The Moon Dwellers

by David Estes

  “C’mon,” I say, grabbing my dad’s hand and pulling him toward the closest pyramid. “I’ll take you to Elsey.”

  “El’s here?” my dad says, following me.

  “Yeah, I figured I’d pick her up on the way over. You know, right after we broke out of prison.”

  “What!?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Tristan limp-runs past us. I can tell he is fighting through the pain.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  I’m not sure why I do it. I guess because I want to show my dad that I am tough, that I’ve survived, that I am the strong girl he raised. In any case, it is probably just childish. “No, follow me!” I exclaim. I take off, sprinting past Tristan and around the first pyramid.

  I glance back and see Tristan half-grinning, half-cringing, trying to catch up. How I love that smile of his, even when it’s not at full strength. It is natural and genuine, just enough lip on both the top and bottom, a slight dimple in his right cheek. Beautiful. I have the sudden urge to kiss him. What is the matter with me! I’ve barely made it to first base—first base being holding hands; I’m not sure what the real first base is—and already I am ready to take the next step. Who is this girl? And what has she done with me?

  My dad isn’t far behind him, looking lean and fast. Further back still is the group of guards, who have started chasing us. Great. Can’t they just leave us alone? Haven’t we been through enough?

  To make it more difficult for the guards to follow us, I weave through the pyramids, cutting a random path toward the open flats that lead to the outer wall. I emerge from between two pyramids and into the open. Adrenaline is rushing through my veins, pushing me to fly, fly! I don’t sprout wings and take off, but I do run pretty fast—so fast that Tristan doesn’t catch me until we are halfway across the empty space.

  I look back to see where my dad is. He’s fallen behind a bit, unable to keep up with our younger legs. Or it might not be age that hinders him. It might be the weight of the abuse he’s been subjected to in the camp, rendering his body tired and weakened. Whatever the case, the guards are gaining on him—five of them, closing in like a net.

  “My dad,” I say, pulling to a stop. Tristan stops, too, and we reverse our course. My dad sees us coming and slows up. He isn’t about to let us do all the fighting for him.

  He turns just as we reach him. The guards are upon us. Five on three. Tasers and whips again fists and feet and spirit—oh, and Tristan’s sword, too. So who has the advantage? I’ll give you a hint: it isn’t the guards.

  A Taser lances out toward my father’s legs, but is blocked by a quick thrust of Tristan’s sword. A whip snaps at my head, but I duck and charge. I’m not full of rage anymore, but I do feel confident. Next to my father I feel invincible. He is my teacher. The best fighter I’ve ever known. Although I’ve never seen him fight anyone for real, I’ve always believed he is unbeatable.

  I leap at the guard who missed me with the whip, kick him in the head, knock him over. Glance to my right.

  My dad clotheslines two of the other guards, his heavy arms catching them in the neck and forcing them to the stone. Flopping on the ground, they gasp for air. Tristan has another one at sword point. Rather than finishing him off, he uses his forearm to send a shiver through the guy’s skull, knocking him senseless.

  There is only one guard on his feet. The new odds: three on one. He runs, dropping his whip and Taser and pride in a heap on the stone.

  We run in the other direction. I let Tristan lead this time. I want to keep an eye on my dad. I can’t believe it was that easy—almost too easy. It turns out it’s not.

  A barrage of bullets keens past us and, instinctively, I duck and throw my arms over my head, as if mere flesh and bone will stop the hot metal pellets from hurting me. In front of me, Tristan yells out sharply and stumbles, clutching at his leg, which is slick and red. He’s been hit. The rest of us will be soon. It must not be bad, because Tristan manages to keep running, albeit less gracefully, with us in tow.

  We reach the gap in the wall. The air is thick and heavy and smells of war. The bullets have stopped temporarily, presumably as our pursuers reload.

  Tawni, Roc, and Elsey are waiting for us. We’ve led the danger right to them.

  I look back, expecting a dozen guards armed to the teeth. One guy is running toward us, frantically trying to release an expired clip from his automatic weapon. It’s the guy who ran away before. He had time to get his gun but not the rest of his friends.

