Fire in His Blood

He just looks at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Flirting with a guard for information is a slippery slope.

“So,” I ask. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

The guard’s eyes narrow at me. Guess I’m being too obvious. Before he can say something, the door opens and another uniformed guard sticks his head in. He nods at my two captors, and the second man gets to his feet. The guard at my door reaches for something in his belt. For a moment I worry it’s a nightstick, but when I hear the jangle of keys, I relax. I’m getting out.

One way or another. I mean, I might be getting punished, too, but at least it’s a chance.

The door creaks open and he flicks his fingers at me. “Come out, Miss Jones.”

I stand, my legs wobbly and achy, and step forward. I hug my old, worn T-shirt to my body and try to look helpless even as I scan the room. How hard will it be to make a run for it? I consider the empty ‘jailhouse’ and the other guard staring at me with avid interest by the desk. I could be faster than both of them, in theory, if they’re all that’s around. But if there’s one thing I know about Fort Dallas? There are always more soldiers. I discard the idea of escape; I fought when they threw me down here, but two weeks and several meals lighter, I’m too stiff and weak to do much fighting. I don’t even protest when the guard holds up handcuffs. What good will it do?

I stick my wrists out and keep my ‘I’m so helpful’ smile on my face, though it feels like I’m dying inside.

He leads me out of the jailhouse and into a long, dark corridor lit by only a few dusty windows. A new guard arrives, nods at the one walking at my side, and then they flank me and steer me down a crumbling concrete corridor and into an endless maze of broken concrete and ripped up flooring. An old, dull sign across the long hall that reads ‘Food Court’ reminds me that this part of Fort Dallas was once a shopping mall. The concrete-covered bazaar where the scavengers hold their swap-tents? An old parking garage. Memories of shopping and hanging out with friends after school float through my mind, but that was another life ago. That Claudia Jones is dead. She died in the Rift, and the skinny, gritty survivor I am today is the only one that remains. That Claudia knew about malls and schools and who was the lead singer of her favorite boy band. Survivor Claudia doesn’t remember much about the world before the fire and the Rift. Everything’s changed too much between now and then. To me, this building is just more of Fort Dallas. Crumbling. Broken down. Barren. Sorry. Charred.

Smoke lingers in the scent of the air and wisps through the sunlight, again making me think of dragons. The stink of it makes me weary and anxious all at once. The entire world’s nothing but fire and ash lately, and I’m just so sick of it all. I’m not an optimist like Amy. I don’t think things will get better at some point.

I think we just have to make do with what we’ve got. Maybe that’s why I’m the scavenger and Amy’s safe at home.

You’d better be safe, I mentally chide her. I’m going to kick your ass if you’re dead. The thought rips through me with such horror—Amy dead—that I stop in my tracks and bend over to puke.

“You sick?” The less-nice guard asks as I hork bile up on the concrete. “Or pregnant?”

I shoot him the bird when I’m done and wipe my mouth, shuddering. I’m neither. I’m just one of the many people in Fort Dallas who’s slowly starving to death. The jail isn’t exactly keen on three square. Yesterday, I got oatmeal, which was exciting until I found a giant dead bug in it. I ate it anyhow, bug and all. Oatmeal hasn’t been around since the Rift and it was probably expired anyhow. And bugs? Bugs are just protein.

‘Course, it might have been why I threw up.

One of the guards nudges me with his leg. “If you’re done stalling, shake a leg, all right? Mayor’s waiting on you.”

Oh yippee. The mayor? It’s definitely judgment day, and if I get the mayor to look over my trial, I’m screwed. I swallow hard and wipe my mouth on my dirty T-shirt. “I’m good.” The acrid scent of lingering smoke hangs in the air, even more ominous than before, and I think about the dragon attack from last night. Lots of bad things floating in the air lately.

The guards lead me through the remains of the shopping mall and into another shop. I don’t know what this shop was pre-Rift; the interior is clean and neat, and there’s a worn Persian rug on the floor and a fleet of plastic chairs lining the walls. A waiting room. My guards don’t lead me to one of the chairs, though. Instead, they take me through to a second chamber.

As they do, bright light floods my vision. I flinch instinctively and put my hands over my face, trying to shield it. Panic floods through me. Surely we’re not out in the open…are we? The open areas aren’t safe—protection comes from buildings with thick roofs and solid brick walls. Concrete. Underground places. Anywhere protected from flame and claw and ash.

But when my eyes adjust, I realize we’re just in a big room with a lot of windows, faded curtains drawn back to let the light and the view in. Not that there’s much of a view—ash and more rubble, oh, and a little more ash. I eye the curtains appreciatively, though. That much fabric? That’s enough blankets to buy a month’s worth of food in a swap-tent. Using all that nice, heavy fabric as a curtain seems kinda stupid. The rest of the room is bright sunlight and tile floors that are swept sparkling clean. I’m guessing this place was pretty before the Rift. Not a safe room, mind you, but pretty.

“Surprised you have the curtains open,” I murmur to my guards as they lead me forward. “What with the dragon last night and all.”

“That was last night,” the tall, leathery-faced one says, even as his hand pinches my arm a little tighter. “Should have almost a week of quiet now.”

“Mmm. So it was a red? How could anyone tell in the dark?”

He scowls down at me. “It’s close to time for a red. Must be one of them.”

I don’t like his easy confidence, but I don’t know that he’s wrong. The dragons came last night and rained fiery chaos down on the city, and we huddled in our concrete shelters and waited for the hours to pass. It is closer to time for a red, but it was still out of pattern. They shouldn’t be coming for a few days yet…and they never come at night, ever. Something about all of this is wrong.