Smoked (11 page)

Scarlet's face broke out into a look of pure joy. She threw her arms around Caleb, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you!” she cried, the tears raining down her cheeks and onto his shoulders. “Thank you so much. I was so scared to tell anyone after the way Emmy acted. But it's been so much work—I'm so glad to not have to do it on my own anymore.”

“I know,” he assured her. “And I'm happy to help. But you're right not to mention anything to the others. At least not right now. They might not understand.”

“I won't say a word,” she promised, her eyes shining. She left him to reach down for Zoe again, cuddling the dragon in her arms. “Come on, baby girl. We're going to give you a bath.”

Zoe cooed and nipped playfully at her ear, causing Scarlet to giggle. The sound was like a ray of light bouncing happily around the room. And Caleb couldn't help a small smile of his own as a warmth settled in his stomach.

Yes, this was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

He looked down at Zavier, then held out his arm. The dragon flapped his little black wings, fluttering up and perching himself on Caleb's shoulder, his sharp nails digging into his skin. Caleb gave him a small pat on his feet.

“I guess it's me and you, Sparky,” he said. “Just don't make me sorry I saved your ass, okay?”

Zavier croaked in response, burping a small ball of fire and singeing the hairs on Caleb's neck.

He groaned and shook his head.
Dragons.
Then he laughed. “Fine. I'll take that as a yes.”

The Council Chambers—Year 190 Post-Scorch

“The Council will see you now.”

Connor looked up from his reader, meeting the eyes of the assistant who was leaning in the doorway to the inner sanctum. She smiled and made a gesture for him to follow her. Rising from his seat, he walked through the doorway and into the smooth, circular hallway that glowed with phosphorescent light. A few feet ahead of him, the assistant used her remote to open airlock door after airlock door as they passed through. The Council chambers were not only more than a mile underground, but they were also completely disaster proof. Rumor had it they had enough food, water, and beds inside for the entire council to sit out a nuclear winter if the situation demanded it.

“Have you ever been here before?” the assistant asked, keeping a brisk pace. Connor had to practically jog to keep up with her.

“No,” he admitted. “I'm more of an in-the-trenches kind of guy,” he added with a sheepish grin. “Politics really isn't my thing.”

“Mine either,” the girl confessed, giving him a sly sideways glance. He hadn't realized at first how young she was. Tall, slender, pretty, with stick-straight brown hair that hung long down her back. “But it's a job and it puts food on the table. Also, there's the scholarship.”

“Scholarship?”

“To the Academy, of course,” she said as if it were obvious. “So someday I can train to be a Hunter just like you.”

He masked a cringe as he caught sight of her shining eyes, her face glowing with ambition. It took everything he had not to grab her and shake her and tell her what a bad idea that was. That if she were smart, she'd stay here, deep below the surface of the world, where she was safe as a person could be. She had a job—a good one at that. She probably even qualified for Council housing, which was usually located in the best stratas. Why would anyone want to give that up for a dangerous, dirty surface job like his?

Because
she
doesn't know what it's really like
, he reminded himself.
She
only
knows
what
the
Council
tells
her.

“This is a little embarrassing to admit,” the girl added, her cheeks coloring prettily. “But I still have your rookie card. My father won it playing Jongu down in Shanty Town a couple years ago. It's pretty torn up, and my mom thinks it's probably a fake. But I don't care. I still like looking at it, imagining you boys up there, fighting with everything you have to save our world.” She giggled. “Anyway, like I said, if I'm lucky, maybe someday I'll get to join you up there.”

“That would be stellar,” Connor replied, mostly because that was what she expected him to say. What the Council insisted on being said. And hey, far be it from him to dissuade people from joining their ranks—they could use all the Hunters they could get. Still, something deep down wished he could persuade her to take another path
—any
other path than his.

