Fire in His Blood(3)
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.
But since the dragons did come last night, they shouldn't come again for a few days. In theory, the sunlight should be safe today.
Nothing's safe anymore, though. Not really. So we work with what we have.
A short, fat man with neatly combed gray hair sits at a desk in the center of the room. He looks up at the sight of me, a little frown on his face. His desk has a clutter of objects on it-a small globe (as if geography means anything anymore), a picture frame, and lots of papers. Behind him stand two other guards. I've seen the fat man walking around Fort Dallas before-the mayor. The mayor blinks at me, then opens a small plastic rectangle in front of him. I hear the clack of keys, and then he looks up.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
The man has a laptop. If that's not the height of hypocrisy, I don't know what is. Laptops are pretty much like unicorns and hot showers after the Rift-nonexistent. There's no electricity to charge them, and the batteries have to be recharged via hand-crank generator. Some people still cling to the old technology, which means that when you find some, it goes gangbusters in the swap-tents. We're talking enough food to live like kings just for one functioning laptop.