Fireblood Dragon: Fire In His Blood Part 2

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

"And...you're not going to pa.s.s 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 G.o.d knows what else.

f.u.c.k it. I pull my clothes off, toss them aside, and slide into the tub. If I'm gonna be raped, I might as well be squeaky clean.

I sink in the water up to my neck and groan. It's utter bliss. It doesn't matter that it's lukewarm. It's a bath. My last one was Before. Ever since, it's been a scramble to get enough food and water, much less bathing. Most days I settle for a quick wipe-down with a wet cloth, and a lot of people don't even do that. But all this water? This is luxury. Amy would freak out if she knew...

Amy. I fight the urge to cry. Please be all right, Amy. I'm going to get out of this and then I'm going to come back to you.

The tub loses a bit of its charm once I think about my sister. I soak for a minute longer, and then use the soap to methodically scrub at my limbs and hair. I wash several times, until my arms no longer streak with dirt when the water runs down them, and my hair feels tangly and squeaky with cleanliness.

By the time I finish, I can hear the guards outside the door talking in low voices, as if they don't want me to hear. I wrap the towel around my body and tiptoe forward to listen at the door, but I can't make out what they're saying. c.r.a.p. I want to know about the five other girls. The bait thing.

I want to know what's going on.

I fold my filthy clothes as delicately as I can, because I want to take them with me when I go home. I refuse to allow 'if' to creep into that statement. I will be going home. I examine the 'dress' I've been given and have to turn it over twice before I figure out which way it goes. It's an odd piece of clothing, little more than a square of fabric with arm holes and a neck cut into it. Why on earth would they want me to wear it?

This entire set-up reeks of weirdness.

With nothing else to do, I sit on the edge of the tub and wait, staring at the door.

With my hands free of cuffs, I could escape. Maybe. Providing I can get past the dozens of guards that seem to be swarming the barracks...where would I go? Fort Dallas is small, and someone would be all too willing to sell me out again for a bit of reward money. I can't go back home with a price on my head.

But what's my other option? Leave the city? Let them exile me like they want? I'll die for sure. The Scavenge Lands are empty for a reason-no one can survive there any longer without protection. Sometimes protection comes in the form of a group, sometimes a building. I've been told there are maps that can show you a safe route between forts...for the right price. Without it? You're on your own, and the dragons are especially bad in the north, or so the rumors say. I've never gone farther than Fort Dallas. No one does. You find a place that's safe, and you stay. Plus, I've always had Amy to worry about, and now my friend Sasha. Poor Sasha. Trouble seems to follow her even more than me.

I'm stuck, like it or not. I can't abandon them. I hate that I'm being screwed over for something everyone does. Do they think no one scavenges but me? Bulls.h.i.+t. Everyone does, because there's never enough food to go around, and the only job that a woman with no connections can get is on her back. I won't do that, so I scavenge. It's so ridiculous to be arrested for it that it almost feels like a set-up.

After a moment, there's a polite knock at the door. I stand, my clothes tucked under my arm.

The guard pops his head in, and he glances around the room, then at me. "You done?"

I bite back a sarcastic retort. "Done."

He nods and enters the room. "Hands back out, please."

The cuffs again? d.a.m.n it. I set my clothing down on the sink and then obediently hold my arms out. "What's going to happen to my clothes?"

"You can come pick them up later."

That...was not the answer I expected. "Really?"

"Yup. Captain's orders. After tonight, you can go."

That sounds too good to be true. I gaze up at him, but he won't look me in the eye, and that gives me a weird feeling. "What happens tonight?"

He says nothing. Not good. Whatever it is that's going down with me and bait girls? It's bad. That's why they won't talk to me. I lick my dry lips and nod toward my folded clothes, even though I'm getting the sinking suspicion that I'll never see them again.

The guard takes my things and tucks them under his arm, and the moment we go into the next room, he dumps them on a table...next to five neat little piles of clothes and shoes, still waiting for their owners.

The knot in my throat feels huge.

He looks over at me and sees my gaze is fixed on the table. A look like shame crosses his face, and then he grabs my arm again. "Come on. Captain's waiting."

The guard leads me along through the warren of the Fort Dallas Militia barracks. The captain's talking to one of his men near the door, both of them kitted out in old riot gear, including helmets and vests. They look at me as I arrive, and the captain nods slowly.

He's staring at me a little too hard. It's uncomfortable, so I try to make light of the moment by pretending to curtsy in my stupid s.h.i.+ft dress. See? I'm not all bad. Sure, I may be a no-good thief, but I've got a sense of humor.

"Red hair," is all the captain says. "That's...interesting."