“Here we are!” she chirped brightly, stopping in front of a pair of ornately carved, gold-trimmed doors. “The Inner Circle.” She grinned conspiratorially at him. “Good luck in there. I'll be here waiting to escort you back when you're finished. And maybe…” She paused, fidgeting a little. “We could go get a drink or something afterward? I'd love to hear about all your adventures on the Surface Lands. I've never been, myself, of course. But it seems so
interesting
.”

He sighed. “Sure, I guess, maybe,” he said. “Let me get through this first, okay?”

She nodded, then reached up and pressed a hand to his shoulder. It was a simple gesture, and it should have felt friendly. But to Connor, it only felt invasive.

You
belong
to
the
people
, his sergeant had scolded numerous times.
You
gave
up
private
life
the
second
you
donned
the
Academy
uniform.

It was true. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

He gave her a farewell nod, then turned to the doorway and stepped through. The Council chamber was cavernous—with at least a fifty-foot ceiling. Tall ceilings were a rare luxury in a world that had had to be carved out of solid rock. He wondered if this had been some sort of cave they'd found and finished off or if they'd built it from scratch.

He looked around, taking in all the ornate decorations, the wooden benches and chairs. Wood was almost impossible to gather these days, what with the dragons having decimated the world's trees. Only a few heavily guarded forests grew in special greenhouse glass structures, and many had lost their lives protecting the Glades. The Council had justified this by claiming wood was necessary in certain medicines and weapons. But here, in this room, it just seemed like a waste.

And then there was the food. Mountains of it, piled high on almost every available surface. And not just the genetically engineered rations that everyone else ate on a daily basis, but real, unprocessed meats and cheeses and breads and sweets. Just looking at them made his mouth water—and his stomach churn. There was enough food here to feed half the Dragon Hunter army. Was it really just meant for these twelve people?

“There he is! Our man of the hour!”

Connor reluctantly turned away from the feast to focus on the front of the room. There, behind a long, carved wooden table set high on a dais, sat all twelve members of the Council, looming above like giant gods, ready to deliver blessings or curses to any who dared step into their inner sanctum. Connor swallowed heavily.

They're just people
, he tried to remind himself.
No
different
than
me
or
anyone
else.

But that wasn't true. Not exactly. These were people with power.

He sucked in a breath and cleared his throat. “Thank you for seeing me,” he said, hating how nervous and hoarse his voice sounded.

“Please. It is
us
who should be thanking
you
,” declared the councilman at the center of the table. His name plaque read “Solomon.” “I hear you saved us from quite a potential disaster this week, while the rest of your comrades were across the strata at the Peace Parade.”

Connor had wondered if they were going to reprimand him for skipping out on the so-called Peace Parade as he had. But evidently they were willing to overlook the infraction, due to his eventual heroics.

“I was just doing my job,” he replied stiffly. “I was fortunate enough to be able to sing the five into stasis until the others could arrive to finish them off.”

“So modest too,” cooed the woman to Solomon's left—Frederica, according to her nameplate. “A rare quality for a Dragon Hunter.” She laughed, and the fat under her chin jiggled. Then she raised her fist in the air. “What is it you say again?
Hasta
la
vista
—?” She looked at him expectantly, and he blushed.

“Hasta la vista, dragon spawn,” he muttered.

The Council laughed and cheered at this. Connor contemplated crawling under the table in embarrassment. But he forced himself to stand strong. He was a soldier. He'd come here on a mission. And he wouldn't let these people intimidate him.

“So, Dragon Hunter,” Solomon said after the room had quieted. “I'm sure you didn't come all this way to listen to a bunch of old men and women sing your praises. What can we do for you?”

Connor cleared his throat. This was it. “I wanted to report a violation of the Flame Shelter Act of PS One Fifty-Three.”

Solomon glanced at his fellow councilmembers, then back to Connor. “And what might this violation be?”

