George Goodwin, Dragon Slayer

Chapter 1

Into the Hellmouth

George gripped the rusty ladder on the back of the coal train. His fingers ached, and his palms were sweaty, but he couldn’t let go. Not yet.

Gritting his teeth, he scaled the metal rungs, then anchored himself with the crook of his arm. A hot, sticky breeze tousled his hair as the train moved along the winding path of the New River, which slithered below the mountain range like a giant snake.

The steel wheels screeched as the train slowed to a near stop at the center of an abandoned coal town. Rotting wooden rail ties passed beneath George’s dingy hiking boots. Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! This was his chance.

He filled his lungs with air, hoping he’d live long enough to never tell this tale to his mother—and jumped!

As his feet reunited with the still, solid ground, he took a tumble, rolling into a tangle of thick shrubs. He’d made it! But what about his sidekick? He unzipped his backpack to reveal a lemon-colored bird fluttering her wings inside the tiny makeshift cage he’d built after watching a tutorial online. The chicken wire and zip ties had survived the fall, and luckily, his little sister’s pet canary had too.

“Attagirl, Moonshine!” George said. Annabelle would never forgive him if he killed her bird.

Instead of zipping Moonshine back into the stuffy darkness of his bag, George pulled the wonky cage out and cradled it close to his chest as he began to hike through the Appalachian forest with its towering trees. After all he’d put her through, the little bird deserved a few breaths of fresh air. It was the least he could do—plus it gave his conscience a bit of relief.

“Whatcha doing in there, George?” his mom had shouted through the thin walls of their trailer home earlier that afternoon.

“Um . . . some Scouting stuff,” George lied as he packed his supplies.

“That’s great!” she answered, her voice bright and hopeful. “I know your friends will be happy to see you again.”

Lying was the one thing that used to make George’s daddy madder than a hornet. His father had loved that George was such a terrible liar. His face would always scrunch up in this funny, painful way as if the words passing through his lips were as sour as a spoonful of vinegar. But only hours ago, the false words had come out quick and easy.

George Goodwin wasn’t known to be a rule breaker, yet here he was, lying, trespassing, train hopping, and bird-napping. He hardly recognized himself!

George had dark brown eyes, a head of thick, wavy hair, and an appetite for adventure. Just like his daddy. His skinny rib cage held a heart that ached for justice. Just like his momma. It was a mix of these inner qualities, plus the recent terrible events, that had lured him into this top-secret mission in the early days of summer. For months, he’d been planning to do the one thing all West Virginia kids knew they shouldn’t do: break into a coal mine.

Against the law? Check.

Deadly? Check.

This was especially true for the Hellerman Brothers’ Mine. The whole town—probably even the whole state—knew that place was cursed. Going inside wasn’t just asking for trouble; it was wishing for death. And George knew that better than most.

But as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

As he wove through the crooked gravestones of an old cemetery along the edge of the deserted town, Moonshine’s happy chirps pierced the silent, somber scene. Rotting homes and shops sagged into ancient green hills, while the white steeple of a long-forgotten church pointed to the sky like a bony finger.

“Spooky, ain’t it?” George whispered.

Small towns used to thrive in these mountains, but more and more they’d emptied, as if some big, angry monster had chased everyone away. It started with the coal mines shutting down. Jobs got scarce, and folks began seeking their fortune in bigger cities with bigger opportunities. And with the people gone, the hungry green wilderness had devoured the churches, main streets, and neighborhoods, leaving only the bones of homes mummified in a blanket of kudzu vines and dark forest.

Could his town be next?

Most folks thought so. But not George’s father. Joe Goodwin had believed in a bright future for Big Mountain, brighter than anyone could imagine.

And that was precisely what had led to his death in the Hellerman Brothers’ Mine.

When he’d spoken about the treasure he’d found there, a treasure so big it could save their town, nobody had believed him. They all said he was chasing fool’s gold. Not George, though. He believed his daddy all the way to the bitter end, and now he was determined to silence the naysayers for good, even if that meant going back to the place where it all went wrong.

