been determined, and when she’s on a mission, nothing stops her. I shake my head, but follow them down to the first door on the right.

It’s a tiny room barely fitting the four
yos
laid out on the floor. On each mat is a patient. Three are sitting up while one is very still, lying down, eyes closed. They all have white hospital gowns on, but from the sharp edges of the folds, I can tell they only put these on just now, for us. Beneath the gowns I see their drab brown clothes.

They flash us weak smiles with gray or missing teeth and bow their heads. There’s barely enough room for Dr. Jong and Michelle to stand in the middle of the room, so I hang back in the doorway. Michelle sits down comfortably on one of the
yos
and begins speaking to the patients in Korean. She falters somewhat with her words, and I’m sure her accent is hard for them to understand, but there’s no doubt that she’s in her element. Despite the fact that these people are probably highly contagious, she doesn’t hold back. She leans in close and pats the one woman on the hand.

Still, something nags at me, and I struggle to focus on their conversation. There’s a presence in this room, this whole clinic actually, that presses down on me. Why did I disregard Marc’s warning? He’s almost always right.

The nape of my neck tingles. I reach back and rub against the sensation. Now, thinking about Marc, I realize I haven’t seen either him or Grandfather in the last few minutes. It couldn’t have taken that long to unload.

“I’m going to check on the supplies,” I tell Michelle, and then head back down the corridor.

After I slip on my boots, I turn right to exit the main door but come to a screeching halt, letting out a strangled cry. A massive, snakelike head thrusts through the doorway. It opens its wide jaws, revealing razor teeth and putrid yellow ooze. It roars so loud the sound vibrates through my skull and tears through my body. The force of the wind from the creature’s breath sends me flying, and my back slams against the wall.

A giant tongue lashes out at me. I take off down the corridor in a full sprint. I pass by the room where Michelle is laughing with the patients. My only hope is that I can distract this creature and lead it somewhere outside, far away from her and the patients. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, the creature is snaking its way down the hallway. Its bitter red eyes are focused only on me.

At the end of the hall is a small, clear plastic window. I kick my foot through the plastic surface, tearing it away from the window, and then dive headfirst outside. I tuck myself into a ball and roll out of the dive across the dead grass.

Out in the open, I have a better chance of maneuvering around the creature. As it pours its long body out of the exit I created, shrinking to the window’s size and then growing larger and larger before my eyes, I realize what this is: an
imoogi
, a wannabe dragon trying to earn its right to dragon status. But even worse—its midnight color and slender form, with a hood that stretches out from either side of its head like a cobra, reveals this one to be a dark
imoogi
, one that absorbs the soul energy of its victims to gain strength.

I scan the area for a weapon and spot a shovel resting against the wall next to the
ondol
furnace. I fling open its door and scoop up a heap of burning grass and sticks. I toss them at the
imoogi
. The creature howls in rage and whips its long body, slamming its tail into me. I fly through the air and land hard, sprawling on the unforgiving ground.

Groaning, I somehow manage to get to my knees. The
imoogi
roars again, and I wonder how everyone in the clinic cannot see or hear what’s going on. Where’s Marc? Where’s Grandfather? The clinic is settled alone in the valley; not a tree or house is in sight for miles. Still, the
imoogi
must have enough power to cloak not only its form, but also its sounds from those around us.

The
imoogi
rises into the air, soaring above without wings. Then it turns and plunges straight down at me. Its hood opens wide on either side like a cobra preparing to strike, revealing long, sharp spikes, and its fiery eyes focus on me, hungry and full of desire.

I leap to my feet and cartwheel down the hill just as the
imoogi
’s jaws swoop across where I once knelt. I spin away and race toward the shovel. I’m not sure how good a shovel will do in this situation, but just the thought of holding it makes me feel better somehow. The moment my hands wrap around the handle, I feel a blast of heat against my back.
Crap.
I forgot about their ability to breathe fire.

Snatching up the shovel, I try to escape to the other side of the clinic. Waves of heat singe my back. As I careen around the corner, dread fills me. There in the courtyard next to the SUV is our supposed keeper, lying on the ground with his chest gaping open and his gun still clutched in his hand. Grandfather and Marc are each holding a hoe and a pitchfork aimed at two other
imoogi
.

I rush to join them. “What’s happening?” I scream.

“Took you long enough to find us,” Marc says.

“I had no idea! They must be able to keep us from seeing and hearing each other.”

“We have managed to weaken their power,” Grandfather says. “They are not able to conceal themselves like they were.”

“How did you do that?” I point my shovel in the direction of the incoming
imoogi
.