“As you know, the rules state no one should be turned away from a shelter unless they're at full capacity, regardless of race or religion or economic status,” Connor continued, his voice growing stronger and more confident as he spoke. “But when I tried to bring a little girl to Negative twenty-three during the attack, the guards at the door attempted to turn us away, even though they were clearly not at capacity.”

“The guards tried to turn
you
away?” the man to Frederica's left broke in, raising an eyebrow.

“They didn't know who I was,” Connor admitted. “But that's not the point. According to the law, they shouldn't have turned me away regardless of my rank.” He drew in a breath. “It is my belief they are accepting bribes as payment for entrance to keep the crowds down. Which, I think you'll agree, is a clear violation of the statute.”

He scanned their faces, searching for some sign of horror or offense that people could be doing such a thing to their fellow man. But the Council remained impassive, their expressions unreadable.

“Thank you for your report, soldier,” Solomon said at last. “We shall look into it, and I assure you, justice will be served.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, shuffling from foot to foot. “That's all I ask.” He bit his lower lip. “Except…”

“Yes, soldier?”

“The little girl I told you about. Salla. She couldn't find her parents, which is why I brought her down to Neg twenty-three in the first place. But when I came back after the fight, I couldn't find her among the others. And when I asked around, no one seemed to remember her ever being there to begin with.” He frowned. “I wanted to make sure she got back to her family all right.”

And
that
the
bastards
didn't kick her out the second I walked away
, he wanted to add but didn't.

Frederica reached for her transcriber and dragged her long, painted fingernail across its side to wake it. Then she pressed at the screen a few times before looking back up. “Is this the girl you're talking about?” she asked, holding up the device for Connor to see.

He took a step forward, squinting at the hologram. “Yes,” he replied eagerly. “That's her. That's Salla. Is she…?”

Frederica gave him an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, Connor. It appears she didn't make it.”

“What?” he asked, ice spinning down his back. “What do you mean, didn't make it?”

Frederica looked down at the transcriber again. “From what this says, she was found near the Surface Lands after the strike. It looks like she was one of several casualties that day.”

“But that's impossible! She should have been a mile underground!” Connor protested, fury warring with fear.

Solomon shrugged. “Perhaps she left.”

“Or
perhaps
those guards forced her out once I turned my back,” he returned, the fury gaining dominance. “God, she was only a little girl.” He scanned the Council, desperate for an ounce of sympathy. Compassion. Humanity. But all he saw were blank, expressionless faces.

And
why
not?
he thought with sickening dread. She
was
only a little girl, as he himself had just pointed out. People died every day. Dozens. Sometimes hundreds. The Council couldn't possibly allow itself to care too much for just one more dead little girl.

But Connor could. And he would.

He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering her grubby face, the way she'd held up her trading card and stared at him with wide, worshipping eyes. He'd been her hero. And despite his best efforts, he'd let her down.

“Those guards—they should be arrested. Punished. Stripped of their posts,” he cried, squeezing his hands into fists and taking a step forward.

“Now, now, calm down, Mr. Jacks,” Solomon said sternly, holding up a hand to stop him. “There's no need to get upset. We appreciate you making your report and are very sorry about your friend. I know it must be devastating news to hear. But I promise you, we have taken down all of your information, and we will take appropriate measures.”

Connor wanted to believe them. He really, really did. “Okay,” he said limply, feeling the fight drain from him. “That's all I can ask. I appreciate you taking the time to hear me.”

“And
we
appreciate you taking the time to come here and tell us,” cooed Frederica in a saccharine-sweet voice. “Now go, Dragon Hunter, and continue to fight the good fight. And know that we at the Council are watching and applauding you from afar.”

“Right. Thank you,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn toward the door. It was all he could do not to run from the room, frustrated tears cascading down his face. Instead, he pushed his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. He was a soldier, after all. A goddamned hero. “Good-bye,” he managed to say.

He'd almost made it to the door when he heard the whisper.

“Yes, he will be perfect. Just perfect.”

But perfect for what, he had no idea. And he had too much pride to turn around to ask.