Out of nowhere, the forest stopped. This was it. George had arrived at Big Mountain’s ground zero. His footsteps crunched over singed tree branches. Even months later, the air still smelled like ash. A scrap of metal in the debris caught his eye. He crouched and flipped it over.

STAY OUT! STAY ALIVE!

His stomach turned as Moonshine let out another cheery chirp.

“You’re lucky you can’t read,” he said, kicking aside the metal marker. He didn’t need another sign to warn him about the danger of coal mines. He was surrounded by signs. Every holiday, every Scout meeting, every family dinner. George was reminded every moment of every day. People go into mines, and sometimes they never come out.

“But we’ll be all right, Moonshine,” he whispered—more to himself than the bird—before climbing atop a boulder for a better view of the valley below.

It had taken months for him to work up the courage, but he was finally staring down the entrance of the mine where his father died. From that opening, a river of destruction had flowed out, as if the mountain itself had spewed fire and brimstone from the depths of the earth. Even the padlocked metal gate barring the entrance looked like a mouth full of crooked teeth.

No wonder folks in town called it the Hellmouth!

The explosion had transformed this vibrant holler into a valley of black death. Ash and brush clumped together in massive mounds, creating unnatural shapes on the forest floor. Toppled chestnuts, their ancient trunks eaten away by relentless flames, scattered the scene like fallen soldiers. There was something heavy in the air, quiet but not peaceful. No singing birds. No scampering squirrels. Not even chirping crickets. There was nothing alive. Nothing but George and Moonshine.

The destruction was so great that a handful of miners had been hired to seal the mines, and in a few short weeks, this century-old mining operation would be shut down for good.

George stood at the edge of the old coal mine, his fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. The entrance gaped like a mouth ready to swallow him whole. This was where it had all ended. His father’s life. His family’s future. All buried beneath layers of rock, soot, and secrets that no one seemed willing to uncover.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he declared, though his voice cracked under the weight of the lie.

The Hellmouth remained silent. But the memories roared in his ears—his father’s laughter, his mother’s tears, the whispers from townsfolk who thought George couldn’t hear.

“Poor boy lost his dad to greed. Digging for diamonds where there weren’t any.”

They were wrong. George knew they were wrong.

“I’ll prove it,” he said to the mine, to the townsfolk who couldn’t hear him. “I’ll finish what he started.”

With a deep breath, he steadied his wobbly legs, pulled a bandana over his mouth, and squeezed through the rusty gate.

He had entered the Hellmouth.

A suffocating darkness closed in from all sides. George couldn’t see his own limbs, and it felt like the stony ceiling and jagged walls were inching closer with every step. But for the first time, he felt the spark of something new—a fire deep in his chest, burning too fiercely to ignore.

The past couldn’t hide forever. Not from George Goodwin. He had to know the truth. And the truth was buried in the belly of Big Mountain.

chapter 2

Secrets and Scars

With a jittery hand, he clicked on his headlamp, illuminating a jagged path that zigzagged beneath the mountain like an endless maze. In the cramped space, George felt small, like a tiny ant scuttling through its underground burrow.

He’d only been in the mines for a few moments, and he could already feel the grime digging into the pores of his skin. Now he understood why his father had always come home in such a mess! Mud splattered George’s jeans all the way up to his knees as he walked the slick, stony path his father used to take every day.

As George rounded a corner, the tunnel turned from inky black to dazzling white, as if the entire coal mine—ceiling, walls, and floor—had been coated in a fresh layer of snow. Curious, he rubbed his grubby hands over the walls. When he pulled them back, chalky residue coated his palms. Limestone powder. He remembered his father telling him how miners would sometimes use rock dust to fireproof a coal mine.

But judging from the pristine white powder that covered these walls, this limestone had only recently been applied. Probably by the crew shutting down the mines. If only they’d taken these precautions months ago, George’s family might still be whole.

Still, he felt grateful for whatever safeguards he found today. The only protection he’d brought with him was Moonshine. It was an old miner’s trick—a canary in a coal mine. As long as the bird was happily chirping, the air was safe to breathe. If the bird stopped singing or, God forbid, suddenly dropped dead from carbon monoxide poisoning, George had better start running for the exit to avoid the same fate.

As he trekked on, Moonshine bounced about in the chicken-wire cage, her flappy little wings flicking against his fingers.