  “Anyonegotanythingwecanshoot?” I ask in one breath. The guy’s gun will be loaded soon and we’ll be dead.

  Tristan, cringing in pain, says, “Roc, did we pack anything other than swords?”

  “Sorry, no,” Roc says, glancing warily at the guy with the gun. He’s getting closer. The old clip falls away behind him and he pulls a new one from his pocket.

  “What about a slingshot?” Elsey says.

  My eyes dart across to my sister. I am amazed when I see her. She’s standing there so calmly, even though I see her glancing between me and my dad, as if she’s deciding which of us to run to once the crisis is averted.

  “That’s perfect,” I say. “Give it here.”

  She reaches in a deep pocket in the back of her tunic, one I haven’t noticed before, and extracts a gleaming metal slingshot, fitted with a thick rubber band. It’s a really nice weapon.

  “Ranna gave it to me,” Elsey says by way of explanation.

  Frankly, I don’t care where she got it from. Not now anyway. I snatch it from her outstretched hand and start looking for a good rock to use, when I notice the handle. Cut into the wide hilt is a slot, which I flip open with my thumb, holding my breath. Eureka! Inside is what I hoped for: round metal pellets—my ammunition.

  Considering the lack of entertainment in the Moon Realm, I shot plenty of slingshots as a kid and got pretty good. I’ve never shot a human before, but it’s no different than a tin can or a rock post. In one swift motion I extend my arm, load a pellet, and stretch the band back toward me. Rotating my torso, I locate our pursuer in my sight.

  Despite all his bumbling, he’s finally managed to snap the new clip into his gun, and he’s just bringing the nozzle up to a firing position. I have maybe two seconds to get him before he gets us. I make an incremental adjustment to my aim as I zero in on his forehead. He stops, his gun aimed right at us. One second.

  I fire, releasing the band with a dull thwap! and hoping it doesn’t misfire. To the human eye, the pellet moves as fast as any bullet, disappearing into the empty air as if it never existed at all. The only evidence of my shot is the groan from the guy as his head snaps back and he crumples to the ground, his gun landing on top of him, having not been fired.

  “Yes!” I hear a few voices say behind me.

  When I turn back to my friends and family, stoic Elsey is a little girl again, running toward my dad. “Oh, Father!” she exclaims, jumping into his arms, not unlike the way I did earlier.

  “Are you okay?” Tawni says, directing the question at all of us.

  “Fine,” I say quickly. “But Tristan’s been hit.”

  “It’s nothing,” he says. “It grazed me—looks worse than it is.” The red blood is swarming over his leg and we’ll have to stop the bleeding, but not here, not now.

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” I say.

  “The bombs are hitting everywhere,” Tawni says. “They’re very close.”

  “We have no choice. We’ll be caught if we stay here.”

  My dad puts Elsey down, but she continues to cling to his waist. “Adele’s right,” he says. “Reinforcements will be sent to subdue the prisoners. Believe me, they will. Then they’ll search for us—plenty of guards witnessed our escape.”

  “We’ll make it,” Tristan says. “We have to make it.” There is a strange confidence in his voice. Not cockiness—he doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. Nor is it a statement made by someone who’s gotten everything he ever wante
d since the day he was born—although he has. It sounds almost like a prediction. Sort of philosophical; sort of mystical. And the way Tristan glances at Roc—intense, knowing—it’s like there’s something they know, or think they know, that they aren’t telling us. Something important. Something life changing.

  When I became a mind reader, I don’t know. I am probably just imagining things.

  My dad pulls away from Elsey’s grip and holds her hand, pulls her toward the exit. “Let’s go,” he says.

  We creep through the rubble together. An explosion erupts somewhere nearby, sending dust and chunks of stone into the air. Another bomb hits further down the street, blasting the middle of a tall building. Weakened, the upper half teeters, leans, and then tumbles away, crashing across the road and into the next building, which crumbles under the weight. Beneath the buildings, people run out, frantically trying to escape the world that is caving in on them.