“The only way to overcome an
imoogi
is to weaken it by slowly wearing it down,” Grandfather explains. “It must feed to gain strength, so we must not allow that to happen.”

“These
imoogi
aren’t too pleased we’ve interrupted their soul-sucking business,” Marc says as the one that was chasing me slides across the ground, decimating the poor bushes that gave this place its only glimpse of beauty.

“Obviously,” I snap. “What do we do? We can’t just leave them here to continue to hurt these patients.”

“The only way to defeat an
imoogi
”—Grandfather spins and thrusts his hoe into the tail of a gray
imoogi
that was sneaking up on him—“is to outlast them. As long as they do not consume any souls or feed off these people, we have a chance.”

“I take it our ‘keeper’ didn’t help out too much,” I say.

“Not especially.” Marc lifts his pitchfork and stabs the black
imoogi
in the neck.

The creature rears back, screaming. I race around to the other side of it and plunge my shovel into its scaly body. More of a mix between a lizard and a snake, its skin isn’t as shiny or as beautiful as a dragon’s.

Just then Michelle comes running out of the clinic with Dr. Jong. They both scream in terror. I can’t blame them. Seeing three giant monsters larger than the clinic’s roof is enough to make anyone have a heart attack.

“Go inside,” I yell at them. “Get back with Chu-won, and don’t let them touch you!”

As if sensing what I’ve just said, the midnight
imoogi
cocks its head and curls around to see who I’m talking to.

I break into a full sprint, tossing my shovel at the
imoogi
’s body. But the shovel just flicks off the creature as if I’ve thrown a stick at it. Michelle pushes Dr. Jong back inside, but they neglect to shut the door. The creature lunges for the entrance. I pump my arms and then leap into the air, kicking out so that my foot smacks the
imoogi
in the side of the face and causing it to smash into the side of the clinic. The concrete around the doorframe crumbles under the
imoogi
’s weight.

As I fall back to the ground, I pick up the shovel and grab on to the
imoogi
’s hood, straddling its neck. The creature whips its head back and forth, but I cling tight, determined it will never touch Michelle or any of these patients again.

I’m floundering up and down, back and forth as the
imoogi
flips its head in all directions, trying to fling me free. My neck pops, and my arm screams out in protest.

“Don’t let go!” Marc says, running to attack the
imoogi
I’m riding as if in an evil rodeo. “Give it time to weaken.”

Sensing Marc’s attack, the
imoogi
shifts and wrenches violently into the air. The creature roars in taunting triumph as it soars higher and higher. My stomach dives in terror: I remember how, earlier, this
imoogi
spun upside down.

I groan, straining to hold on, but panic seizes me as I watch my grip on the
imoogi
’s hood slip, inch by inch. I scramble across the creature’s skin, digging the heels of my boots into its scales and spikes for traction. Sweat trails down my face, and my hair, once tucked neatly into a braid down my back, has loosened and now swings wildly around my face.

The other two
imoogi
swoop in for an attack, snapping at me, eyes burning with desperation to consume my soul. Fire sparks through the sky, and I duck into the folds of the hood as flames burst around me.

When the midnight-blue
imoogi
swoops in with jaws open wide, I wait, holding my breath against its foul breath. Then, with a battle cry, I drive the shovel into the center of its tongue and rip it in half. The blue
imoogi
rears back; a curdling scream scuttles across the barren land. It writhes through the air until it lands with a crash on the ground. From the corner of my eye, I watch the creature diminish in size as Grandfather and Marc race to stab it with their makeshift weapons.

But there isn’t time to celebrate, because the gray
imoogi
is attacking again, its jaw gnashing and furnace-red eyes focused on my chest.

I crouch low and then spring up off the edge of a spike. I lift my shovel high, and with perfect aim, I plunge its end into the onyx
imoogi
’s eye as deep as I can ram it.

But I’m too late.

The gray
imoogi
flicks out its tongue. Its slimy, gritty surface curls around my neck, and I’m jerked back.

It’s strangling me.

I can’t breathe!

Just then the two dragons butt heads, and the black one sinks its teeth into the gray one, releasing me from its hold.

I fall.

I stretch out my arms and my nails scrape over my
imoogi
’s onyx-colored scales. If only I could hold on to something, but its surface is too slick. I slide down its body and free-fall. I’m stretched out, clinging at nothing, watching the two
imoogi
above rip each other to shreds. When I hit the ground, stars swirl through my vision and a buzzing sound fills my ears. Pain shoots across my back and down my legs.

The sky rains blood, spattering across my face.