Self-conscious, I run a hand through my messy snarls of hair. I guess I keep it pretty dirty. Not exactly like there's a spa in Fort Dallas that I can lounge at all day and give myself makeovers. "Why does my hair color matter?" They did say I wasn't going to be whoring for the soldiers. I hope that hasn't changed.

Then I think of those five sets of clothing and shudder inwardly. Maybe I should hope it has changed.

"You're right. It doesn't matter." The captain's tone is curt. He nods at the man behind me. "Gear up and let's go. We're leaving."

"Do I get gear?" I ask.

"No. But I do ask that you put your hood up."

Lovely. "I'm sure it'll be plenty of protection," I say sarcastically, staring pointedly at his helmet. f.u.c.k being nice to these jerks. "So where are we going?"

He gives me a thin smile. "To a place you're very familiar with."

Uh oh.

3.

CLAUDIA.

I'm not surprised when our small party-me and six armed militiamen, including the captain-head through the metal sc.r.a.p barrier that surrounds Fort Dallas. I'm a little surprised they're all toting automatic weapons, because those aren't much good against dragons, and it's kind of overkill for scavengers. But I guess they feel better with some sort of gun.

Everyone's silent as we leave the city. Of course they are; it's a death sentence. They're watching me head to an invisible gallows in the heat of the day instead of sneaking away under the cover of night for a scavenge run. The heavy metal barrier creaks and groans as we pa.s.s through the gate, but after that, it's just silence. Nothing but wind and quiet as we head out onto the littered landscape of the scavenge lands.

No one's supposed to be out here. There are protected greenhouses in Fort Dallas, and a small herd of animals kept in the parking garages. We're supposed to be self-sufficient, but everyone knows that's a joke. Sometimes there's a good herd of game animals pa.s.sing through, or a few wild cows that wander too close, and people sneak out. There are hidden pa.s.sages in the wall, car doors that aren't welded shut and allow a person to snake through to the other side. Sometimes it's not just game we're after, since anything and everything sells on the black market.

I know this area. I know every crack in the pavement, the gra.s.s growing up through old sidewalks and the trees sprouting in storm drains. I'm one of the scavengers who sneaks through, because between me and Sasha and Amy, it's hard to sc.r.a.pe together enough to eat. You have to scavenge. There's no way around it. Not just for old canned goods that expired years ago, but for wild plants that look edible, for fruit that hasn't been eaten to the pit by birds.

For s.h.i.+t to sell on the black market.

Maybe they're taking me through the Scavenge Lands as a test? Maybe they're going to see how familiar I am with the area and then loop back around to the city and to safety. If it is a test, I'm not interested in failing it. I feign a mildly interested look and follow the guards closely as we pick our way through the litter and leaf-covered streets of Old Dallas. Animal life teems on the once-populated streets. Cattle move through in herds, small feral cats dart in and out of old buildings, and there's constant birdsong coming from the ruins. All the animals are a good sign-it means there are no dragons nearby. When the dragons roll through, the animals are scarce, the birds are non-existent, and the skies utterly silent. Today it's noisy, and the sun is s.h.i.+ning high in the sky. I could almost enjoy a day like this.

Except...no one's talking. No one's looking twice at the game or even showing interest in the junk we pa.s.s by. A scavenger would check everything, hunt even the smallest squirrel. These soldiers aren't interested in any of that, which means I am in some serious deep doodoo. "So," I say casually. "Where are we going?"

No one answers. I'm not surprised. Whatever is going on, I'm clearly going to be left in the dark.

"Oh really? There?" I say sarcastically, pretending I have an answer. "Why, that's my favorite place. You guys are so thoughtful."

The captain of the guard glances back at me, a pensive look on his face. He seems conflicted despite the fact that he's the one that volunteered me. "Everything will be made clear shortly, prisoner."

"Yippee," I mutter. I glance around the half-fallen buildings around me, wondering why we're heading farther into the heart of old downtown. Rumor has it that dragons are known to roost in the tallest of buildings. And where are the tallest buildings? Why, old downtown.

Even a desperate scavenger such as myself isn't dumb enough to head there.

I grow more and more wary as we head deeper into downtown. The soldiers hug their weapons a bit closer and they watch the shadows. The ease of the day has given way to a silent tension that's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The only thing that's saving me from totally losing my s.h.i.+t is the cheery birdsong that tells me we're still dragon-free. Eventually, we come to a tall skysc.r.a.per with most of the windows broken out. It looks sad and decaying, and as we turn and head toward it, I see a jumble of broken wire and metal on the ground. A red Pegasus sign sticks out of the rubble. "Follow us," the captain says to me, gesturing for the guards to go inside the building.