  None of them make it. Not a single one. There are at least ten souls destroyed—five crushed under the weight of the massive hunks of rock falling from above, the other five killed by a second missile landing in the center of their escape route. Like so many others from the last few days, the memory of our horrific flight through the subchapter 26 warzone is being tattooed into my brain.

  We flee down a street that hasn’t been hit yet. Bombs are going off all around us. The smell of death is in the air. The smoke chokes my lungs and burns my eyes. Elsey is screaming so much that my dad eventually just picks her up and carries her in his strong arms.

  We pass through a deserted intersection filled with rubble. My mouth is dry from running and shouting and fighting. My legs are burning. I stumble on a broken stone, feel myself falling. And then a strong arm is there, grabbing me, keeping me on my feet. An electric touch: Tristan. Not grinning anymore. Lips pursed, serious. But also determined. I feel safe with him. He is badly injured, but still strong.

  Roc, who seems to have a good idea of the city layout, leads us to the left, down a side street that is relatively unscathed. In fact, all the streets in this direction haven’t been bombed.

  We soon find out why.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Adele

  Abruptly, Roc ducks into an alley. We follow him, mimicking his movements, flattening ourselves against the wall. I want to ask what we are doing, but Roc’s finger is on his lips—for some reason, complete silence is important now.

  Roc has good hearing, because I don’t hear anything for at least another minute. But then I hear it: the sound of marching feet. Hundreds of them, maybe more. It sounds like a parade. If the thumping feet are the beat of the snare drums, the periodic bomb blasts are the bass drums. The feet are getting closer. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Directly in sync with the beating of my heart.

  When the first line of troops passes us I hold my breath. When I realize the soldiers are so focused straight ahead that they aren’t going to see us, I slowly release the air in my lungs.

  At least a thousand soldiers march by, each wearing a star patch on their shoulders. Star dweller troops. Although their sky-blue uniforms are old and frayed, they seem to be professionals, well-organized and confident. A little ragtag, yes, but deadly. Pissed off to the point of killing anyone who gets in their way.

  When the last line of soldiers tramps past us and the drumbeat fades into the distance, we finally relax. Shoulders slump, deep breaths are taken, hearts slow.

  “What’s going on?” my father asks. Other than hearing the bombs and listening to prisoner gossip, he wouldn’t have any idea what has been happening while he’s been stuck in prison.

  “Soon,” I promise. “Let’s make for the reservoir.”

  Once more, Roc leads the way. Although the bombing has finally stopped, I don’t feel safe. At any moment another contingent of rebels could happen upon us. They will shoot first, ask questions later.

  Despite my fears, we reach the stream safely. Out of the city it is darker, but much less scary. There won’t be soldiers or bombs here.

  “We need to talk,” my father says.

  “I know,” I reply. “But first Tristan’s leg.”

  “All over it,” Tawni says, removing a spare tunic from her bag. “You talk while I do this.”

  “As quickly as you can, tell me everything.”

  While Tawni tears off strips of cloth and bandages Tristan’s leg, I tell my dad everything. In bullet point form, I give him a download of the past few days of my life. Meeting Tawni and Cole. Our escape amidst the bombing. The news stories. Rivet. Our flight through the caves. The train ride. Cole’s death. By the end my hands are shaking so hard I have to clasp them together behind me.

  My dad folds me into his arms and I expect my tears to flow freely. They don’t. I am numb, in shock from everything that happened. There are so many emotions inside me that I don’t know which to focus on, which is the most important.

  “Adele, it’s okay now. You’ve done so well,” my dad says.

  “She’s done even better than you know,” Tristan says.

  My dad looks up, as if he forgot the others are here. When I told our story, I left out Tristan and Roc, didn’t mention their injuries, which are written all over their faces. I don’t know how my dad will react to having sun dwellers in our midst.

  “Why are you here, Tristan?” my dad asks.

  He recognizes him. I wasn’t sure if he did. I hoped he wouldn’t. When he asks the question, his voice is even, unreadable.

