Prairie Fire by E. K. Johnston Page B

least in the field, we’d likely as not have tree-cover, assuming the dragon didn’t destroy it all before Owen slayed it.
    After the water bath, we moved on to the truly unpleasant parts. Armed with a foaming chemical suppressant whose formula was so long it would’ve taken me days to memorize it, I stood by while Isagani directed Owen through the process of slitting the beast’s throat. As soon as the blade cut, noxious fumes began to waft in my direction, and I laid down the foam in the wake of the blade to keep it under control. This was when Courtney puked, because she was holding the knife and Dorsey wasn’t quite fast enough to put down the chemical foam.
    â€œI’m sorry!” he shouted as Courtney bolted for the corner Lieutenant Porter had indicated.
    â€œKeep going, Dorsey!” Porter shouted from his vantage point, well above the worst of it. He looked down at Courtney. “Speed?”
    â€œI’ll be fine,” she said. Then she threw up again.
    From his spot near the dragon’s tail, Davis looked over. I could tell he was itching to help her. I guess four years of premed will do that to a person.
    â€œEyes on target, Davis,” Porter reminded him. “That’s not your job right now.”
    Privately, I thought that was kind of dumb. If we were in the field, it would be his job, and Ilko’s. But neither of our medics moved from their places.
    Courtney finished throwing up and moved back to Dorsey, who looked like he was expecting to get punched in the face.
    â€œWe’re good,” Courtney told him, and reached for the knife to get back to work.
    â€œThe first one is always the most difficult,” Isagani said quietly to Owen and me. Then he spoke up so the others could hear him. “The gut is the worst place during disposal. Note how we have concentrated most of you there? That is because that is where the dragon can cause the most damage. You must always make sure to cover the gut first. We are only working on the neck and tail at the same time because there are so many of us. A single crew does the gut first.”
    I had an entirely new appreciation for the Trondheim disposal units by this point. They had to do this on farmland. Owen slipped the knife a bit too far and swore in Spanish. Isagani brightened immediately and asked in Spanish if Owen was fluent. When Owen confirmed that he was, the two fell into rapid-fire discussion that I couldn’t follow, except I heard Owen say his mother’s name and assumed he was telling Isagani why his Spanish was so good.
    At last, the dragon was completely sliced from weasand to, well, where its navel would have been if it had a navel, and the body cavity was filled with foam. While we waited for the foam to disperse, Isagani described the chemical reaction that was taking place, and I started to wonder if maybe we shouldn’t be wearing masks in addition to the gloves. Between dragon fire and cancer, dragon slayers rarely die of old age. When the foam finally settled, we moved on to something even more unpleasant: dismemberment. This was done by means of cleaver and two-handled boning knife. It was much like cleaning a fish, Gratton informed us, though on a significantly larger scale. By the time we were done, I was doubting that I would ever eat anything again, and the dragon was in several pieces that we could lift in teams of four.
    â€œIt is safe to burn now,” said Isagani, “which is what you will do when you are in the field. Try to use the trees that the dragon has brought down, because chopping them down on your own takes too long. On the prairie, you will have to wait for a helicopter to come and take the remains back here, where we have an incinerator.”
    We carried the pieces to the drop for the incinerator, and then watched as Porter hosed down the courtyard, sluicing more water into the drain. We definitely would not be doing that outside of the fort, but for now