The Moon Dwellers

by David Estes

  I watch as she spots a Dumpster and moves behind it, peeking out at the road.

  A family of four passes her: a mom, a dad, two girls. They remind me of my own family in the old days. The girls look happy, holding hands with their parents and skipping along. It is good to know that even in the Moon Realm some people are still happy. Of course it helps that their parents haven’t been abducted and their city bombed, but still, happy is happy.

  Elsey wisely ignores the family, waits for a better target. An old man with a bad limp and a rickety old cane hobbles past. Perfect. Elsey evidently thinks he’s a perfect candidate, too, because she sticks her head out a bit further and must make a noise, because the man stops and peers into the gloom.

  He changes direction and moves toward her, taking ages to reach her behind the Dumpster. I tense slightly, ready to spring into action if needed. I’m not sure what I expect; I guess that maybe the old man is faking his injury and will suddenly smack her over the head with the cane and carry her away. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t.

  Apparently, Elsey is able to convince him to help, because he hobbles off a minute later, and Elsey gives us the okay sign using her index finger and thumb. I reply with a thumbs-up.

  Waiting for the man is as boring as watching rocks being eroded by the flow of an underground stream. He takes so long. I swear he must be in there negotiating a peace treaty, not just ordering some food. In any event, I manage to keep my eyes open until he reemerges holding big cloth bags. He struggles under the weight of the bags, readjusting his grip and switching arms several times before finally reaching my sister. I see her hand him the pouch of Nailins as payment. As we’d instructed her, she waits until the man limps onto the street and out of sight before tiptoeing back to where we are hiding.

  Her eyes are wide with excitement and her smile gleeful. “How’d I do?” she asks.

  “You were perfect,” I say, meaning it.

  “You did really well,” Tawni adds.

  “Your first solo mission was a complete success,” Cole says.

  Elsey beams. By the way she looks at him, I think Cole’s compliment makes her the happiest.

  It is amazing what money can buy these days. The spread of food is impressive, even with four of us eating. We each get a sourdough roll, two pieces of bacon, a sizable hunk of some kind of cheese we never could’ve afforded growing up, a sort of root we call hyro, a cinnamony potato dish, and a small flask of warm tea. The icing on the cake is literally the icing on the cake. We split two pieces of dark chocolate cake with chocolate icing. Down in the Moon Realm—at least in our subchapter—chocolate is scarce, and very expensive, so the fact that the café had it, that we could afford it, and that the old man thought to ask for it, is a small miracle. My only mistake: eating way too much too fast. By the time I finish eating I’ve crossed the line between pleasantly full and disgustingly stuffed.

  “Uhhh,” I groan.

  Elsey is nibbling daintily at the corner of her cake. “You okay, sis?”

  “Other than being on the verge of throwing up, I’m fine.”

  “Here, a little extra cake might help wash it down,” Cole suggests, pushing the chocolate toward my face. I don’t even have a chance to tell him how obnoxious he is, because the food is coming back up.

  I barely have time to turn my head before I throw up. Although it is disgusting and unpleasant, I feel better afterwards. I even let Cole’s antics go without revenge.

  When we finish eating, we pack the leftover food (which isn’t much), and begin the second phase of our plan: operation night train.

  I’m still not very comfortable with the idea, but I’ve committed to it, which means I’m going to do everything in my power to help us be successful. It’s just the way I am. For me it’s all in or all out—no middle ground, no wishy-washy, no excuses.

  Continuing to use back streets, we manage to get pretty close to the rail station. We hide in the shadows, performing reconnaissance, waiting for the right time to make a move. The area around the station looks pretty deserted, although every once and a while someone passes by and goes inside. In the entire subchapter, the lighting is the best in this area, which is good for most travelers. Unfortunately, we aren’t most travelers, and would prefer utter darkness.

  After twenty minutes or so of no one passing us, Cole hisses, “We can’t wait here all night.”