  I half-turn, still in my father’s arms, making eye contact with Tristan. He takes a deep breath, as if preparing to say something important. I have no idea what he’s about to say.

  “I have feelings for your daughter,” he says.

  Finally, my body has an emotion to push to the top. Surprise, bewilderment, shock—all wrapped around a feeling of elation, bubbling up inside me, filling my heart, my soul. All of these feelings for just a boy? I still have no clue what it all means.

  “Wait. You’re saying you’ve done all this because you have feelings for me?” I ask incredulously. Even as I say it, I know it is true. I have feelings for him, too, have felt the same desire to find Tristan.

  He shrugs. “I hope it doesn’t sound stalkerish,” he says, “but that’s the truth. I just saw you and…”

  “Couldn’t get you out of his head,” Roc finishes.

  “But it wasn’t just that…I was worried about you, too. I saw how that big guy in the Pen was giving you a hard time, and I thought he might have hurt you.”

  “What guy?” my dad asks.

  “Just an idiot with a big mouth,” I say. “I took care of him.”

  My dad laughs. “That’s my girl. And Tristan, I know it might sound impossible, but I was a boy once, too. I hope your intentions for my daughter are…noble.”

  “Yes. I mean, yes, sir. Of course they are. Noble, I mean. I want to get to know her. You know, take things slow. If she wants to, that is.” He looks embarrassed, his face slightly pink. He is rambling. All because of me?

  The conversation is heading in the wrong direction. We don’t have time for relationships, or crushes, or anything else normal. We have to think, to strategize. I know there is more to Tristan’s presence here than just me.

  “Why else are you here?” I ask.

  Roc looks at Tawni. “Tell ’em,” he says.

  I stare at Tawni. Why does she know something I don’t? Tristan is looking at Roc the same way—evidently he isn’t in the loop either.

  “Roc and I talked while you were rescuing your dad,” Tawni says. “Elsey, too,” she adds, which makes Elsey smile. “Although Tristan and Roc ran away to find you, Adele, there’s more to it. They’re different from other sun dwellers.”

  “We’ve had enough of it all,” Roc says. Tristan nods in agreement.

  “They don’t want to be a part of it anymore. They’ve decided to help do something about it.”

  “We have?” Tristan says, smirking.

  “Yes, we have
,” Roc says, grinning back. “I just haven’t told you yet. Tristan’s going to use whatever influence he has to convince the moon dwellers to join the star dwellers, not fight them.”

  Mine and Tristan’s eyebrows rise at the same time. Roc plows on. “Everything is such a mess. The Moon and Star Realms are going to destroy each other, making the Sun Realm even more powerful. We have to do this. It’s the only option.”

  I look at Tristan. He looks at me. “Okay,” he says.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I want to make a difference. Do the right thing. Stop my father.”

  “What about me?” I say.

  “You’ll come, too. We could use a bit of muscle on our side,” he says, smiling.

  I smile back, excited about something for the first time in a long time. Traveling with Tristan, by his side, fighting for good—

  “She has another mission,” my dad says, cutting off my thoughts.

  “Wha…what?”

  “Adele…” my dad starts slowly, his eyes tired and apologetic, “you’ve been through so much, I can’t even imagine…”

  “What, Dad?” I say, urging him to get to the point.

  “I need you to find your mother.”

  “Mom?” I haven’t forgotten about her, not really. She is in the back of my mind somewhere, but it is just that we don’t know where she is and I’ve been so focused on rescuing my dad, and not dying, and Tristan, and everything, that I’ve kind of pushed her to the back. My dad nods. “Where is she?” I say.

  “The Star Realm.”

  “But how…?”

  “They wanted to separate us, so they took her below,” he says, pointing down at the ground. “There’s only one place they would’ve taken her.”

  “The Max,” I say, understanding now. The maximum security prison in the Star Realm. The same Max that I would’ve been transferred to on my eighteenth birthday had we not escaped. Unbelievable to think how different things could have gone. That I would have found my mom had I just left things alone. But then my dad would still be in prison. And Elsey still in that awful orphanage.