Fire in His Blood

by Ruby Dixon

  He’s forgotten petty larceny, but I’ll keep my mouth shut about that one for now. I give him a faint smile even though my heart’s pounding in my chest. “Sounds about right, but I don’t feel like it’s fair to put someone in jail for stealing something from a place where no one lives anymore.”

  “You know the rules. Fort Dallas does not want people going beyond the barriers. It’s not safe.”

  Yeah, I know it’s not safe. It fills me with terror every time I go, and I jump at every shadow. But it has to be done, and it’s either that or starve…or sell myself. So scavenging I go. “We needed to eat. I didn’t have any money. So I took a chance.”

  The mayor sets the whiteboard down and rubs his tired eyes under his glasses. “You do realize, Claudia Jones, that Fort Dallas doesn’t treat crimes the same as we did Before.”

  The ‘Before’ doesn’t need explaining. I know what he means: before the dragons, before the Rift, before the endless fire and ash. Back in the good ol’ days when life was normal and our biggest worry was who was going to win the latest singing competition on TV.

  That was before the sky opened up, the hole ripped in the heavens, hell came to Earth and everything changed. That was before millions—no, billions had died and the survivors had to scramble to protect themselves from the furious beasts that now reign supreme from the skies above.

  Yeah, I know all about Before. I nod.

  “Then you know the penalty you are facing for your crimes is exile?”

  I suck in a breath. My heart thunders in my breast and the world grows faint around me.

  Exile. He might as well just say ‘death.’ It’s the same thing.

  If I’m exiled, I’ll be tossed outside the metal barrier that makes Fort Dallas’s protective wall—the barrier made entirely from old automobiles—and I’ll be forced out on my own to survive. No friends. No safe places to go. I’d be out in the open, unprotected against nomad bands, predators…and dragons. I’ll never see my sister or Sasha again.

  I can’t be exiled. What will happen to Amy? A vision of my sister whoring for the soldiers flashes through my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing. Not Amy. She’s still got innocence about her, and that deserves to be spared. She needs to be protected, and Sasha won’t be able to do it on her own. “Please…I have people depending on me, sir.”

  “We all do,” the mayor says sourly. “Which is why the rules must be enforced. If you cannot obey them, you have no place here in Fort Dallas with the law-abiding civilians of this town.”

  Law-abiding? Is he crazy? Fort Dallas is filled with scavengers of all kinds, whores, murderers, thieves—the only thing that makes us ‘civilized‘ is that we’re protected behind a wall and controlled by the murderers with the guns—the New Militia. Everyone cheats, lies and steals to put food on the table.

  The only difference between me and everyone else? I was dumb enough to get caught. “It was just a laptop battery—”

  “You broke the law.”

  I clasp my hands together, trying to look penitent. “Please. I’m trying to feed my sister—”

  The look on his face grows harder. “That is no excuse, Miss Jones. The New Militia will feed you; you know this. All you have to do is ask.”

  Yeah, in exchange for a quick fuck, the NM will be plenty happy to give me a tin of moldy beans. Even a starving girl’s got standards. “Please. You can’t send me outside the wall.”

  “Why not? You went there anyhow.”

  “That was just to grab something to sell! Now you’re telling me I can’t come back!” Real panic sets in, and I’m gasping for air. There’s not enough air in the damn room. I can’t stop shaking. “The dragons. I can’t be out in the open with the dragons—”

  “I’m not unsympathetic, Miss Jones, but we must uphold the rules.” He says he’s not unsympathetic, but the look on his face is anything but.

  “You’re using a battery on your laptop right now,” I protest. “How can you condemn me for searching for more? Where do you think that one came from?”

  As soon as the words leave my lips, I know they’re a mistake. His I’m-weary-but-benevolent look disappears, replaced by a deep frown at his realization that I’d dare to call him out. Like this is surprising. Everyone uses stolen goods, whether for nostalgia or other selfish needs, but no one mentions that they get them from scavengers like me. No one wants to sell out their source…

  Except for my buddy Tucker, who sold me out to save his own ass when his shop got raided. I hope I never see him again, because he’s seriously going to regret ratting me out. Now’s not the time to think about Tucker, though. I have to think about Amy. And I have to think about myself.

  So I clasp my hands tightly under my chin and make my eyes as big and tear-filled as I can. I don’t even have to fake the tears. I’m freaking out. My hands won’t stop shaking. “Please, please, Mayor Lewis. Don’t exile me. I’ll die out there. My sister will die in here with no one to take care of her. Please help me. I’m not a bad person.”

  And I sniff to add woebegone drama to my tears. I need this. I need to stay.

  Amy needs me.

  Mayor Lewis gives me a hard stare and slowly shakes his head. “The rules are rules. We cannot bend them for anyone in Fort Dallas or we’ll sink back into anarchy again. I’m sure that you remember how bad it was in the riots when the dragons first arrived.”

  I remember. I still have nightmares.

  At my silence, he hooks his thumbs in his belt, and I notice his pants are nice and clean and pressed, unlike my own ratty jeans that are so filthy they could stand on their own and are held together with a rope belt. He gazes down at me. “The law is what keeps things running smoothly here. If the New Militia has no power, we have no hope as a people.”