  “Now or never,” I agree. We each don the hoods attached to our tunics. It’s a cool night, so the hoods are unlikely to draw any special attention to us.

  We leave the safety of the dark and stride out into the light. We walk side by side, at a normal but purposeful pace, eyes ahead, ears listening for any signs of discovery. With every footstep I expect to hear a shout, a whistle, alarm bells, something. Something saying We gotcha!

  We make it inside the terminal without drama.

  The ticket window is straight ahead. As we previously agreed, I take the lead on buying the tickets. I walk up, trying to appear confident, like I buy train tickets all the time, like I belong here. At the same time I keep my head lowered slightly, trying to cast a shadow across at least part of my face.

  “Three adults and one child for the next train to subchapter twenty-six,” I say, attempting to keep my voice steady. I lock my knees to stop them from shaking.

  At first the guy behind the counter—a short, grumpy-looking fellow with gray stubble and more nose hairs protruding from his nostrils than most people have in their nose—is indifferent to me, his voice monotone, like a robot.

  “Three and one to twenty-six,” he repeats. “Next train available…”—he pauses, consults a timetable—“…departs in six minutes. Express train.”

  He is just going through the motions, which is fine by me, but I know the hard part is still to come.

  It comes. “I need travel vouchers for all adults,” he says, finally glancing up over his glasses at my face. His boring, emotionless face changes in an instance. It’s just a slight twitch, a flash of recognition in his eyes, but I can see that he knows who I am. Smartly, he pretends not to. I wonder if he’s got a big red security button somewhere underneath his desk. I can see both his hands, but he might be able to press it with his knees.

  “Look, buddy, we don’t have travel vouchers, but you probably already guessed that. But we do have this.” I spill the pouch of shiny gold Nailins out onto his desk. “If you keep quiet you can have them all.”

  At the sight of the money, the guy’s eyes light up and his fat lips twist into a greedy grin. “Done deal,” he says without hesitation. He stamps four tickets and hands them to me in a stack.

  I know we aren’t out of the woods yet. Because the guy is willing to accept a bribe, he is also probably prone to dishonesty, like accepting said bribe while still planning to turn us in to the authorities. At least we have tickets.

  With only a few minutes until the train’s departure, we don’t have time to bet on whether the guy will stick to our deal. Instead, we hurry through the automatic ticket turnstiles, praying he’s given us real tickets. With each swipe of one of the tickets, the gates open and allow one of us through.

  The train has just pulled into the station, its doors open and waiting for us to board. A few passengers straggle off, but they are so haggard from the long journey that they don’t even look up as we pass.

  “Last car,” I say, leading the group into a light jog. The last car will ensure we are away from any other passengers who happen to jump on the train just before it leaves.

  We are halfway to the last car when an alarm goes off, blaring through the silent station. Red lights flash. There is maybe a minute before the train departs.

  We run.

  I hear a shout from behind us and twist my head to see men jumping over the turnstiles. They aren’t looking for a free ride—that is for sure. They are after us. And leading the pack: Rivet.

  We run harder. Thirty seconds to departure.

  We reach the last car and board. I try the manu
al door levers but they are jammed. Just in case I’m not strong enough, Cole tries them, too, but reaches the same conclusion. We are at the mercy of the train being on time.

  Pressing our faces against the glass, we watch as Rivet’s group splits into two. One group, led by a big black guy with a wicked barbed-wire tattoo around his exposed bicep, heads straight for us, trying to beat the doors. The other group, led by the Devil—also known as Rivet—veers left and boards the train about three cars in front of us, thus ensuring they are at worst traveling with us.

  I’m not worried about the second group at the moment. The first group is closing in, running full speed, their eyes heavy with violence.

  The doors start to close.

  The guys are so close I think they’ll make it. My instinct is to shrink back toward the back of the car, away from the doors. Cole has a better idea.

