“This is a massive list of crimes,” the mayor says, stabbing his finger at the yellowed board. “And it’s not the first time she’s been sent to jail! We must make an example of her! Scavenging is running rampant!”
“And we will make an example of her,” the captain soothes. “One way or another, we succeed. If it takes her, great. If not, well…” He shrugs.
“If what takes me?” I call out.
“We need to do something,” the captain says in a hushed voice. “We—”
A large shadow passes over the sunny windows. The lanterns hanging on the walls make a metallic jiggling noise, and the ceiling shudders. A roar cuts through the air a mere moment before the dragon alarm blares to life.
My entire body grows cold.
“Fuck!” the captain shouts. He grabs the mayor and they scramble away from the windows as an enormous golden flash of scale and wing swoops entirely too close. The entire building shakes, and the dragon roars again.
I fling myself flat on the ground, terrified. I jerk at my handcuffs, but where would I go? How is this happening? The dragons just attacked last night. We should be safe…shouldn’t we?
The room bursts into action. Guards are everywhere, grabbing materials and cases as the dark shape soars overhead again, blotting out the light coming from the windows.
A guard remembers me and pulls me to my feet, then pushes me along with the others as we head into one of the dugout rooms below for safer shelter. We crowd into the tiny room, and someone closes the door.
No one speaks as we huddle together. The room is suffocatingly hot, the air still and musky with sweat. It’s dark, and I feel a bead of sweat roll off of my nose and drip onto my arm as we wait for the all-clear alarm. Someone shuffles in the darkness, and I feel a sticky arm press against my own. I don’t complain. When a dragon’s overhead breathing fire, you’re grateful for shelter, any shelter.
Another ear-splitting roar sounds over the alarm, and the room shakes with the force of the sound. The smell of hot char and ash fills the air, along with smoke.
“Is it the big one again?” the captain asks in a low voice.
“The gold one,” the guard next to me agrees. “I saw his wings before he dove.”
Me too. It was a brilliant, terrifying gold.
The captain grunts. “Not a red, then. The reds are vicious.”
Like this one’s any better?
In the distance, something crashes, and the crunching groan of metal catches my attention. The entire room seems to flinch. The walls shiver.
“Landed,” someone says. “We might be here a while.”
“Are we safe?” asks another.
“Safe as anyone.”
That’s not helpful. I swallow hard. On and on, the siren blares. The dragon roars again.
This isn’t in the pattern. It isn’t. Something’s wrong.
The mayor sighs heavily, and I realize a moment later it’s his sweaty arm touching mine. He’s standing right next to me. “I don’t understand it. I thought they followed patterns.”
“They do,” the captain says in a hushed voice.
The mayor speaks again. “That’s the second attack within twenty-four hours.”
“It is. The other attack was reds. This is a new dragon that’s settled into the area. Another gold. He doesn’t follow the same pattern as the others,” the captain agrees, his voice carefully blank of emotion. “If this keeps up, we won’t have much of a fort left.”
The mayor sighs again, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. Five bait girls. Past tense. “And this experiment of yours… it worked in Fort Orleans? With a gold?”
“Yes, sir. We think the gold is the key.”
A gold is the key to what? Every answer I come up with is more terrifying than the last.
A pause. “You can have her, Captain.”
“Have me for what?” I blurt out.
No one answers me except the dragon’s wild roar.
2
CLAUDIA
Once the skies are silent and the smell of fire is no longer so thick on the air, the crowd slowly disperses. The dragon’s gone. For now.
The guards grab my arms and take me down a hall in the opposite direction of the mayor’s office.
"Where are you taking me?" I suspect they won’t answer, but I have to ask.
The two exchange a look, but no one speaks up.
I remain silent, intent. If they try to take me outside of the barrier, I’m going to make a break for it, handcuffs or not. The militia escort me out of the mall and down a metal-covered tunnel that loops around the edge of the barrier. A small concrete building with a reinforced roof serves as an outpost, and the gun-toting guards nod at each other as they drag me inside.
The interior is much nicer than any place I’ve been in a long time. Off to one side I can see a room full of orderly cots with clean, neat blankets. Soldiers play cards on a table in a kitchen area, and as the guard drags me back, I hear laughter and even a female voice coming from the barracks.
They pull me into a new room, one that looks like it belongs to someone in charge. One of the soldiers escorting me is about my age, but extremely unpleasant and smirky. Of course he’s the one that sticks around. He smirks at me again before he moves forward and opens a trunk, rummaging for something. He finds a small package and tosses it to me. “Here. Change.”
It smacks against my chest, and I feebly try to catch it with my cuffed hands. “What is this?”
“A dress. You can’t wear that.”
I frown and look down at my clothes. I’m wearing worn jeans and a ratty T-shirt that I’ve scavenged from someone in exchange for a few expired cans of food. One of the sleeves is burned and crispy around the edges, and the knees in my jeans are both torn, but for Fort Dallas, I’m wearing perfectly acceptable clothing. At least I have clothing. Some people are resorting to home-spun stuff now that clothing from Before is getting harder and harder to find. All my private bits are covered, and these clothes have plenty of good years in them. “Why would I wear a dress? What’s wrong with my clothing?”
“You need to clean yourself up,” he explains. He nods at his buddy, and the one holding my arm turns and drags me out of the room. I stumble after him, about to protest until I see the metal bathtub sitting on the concrete floor.