  I manage to keep my face bland as he drones on, reciting a history I know all too well. Blah blah seven years since the dragons came and the skies ripped open. Year One was the year of death, of flame and ash and char, when most everyone who couldn’t hide fast enough died. Then came years of scrounging, making do, building shelters that the dragons wouldn’t break through or tear apart with their claws. Years of hiding. Years of endless fire and starvation and huddling in the darkness as the dragons roar overhead. Like I don’t know this. I’ve lived every day of it.

  His version is different than mine, though. In his version, the New Militia is the phoenix that rises from the ashes to be the savior of the survivors. In my eyes, they’re a bunch of bullies with guns who are only interested in one currency: pussy.

  But I’m guessing he’s never been told to spread ’em for a loaf of hard bread or a bite of stew.

  “Rules are what make Fort Dallas the success it is,” Mayor Lewis drones on. “It’s what has allowed us to remain civilized long after the world has gone to hell. And I’m sorry, Miss Jones, but we cannot make an exception for you.”

  Panic claws through me again. My throat feels like a desert. I lick my lips, determined not to give up. “I want to stay. Please. I’m begging. Fort Dallas is my home. I don’t have anywhere else to go. My sister needs me—”

  One of the militia guards steps forward. “Word with you, Mayor.”

  Yes! Hope flickers in my head, and I stare at the guard. Wait, it’s not just a guard. He’s wearing stripes on his shoulder, which means he’s a sergeant or something. Either way, he’s higher up than the jailhouse turkeys. I turn on my knees and aim my clasped hands toward him.

  He looks over at me and his gaze skims down my body.

  Ew.

  Oookay. Things just officially got worse. I swallow hard. Think of Amy. Lots of women make a living servicing guards. Sometimes it’s for petty crimes, sometimes it’s for a bit of food. Sometimes it’s for protection. It’s a way of life now. I can do it if it means taking care of my sister. I can.

  I…hope.

  Mayor Lewis looks up at the guard and rubs the weary crinkles around his eyes again. “What is it, Captain?”

  The captain glan
ces away from me and back at the mayor. “She’s young. Fit. A good age, and strong. We can use her.” He glances over at me quickly, and his voice lowers. “You know. Bait…for the experiment.”

  Bait?

  Wait.

  Bait?

  My clasped palms get all sweaty. My heart picks up a new and anxious pulse. “Um?”

  “Bait?” The mayor frowns at that, giving the captain a revolted look. “You need more girls for that? You already had five.”

  Five bait girls? Past tense bait girls? What is this?

  The captain grimaces, an expression that drives a sliver of terror into my soul. “They’re gone, Mayor. Just…gone. Don’t ask. This is different, though.” He moves toward the mayor and leans in, whispering.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying. I watch them, frantically trying to read lips, but the only thing pulsing through my mind is five bait girls. They’re gone.

  And he wants me to be number six. Maybe I should take my chances on exile.

  After a moment, the guard looks up, and both he and the mayor re-focus on me.

  That’s not good.

  The captain bends his head again, and the two men whisper for a while longer, but the mayor seems implacable. He really, really wants to exile me, it seems. He shakes his head again, then picks up his whiteboard. “Her crimes are serious, Captain. Exile it is. She must be made an example of to the Fort, and your experiment has proven that it does not work. I’m sorry, but my decision is made.”

  “We need her,” the captain insists.

  My gaze flicks back and forth between them. I don’t know what to hope for—exile or bait? Exile or bait? “Um, do I get a say in things?”

  They ignore me.

  “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.

  Oh. A bath.

  The tub is completely filled with fresh water; they must have used one of the nearby wells to get so much, because the plumbing no longer works anywhere. Next to the tub I see a cake of soap and a thick brown towel. This…this is luxury. Add this on to the dress and I’m more than a little worried. “You guys gonna make me go whoring?”

  The soldier snorts and gives me another shove forward, then produces a key. “Hold your arms out.”

  I do, and he unlocks the cuffs and then moves to the door. I rub my wrists and consider running, but I’ll never get far in a barracks full of soldiers, and I like not being riddled with bullets. “What’s the dress and the bath for, then, if not whoring?” Not that I want to whore, mind you. It’s just…the most logical conclusion.

  He ignores my question and gives me a pointed look. "Use the soap. A lot of it. Make sure you wash off your smell."

  “Wash off my…smell?” I smell—everyone does now that deodorant is a thing of the past—but I’m not rank. He smells, too. Everyone does. I tilt my head, curious. “I don’t understand.”

  "Yours is not to question. Yours is to do."

  “And…you’re not going to pass me around?” Because I’ve heard stories of pretty girls disappearing into barracks and never returning. And while I wouldn’t call myself pretty, I’m here and being told to bathe, so I’m freaking out a little.

  The fear must be showing on my face, because the guard shakes his head at me and gestures at the tub again.

  “We’re not going to hurt you. Just clean up and get dressed and we’ll explain.”

  He shuts the door, locks it, and then I’m alone with the tub. I stall for a little bit, uncertain, rubbing my wrists as I stare longingly at the water. I’d love a bath, but I can’t get over the feeling that there’s some sort of trick that I’m not aware of. Like the moment I undress, a dozen guys will storm in the room or something. Why are they insisting I bathe? It doesn’t make sense.

  But…the water smells so clean and fresh, and the soap has a hint of herbs to it. I pick it up and sniff it. Lavender. Oh wow. It’s an old store soap. And I’ve been stuck in a sweaty, musty jail cell for two weeks. I stink of ash and sweat and god knows what else.