  “C’mon,” he says, urging me to move up to the closing doors. We inch forward until we’ve created a human barricade. The big guy in the front tries to charge straight through us. Without planning it, Cole and I kick at the same time. I catch him hard in the knee and hear a crunch as it bends backwards the wrong way. Simultaneously, Cole lays into him with a boot in the face, using his foot like a sledgehammer.

  “Argh!” the dude roars, falling backwards into his friends.

  The doors close.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tristan

  “It’s Rivet!” I hiss. “What do you make of it?”

  “Exercise,” Roc says.

  “Exercise?”

  “Yeah. They’re just out for a midnight run. You know, to keep in shape.”

  I am glad to have the old Roc back, the one who jokes in even the most serious situations. “I think we should join them, I’m feeling a bit out of shape, too.”

  Roc nods, grinning.

  We steal from the alley and jog along the street, moving silently on only our toes. We probably don’t even need to be as careful as we are, as Rivet and his men are making so much noise they wouldn’t hear the grind of a drilling machine following them.

  Our quarry reaches the city center and enters the train terminal. We follow as close as we dare. The moment we enter the station, the emergency sirens go off. I whirl around, half-expecting a squadron of troops to surround us, but there is no one.

  “Hurry,” Roc says, “we’re gonna lose ’em.”

  I spin around and start chasing Rivet again, who’s doubled his speed, heading straight for the turnstiles to a waiting train. Ticketless, his men hop the barrier. Finally, I can see why they are in such a hurry.

  Four figures are running along the platform, evidently aiming to board the last car. They are all wearing hoods, so it is difficult to distinguish individual features, other than height. But still I know. There are four of them, one much shorter than the others. Plus Rivet is chasing them. It is her. Adele. Her sister. The other two fugitives.

  Following Rivet’s lead, we launch ourselves over the ticket machines. There is no way we are going to catch Rivet’s men, much less Adele and her friends. I extend an arm to stop Roc.

  “Wait, let’s see what happens,” I say.

  We watch as Rivet’s men split up, half boarding a car in the middle of the train and the other half zeroing in on the last car. We are flush with the doors of the first car, which start to close. One of Rivet’s men tries to jump on the last car but is met by at least two feet, which knock him back.

  I slip through the crack in the doors and pull Roc in after me.

  My mind is racing. We are on the train. Rivet and his men are on the train. Adele, her sister, her friends. We couldn’t have coordinated it any better if we’d tried.

  “It’s like fate,” Roc says, reading my mind. Maybe my father was wrong about fate after all.

  “Where are we going?”

  As if in response to my question, the train starts moving and the speaker drones. “Nonstop to subchapter twenty-six.”

  “Subchapter twenty-six? But that’s where—”

  “Camp Blood and Stone,” Roc finishes. It is another classified thing I’ve told him.

  “But why would Adele be headed there?” I say, thinking aloud. It hits me like a sucker punch from a one-armed man. “Her parents!” I exclaim.

  Roc’s eyes widen. “Yes,” he says. “It has to be. The reporter said they were traitors. There’s nowhere else they would’ve been taken.”

  “She’s trying to get her family back. First her sister and now her mom and dad.”

  Just then I have a flashback from the last thrilling train ride we had. Waiting in the car. Watching as the two guards switched cars, moving along the train toward us. Slipping onto our train. The fight.

  I rush down the car, not bothering to explain to Roc. Reaching the end I tug at the door. It is either stuck, locked, or not a real door, because it won’t budge. I peer through the glass window, looking into the next car. It is empty. So is the one after that. I’m not sure how many cars are empty before I spot movement. I can barely make out moving black blobs several cars in front of us.

  “It’s an express night train,” Roc says, approaching from behind. “There’s no car-to-car access. The train won’t stop because of the security alarms either. They’re fully automated.”

  “How do you now so much about Moon Realm trains?”

  “That’s what they pay me the big bucks for.”

  When I turn around, Roc’s grinning. “What’s so funny?” I say.

  “Well, besides my witty sense of humor, the fact that we’re on this crazy train headed for sure death brings a bit of a smile to my face.”

