Prairie Fire by E. K. Johnston

loudly from the front of the mess. He was very good at just appearing in places without giving himself away. It was probably the SAS training. In any case, we all set down whatever we were eating (except Nick, who was still working on my unwanted bacon), and turned to see him. “We are starting rotations this morning. Crawford, report to training field A. Yamamoto, field B. Thorskard, just follow along.”
    We knew he meant now without his having to say it. Nick grabbed the rest of Owen’s potatoes in his hand, when Owen would have pitched them, and headed off with his squad. He was shorter than Owen but broader, and managed not to be dwarfed by his team. Kaori wordlessly fell into step with her crew as well and headed in the opposite direction. I took my usual place beside Courtney as we filed after Porter, with Owen and Annie at the head of the rank, Aarons and the crew behind them, and the medics bringing up the rear.
    We followed Lieutenant Porter through the concrete corridors of the Oil Watch base. There were lines painted on the floor to help with navigation: Blue would take you to the infirmary, red to command and yellow to any of the various training fields. We headed in the opposite direction than usual though, which meant we were in for some new kind of excitement. Not everyone had the best sense of direction in the monotony of the hallways, but I could tell the moment everyone realized that we were headed someplace new. By the time we were close enough to smell the dragon, even Wilkinson, who was terrible without a map, had figured out that we were headed towards the disposal yard.
    â€œWell, this should be fun,” Courtney whispered to me, not quite quietly enough.
    â€œI heard that, Speed,” Porter said. “Mind your manners now. Not everyone is as lax when it comes to punishments as I am.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Courtney said, her tone deceptively sweet. I winced, but Porter just laughed and preceded us into the disposal area.
    It was a dragon I had never seen before. At first I thought it was a corn dragon, but its tail was far too long—as long as its whole body.
    â€œJosephson?” Porter asked expectantly.
    â€œAn Athabascan Longtail,” Laura said immediately. “Commonly referred to as a ’Bascan Long.”
    â€œThank you,” Porter said. “This dragon inhabits the northern forests. It is the second-most common to Alberta, after the Wapiti; however, it is significantly easier to kill. Any idea why, McQuaid?”
    Lieutenant Porter almost never directly asked me a question unless he was making a point, preferring to leave it for the fire crew to answer. I thought for a second. It did look like a corn dragon, after all.
    â€œIt’s stupid,” I said. “It gets its tail caught in the trees when it chases you.”
    â€œAn excellent guess,” he said. “And correct. The ’Bascan Long is excruciatingly stupid. Get it to land and then double back on itself, and it is yours for the slaying. This particular specimen, however, is yours for the disposing.”
    We all wrinkled our noses. It was inevitable that this part of our training would come. In the wild, we would have to dispose of our own slayed dragons. At least they were letting us practice where we were surrounded by concrete and couldn’t do any real damage to the ecosystem.
    â€œThis is Isagani Torres, who supervises Fort Calgary’s disposal efforts,” Porter went on, gesturing to the far side of the area where the official disposal crew waited. “He’s in charge for the rest of the morning. If you need to vomit, please do so in that corner over there.”
    â€œAnd they said dragon slaying would be glamorous,” Owen whispered to me.
    â€œActually, I’m pretty sure the guidance counselor said we were insane,” I reminded him.
    â€œThat’s just because she’s from Mississauga and doesn’t understand the complexities