Unease sweeps through me. "What's in here?"

No one answers, of course.

We enter the building, the broken floor littered with rubble and rock. There's shattered gla.s.s everywhere and dead leaves scattered in every corner. The breeze whistles through the broken windows.

"Up the stairs."

Why? What's up the stairs other than more broken stuff? Do they plan on flinging me off the top of the building? If so...why? Try as I might, I can't figure out why they've brought me here, but I know it's not good. I can guess that much. But I don't have much of a choice, so when they nudge me forward, I go with them. A guard props open the double doors with a rock and gestures that I should head up the debris-covered stairs. I do, but the uneasy feeling in my gut grows.

We climb. Up endless flights of stairs, we climb in silence. The guards tromp alongside me, and the only sound is that of the birds outside and the flick of leaves on the floor when a breeze cuts through a hole in the wall. The wind whips the dress about my ankles, and once again it strikes me as a weird choice of clothing for a prisoner.

We get to one of the top floors, and one of the guards pulls open a metal door. Everyone steps through, including me. All of the windows have been busted out of this floor, and birds fly overhead. It feels a bit like we're out in the open, with nothing but twisted metal and broken frames to separate us from the sky. The place smells like dust and outdoors and a hint of char. There's warped, faded furniture scattered about, and a few metal beams stick up from the floor at weird angles.

The captain looks back at his men. "This is a good enough spot, I think."

"Good enough for what?" I ask.

They ignore me again, and the uneasy feeling grows. This place sure is...open. And very high up. Are they going to throw me off the edge and make it look like an accident? If so, why the stupid dress? Why the bath?

One of the men grabs me by my handcuffs, jerking my linked hands forward. He drags me across the room, leaving me no choice but to follow.

"Over here," the captain points out, and gestures at one of the strange, sticking-up poles. "Use this one."

Use this one for what? Before I can ask, the guard nods at another, and then I'm lifted off my feet. My arms are dragged over the end of the pole, and then I slide down it and am set back on my feet again.

"Wait, what?" I jerk at my hands, but I'm stuck to the pole. I'm too short to be able to lift my hands and bring the cuffs back over again. "What are you doing?"

A manacle is locked around my foot.

"No!" I scream, terror locking my throat. I tug at the cuffs, but they hold fast. I'm stuck here. The wind whips around my face, fright making my entire body shake. "Please!"

I know what they're going to do now... They're going to abandon me up here. Leave me.

I'm...dragon bait. I don't know why, I don't know how, but the only things that come this high up are big, scaly, and full of fire.

The soldiers move away from me, and I continue to jerk my arms, sobbing. One of the soldiers s.h.i.+fts on his feet, looking over at the others. He seems miserable. "Captain," he begins, clearly torn.

"No," says the captain. His face is a grim mask. "It has to be done. Just remember that she's an outlaw."

"Even an outlaw doesn't deserve this, Captain."

"We don't have a choice. Either it'll work and save us, or we're all doomed."

I kneel by the chain around my ankle. I can't quite grab it, not with my hands in the cuffs, but they're not budging, so I need to try something. "What will work?" I ask, desperate. "What is it we're doing?"

No one answers me, again. But this time, two of the guards open their packs and draw out long banners of bright red cloth.

My mouth goes dry.

Red.

Oh, f.u.c.k me.

Red is the color of bait. No one uses it for anything. Even the crushed, melded cars that make up the walls of Fort Dallas don't have a single red auto in their midst. Dragons are drawn to red like a charging bull, and that means red things are dangerous things.

I watch the red cloth unfurl with a sick churning in my stomach. That fear gets even worse when the soldiers tie the lengths of fabric high and let them flap in the breeze like two loud and hideous flags.

"Please don't do that," I whisper. They're calling a dragon over to me. I know they are. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but it's not because I stole a few things. "Please. I have a sister."

The captain hesitates and then approaches me. I hold my breath as he pulls out the keys to the cuffs and unlocks my hands. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Then he grabs my dress by the shoulders and rips it from my body.

I shriek loudly, grabbing at the fabric that pools at my feet. "Hey!"

The captain nods at me and puts the key away. My ankle's still locked. I'm still trapped.

"Hey!" I scream again, clutching the torn fabric to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The men turn and begin to file out the door. "Wait!" I yell. "Don't leave me!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Jones. It's no longer safe here." The captain gives me a sad look, then squints at the red banners. "You know as well as I do that those are going to draw every dragon in the area."

"But why?" I squat, no longer caring about modesty, and claw at the cuff on my leg. "Why are you leaving me for the dragon?"