Chapter 21

chapter twenty-one A few frantic minutes later, Quint and Dirk are peering through the meal truck's serving window, watching and waiting. The rain pounds the roof above them, sounding like war drums.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes—the air turns frigid. "I think it's here," Quint whispers, a shiver running down his spine. The Drakkor has no wings, it can't fly—but it arrives with shocking suddenness. "There," Dirk says, gulping as he points. "The Welcome to Fleeghaven sign." At the edge of town, rain pours off the towering, arching sign. The Drakkor looms just beyond it—a shadow, shimmering behind a waterfall. And then the monster steps forward. Every beam and board in Fleeghaven rattles. The street splits, stone erupts, and the sign falls. It's a straight shot from the meal truck to the edge of town, giving Quint and Dirk a clear view of the Drakkor. And they're not loving what they're seeing "It's definitely bigger," Dirk observes. Quint nods. It's nearly doubled in size since they battled it at the Possum Palace. Its scales are as thick as the Quint-designed armor Skaelka now wears.

He's back and better than ever, Terror comes to town. He thirsts for blood and needle buzz. The Drakkor displays an eerie, otherworldly intelligence as it scans the town rain pounds, its scaly head and rolls down over its eyes-but the Drakkor never blinks. It simply searches. Unlike previous assaults. There are no fleeing monsterfolk. Quint whispers. It may suspect the trap. Then let's quench its thirst before it gets a chance to think too hard. Dirk says he flicks the taps on the truck's fountain soda machine—and Neat-O Buzz gushes out. Soon, a thick river of syrupy juice is draining through a hole in the truck's floor. Outside, the neon orange liquid mixes

with the rainwater, creating a rainbow-colored pool, like radioactive sherbet. The Drakkor sniffs at the air, head lifting and lowering, and then, suddenly, it snaps straight ahead: eyes locked on the meal truck. "That got its attention," Dirk says. The Drakkor could reach the truck with a single ferocious pounce, but instead, it starts a slow, stalking prowl through the town, like a lion on the hunt. Its eyes are constantly looking and searching—scanning every porch, roof, and window for signs of hidden monsterfolk. It sees nothing. "Quint, you got enough power?" Dirk asks. Quint looks down at the dynamite-style plunger at his feet. It looks like something out of an old Road Runner cartoon—and that's not inspiring much confidence: Wile E. Coyote was the one with the dynamite and the detonators... and Wile E. Coyote was the one who lost at the end of each episode. Attached to the plunger is a long stretch of electrical wire that leads to the cane's detached battery pack and then snakes out through the rear of the truck. "Yep," Quint says, eyeing the battery lights. "Enough to power the trap, and then some."

"Good," Dirk says, ducking behind the counter. "Because it's here." "Huh?" Quint says, then his eyes pop. "Oh!" At that moment, the Drakkor reaches the meal truck. It sniffs twice, then hisses—a sound that indicates something like amusement. The town is nothing but eerie quiet as the hidden monsterfolk watch the Drakkor begin to drink, anxiously waiting for what's to come. "Here goes..." Quint whispers. His hand is raised, about to crash down on the plunger, when suddenly—

pizza pizza. It's good for you. My fault. My fault. Ignore me. How do I put this thing on science? The Drakkor's head jerks to the side, focusing on the potion shop. "Freaking Galamelon," Dirk snarls. The Drakkor's eyes flash, alerted to the ambush. The monster growls and pulls back, just as— "Now, Quint!" Dirk exclaims. "Take the plunge!" "Plunge being taken!" Quint cries. His open palm slams down, and the trap is sprung—