  “You’re an odd one,” I say.

  “That coming from Mr. Love-at-first-sight-chase-the-girl-all-over-the-Tri-Realms-getting-kidnapped-by-rebels-and-cannibals.”

  “Hey, there was only one cannibal, not plural. And I’m not sure if it’s…love.” I say love like it’s some sort of a rare disease that can only be proven by a series of medical tests.

  “If you so say so.”

  With at least a couple of hours of travel ahead of us, I settle into a booth. Roc selects a booth opposite mine. I try to focus my mind on my feelings. I’m not sure if it is even possible to think about your feelings. I always seem to just feel things without really comprehending what I am feeling. It’s like there is this eternal gulf between my heart and head, and each time I try to construct a bridge to span it, a gust of wind blows it over.

  I know I feel something for Adele, despite the fact that, as Roc constantly points out, I’ve never even spoken to her. I’m sure most people would say it’s just a crush, because I think she is beautiful, but I’ve been surrounded by beautiful people—at least by Sun Realm standards—all my life and never felt anything for them.

  She is different. Yeah, I am drawn to her looks, but it feels like more than me just being a typical guy chasing a tunic. Behind her exquisite beauty is a person, who I feel like I’m getting to know from afar. She is strong—there is no doubt about that. The proof: escaping prison, navigating through the Lonely Caverns, fighting off Rivet’s men, attempting a suicide mission to rescue her parents from one of my father’s traitor camps. All pretty gutsy.

  But I can also tell there is a tenderness to her. I felt it when she looked back at me when I was fighting Rivet. Like she felt sad that I should have to struggle for her sake.

  Adele is funny, too. I have no proof for that. Can’t explain how I know. But I know as sure as I know my mother loved me. If I tell Roc I think Adele is funny I’ll never be able to live it down. I’m not going to tell Roc.

  “Tristan?”

  I look at Roc. I’ve been staring into space, but that isn’t unusual for me these days. Roc is staring at my hands. I look down and realize they are clasped tightly and I am running them over and over each other, fiercely massaging them. I stop, separate them, place them on my thighs.

  “You okay?” Roc says.

  “Uh, yeah. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

>   “About what to do when the train stops?”

  “Not what to do,” I say. “How to do it.”

  “You’ll do it,” Roc says. “We’re here for a reason. I sense it.”

  I search Roc’s brown eyes for the truth. For a moment I sense it, too, try to snatch it out, but then it fades away, disappearing, just like all the good things in my life always seem to do. Sometimes Roc seems so confident and serious, like now, and other times so helpless, like in the midst of a fight, or when we were captured.

  I try to turn my philosophical thoughts off and focus on the task at hand. “Right, I’ll need your help, Roc, there are just too many of them for me to handle on my own.”

  Roc’s wise eyes turn fearful in an instant.

  “We’ll get through it together. I won’t let anything happen to you,” I say, knowing we might both be dead by day’s end.

  Roc nods, purses his lips, seems to resign himself to the certain violence that is headed our way, like a meteor on a collision course with earth.

  “We’ll have the element of surprise,” I continue, “but that will only help us at the very beginning, so we have to take advantage of it. Rivet will head straight for Adele and we’ll just have to hope she and her friends can hold him off until we get there. We’ll pick off his other men from behind, one at a time. We’ll each take a different one until they’re all gone. Yell if you’re in trouble and I’ll do whatever it takes to get to you. Understood?”

  “Yes, sire,” he drones, but I can tell he appreciates the direction.

  “Once we’ve downed all the men, I’ll head for Rivet while you try to find a safe place for Adele to hide. They may think we’re foes, so you’ll have to convince them otherwise.”

  “I’ll convince them,” Roc promises.

  * * *

  Adele

  I can see them through the glass, several cars back, pacing around, punching the walls, acting like they are on drugs. Maybe they are. Something to make them even more violent—as if they need that.