“Good girl, Moonshine,” he said in a whisper. “You keep going, I keep going.”

Feeling confident, George pulled the red paisley cloth from his face, took a deep breath, and immediately wished he hadn’t. A nasty stench filled the air, causing him to cough and sputter.

Squelch!

He stopped to check the bottoms of his shoes. Sure enough, something sticky coated the soles. And from the smell of it, he knew exactly what he’d stepped in. Animal droppings. Blech!

Moonshine chirped at George’s smelly misfortune.

“Real funny!” he barked. “You really coulda warned me, though!” His voice was louder than he’d intended, and it bounced down the tunnel, echoing into the darkness.

Another sound bounced back—a faint cry like the whimper of a small child.

Waah! Waah!

George froze. He hugged Moonshine’s cage. What if the Hellerman Brothers’ Mine was haunted? Ordinarily, he didn’t believe in ghosts. But ordinarily, he wasn’t tiptoeing through deep underground tunnels where eleven men had died. Could one of these ghosts be his father?

“Hello? Anyone there?” he whispered into the air, hoping no one would answer him.

Thankfully, no one did.

George forced his legs to take another step. And another.

Waah! Waah! Waah!

The cry was louder this time.

He followed the sound, intrigue trumping his nerves and prompting him into an adjacent tunnel. The light from his headlamp revealed a most unexpected sight: a small flock of fluffy sheep, all tethered to a metal hook in the wall. There had to be at least a dozen.

“What are you guys doing down here?” George whispered, his fear dampened by the vulnerable creatures.

As he crept forward to pet the velvety nose of a skittish lamb, the rest of the flock crowded around him. Their woolly backs were caked with limestone powder and streaked with coal, making them look like chubby zebras.

But where had they come from? And what good were sheep in a coal mine?

Whatever the story, George knew it wasn’t a smart idea to stick around to meet their shepherd. There was no telling what these sheep were doing down in the Hellmouth, but one thing George did know: He definitely wasn’t supposed to be down here.

“You never saw me, okay?” he whispered, backing away from the grimy flock.

As he ventured deeper into the darkness, the sheep continued to bleat after him. But then he heard another sound. One that sent a fresh chill down his spine.

It was a sound felt more in the gut than heard in the ears—a deep, beastly moan that shook the entire mountain. The tunnel rumbled, loosening clouds of dust from the ceiling.

In response, the sheep seemed to call out in unison, bleating pitifully for their missing shepherd. Even Moonshine began to add her high-pitched trill to the sad, scary symphony, her whistle harmonizing with the deep baritone growl.

“Stop doing that, you crazy little bird,” George said, thoroughly creeped out.

All at once, silence fell.

The only sound remaining was the pounding of George’s heart.

The weird noises. The haunted hallways. The poop covering his shoes. George had reached his limit. He’d have to find another way to clear his daddy’s name. But just as he turned to go, something glinted in the beam of his headlamp. A metal-wire door, half buried in the shadows.

George peered through the grating into a room of cinder-block walls, all singed a dingy black. Warped metal lockers lined the perimeter of the underground room. They’d once been a cheerful orange color, but the mine explosion had melted off most of the paint. Still, he could imagine the miners chatting about life aboveground as they donned their hard hats and work boots for a long day of digging up coal. Now only fragments of nameplates remained on the lockers, and they read like broken gravestones, marking the lives that had been lost.

One of these lockers would have belonged to his dad. But before George could spot it, he noticed something out of place. Something new, untouched by the effects of the fire: a worktable covered with a blue plastic tarp, standing in the center of the room. The tarp was rippled with small peaks and valleys, hinting at the objects it concealed.

“Just a quick peek,” George whispered to Moonshine. “Then we’re outa here.”

The door groaned as he pushed his way through. Just as he touched the crinkled corner of the tarp, ready to reveal what lay hidden beneath, Moonshine let out a shriek. It rang through the mines like a security alarm.

“Quiet, Moonshine!”

Moonshine answered with an innocent chirp.

“You’re really freaking me out, you know that?” George said, setting the birdcage on the cracked concrete floor. “Not another peep!”