That . . . didn't bode well at all. Jess flexed his fingers and eased one of the guns out and to his side. Beck pointed-bafflingly-off to the side, and his guards began hustling the prisoners in that direction.
Khalila was still last in that line. Beck and his attendants were striding down the steps, leading the movement wherever they were heading, and Jess took the chance, as lightning struck again, to slam the butt of his pistol into the neck of the guard who held Khalila. He staggered and turned and started to draw his gun.
Thunder shook the world and drowned out the sound of Jess shooting.
The man went down, and Jess quickly rolled him to the side and off the steps behind a row of bushes. He grabbed hold of Khalila and held her as if he were hustling a prisoner, but at an angle to the others. "Make way!" he shouted, and the crowd surging off to follow Beck parted for him. Some cast filthy looks on Khalila. One tried to slap her, but Jess reached out and shoved the other woman away.
He got Khalila down to the grass and moved her into the shelter of a shadowed corner, where they crouched together. He took the coat off and put it around her.
"No! Jess, keep it!" She was trembling, but it was cold, not fear. "You'll need it to get the others!"
"What is all this?" he asked her. "What happened?"
"Food riot," she said. "We were getting the books. I gave everything to Dario and Glain and told them to go. The mob went to the prison and took Morgan, and Wolfe and Santi tried to stop them. I couldn't get them free. I tried. These people are frightened and angry, and they blame us for the crops rotting in the fields."
"Crops rotting in the fields," Jess repeated. They'd cut the rations days ago. But he remembered something Morgan had said. And something Wolfe had said, too. Unintended consequences. The way that suddenly, everything had accelerated.
"We have to go behind city hall, through the fields," he told Khalila. "If we get separated, find your way to the building at the far end, near the eastern wall. Thomas and the others should be there. I'll fetch Morgan, Wolfe, and Santi."
She grabbed his collar as he started to rise. Her dark eyes were wide and worried. "Can you?" she asked him.
"I have to try."
She flung herself into his arms and kissed his cheek. "Allah guide and keep you, my brother. We'll wait for you."
///
"Don't," he told her, and held on just a moment more. "Promise me you won't. I need to know you'll be safe."
She shook her head as she stepped away, and gave him that beautiful smile he loved. "I will never promise to abandon you," she said, and turned and ran into the rain. It was still heavy enough to hide her in seconds.
Jess looked up at the sky, the flickers of lightning, and rain stung cold against his skin. He let it wash him for a few brief heartbeats, and then he went up the steps to city hall, kicked the door open, and drew his guns.
There was no one inside city hall, which didn't much surprise him; he ran straight across the marble entry hall, the crudely done Burner seal, and kicked open another set of doors just beyond. It led to what must have been offices, but these held only a few startled clerk types, who cried out and dived for cover as he ran past. Through the far glass windows, he could see the back stairs of the building, and a broad swath of grass . . . and the fields. It was the first time he'd set eyes on them, and even though they were obscured by the rain, it was clear that Philadelphia was in real trouble. The plants looked black. Wheat, corn, all of it.
No wonder there were no rations. No wonder Beck was looking to place the blame. And no wonder the people were in a rage. Beck asked Morgan to increase their crop yields, Jess thought. And they'd seen her in the fields. It wouldn't have taken but one or two voices to start the outcry that Morgan was to blame for it.
Jess skidded to a halt and looked for doors, but all he saw were windows, and he had no time to bother with niceties. He picked up a handy sculpture-a bust of one of the Burner leaders, he presumed-and hurled it through the nearest plate of glass, which shattered with a gratifying crash that sprayed sharp points out to be lost in the rain. He dived through and nearly slipped on the wet landing, but he gained his feet again, made sure the guns were in place, and jumped off the edge of the steps to take shelter. The mob, led by Beck, was coming around the corner now, marching toward him. He knew Beck. He knew he'd want to make a production of their justice.
The wind shifted and blew toward him, and Jess gagged on the unmistakable smell of decay. It was coming from the fields. This was far worse than he'd imagined. There was something dark and awful about seeing these crops corrupted in the soil, battered and broken by the rain. A stand of apple trees not far from him held nothing but balls of black rot, and the trees themselves looked pale and diseased.