Runner's Moon: Jebaral

by Linda Mooney

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  Whiskey Creek Press

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright ©2007 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  RUNNER’S MOON

  BOOK 1:

  JEBARAL

  by

  Linda Mooney

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2007 by Linda Mooney

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-60313-000-4

  Credits

  Cover Artist:

  Editor: Chere Gruver

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Dee, the greatest cheering section a writer could ever wish for

  Prologue

  Five Years Ago

  The hot summer storm left the air sticky. However, it had provided the perfect cover for the spacecraft to land silently and completely undetected amid the growl of rolling thunder and lightning. Deep within the heart of the forested area, the ship had grounded itself with a jarring thump. It was on its last reserves, and powering down the engines this time would mean a complete shutdown of all systems. Permanently. Outside, the driving rain had pounded the outer hull of the craft like nails, frightening the thirty-one refugees huddled inside.

  As the wind blew the black clouds to the south, the refugees exited to stand on solid ground for the first time in years. Some had to be helped out of the ship. Others stood on trembling legs and stared in amazement at this strange new place they would have to learn to adapt to. Learn to live in. Learn to survive.

  Jebaral Gitall Morr breathed in the fresh, rain-soaked air. His skin tingled with awareness, and the possibility of danger and opportunity now facing him and his fellow survivors. Aware he was standing with his hands clenched into fists, he forced himself to open his fingers and take another deep lungful of air.

  There were scents here he didn’t know. Not yet, anyway, but soon. Soon he would be able to identify those things which could be harmful to him, and those which wouldn’t. Right now, though, all he wanted was a few hours to stand here and listen to the coming night. And, hopefully, he would be able to find a little time when he could stop being afraid and waiting for the retaliatory blow to fall.

  “What are you thinking?” a deep voice behind him rumbled.

  From the corner of his eye, Jebaral watched the stocky form of his brother come to stand beside him. He heard the man sniff appreciatively, and he allowed himself a tiny smile in response. “I am thinking how glad I am to be out of that ship. I am thinking about what I am going to do with the rest of my life…”

  Simolif glanced over at him. “Now that you have a life?” he finished for his younger sibling.

  Nodding, Jebaral let his body do his talking for him. This world might be unknown territory, but it held promise. More than that, it held security. And hope.

  A movement near his shoulder made him turn his head in question. “What are you doing?”

  Simolif continued to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet almost like a youngling discovering a new sensation. “Gravity’s lighter here. If I weigh sixty koll, I will be surprised.”

  “That is good,” Jebaral noted. “It means our denser muscle mass will be beneficial to us. Give us more strength.”

  Overhead the departing clouds revealed a sky of oranges and blues. Between the leaves of the huge plant growth found on this planet, the distant stars were familiar friends, although their patterns were strange and unidentifiable. He felt Simolif place a hand at his back, inadvertently on the very spot where the adjac had chewed a hole in his shoulder. He jerked back from the white hot streak of agony that zipped through his body, searing nerve endings. A grunt escaped him before he could stop himself. Simolif immediately raised his hand.

  “Forgive me. I was too wrapped up in the moment and forgot.”

  “Do not apologize. I almost forgot as well.”

  They continued to stare at the fall of night. Creatures emerged around them, creating noises that, oddly, didn’t seem intimidating, although they knew there would be some danger on this planet. Still, it would never compare to the horrors they had escaped from.

  “I wonder what the inhabitants look like,” Simolif commented softly.

  Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Jebaral gave him a tight smile. “We will never know if we remain here, will we?”

  “We will need to find out soon so we can blend in among them once the sun rises.”

  Jebaral nodded without commenting. It was time. They both knew it. Pivoting around, Jebaral walked over to where the rest of them who remained gathered in small groups. They lifted their heads at his approach, waiting to be told what they knew was coming.

  “My friends, welcome to your home.” Standing as straight as he could, and trying to ignore the burning pain streaking up and down the backs of his legs, Jebaral gave them his blessing. “From here on, you are on your own. Scatter and find a place where you can finally be happy. We will survive and thrive here, I am certain of it.” Unconsciously he drew another deep breath of the rich, fragrant air. Deep in his gut he knew this planet had been a good choice. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he felt he would be able to live many long years here—at least a few more than he would have under Arran domination. His eyes raked over the weary-looking group before him. They all had taken the chance, basically placing their lives in his and Simolif’s hands in order to escape the deaths they knew would come if they had remained on Barandat.

  “Good fortune, and have a long and happy life,” he said softly, holding his hands up in the air.

  At the sign of dismissal, the group slowly broke apart, walking away singly or in clumps of twos or threes. Jebaral watched them go until there remained only himself and his brother.

  “But never forget the Arra may ultimately find this place,” Simolif muttered under his breath.

  “Which is why the ship must be totally destroyed. We cannot make it easy for them to track us.” Pulling a slender rod from his tunic pocket, Jebaral walked over to the narrow doorway, broke the rod apart, and tossed it into the interior of the spacecraft. That done, he turned his back on the ship that had been his home, his refuge, and his prison for the past two years and walked away. Simolif joined him, and together they disappeared into the woods as a boiling black cloud rolled out of the ship’s doorway.

  In less than an hour, t
he craft was nothing more than a bubbling mass of liquid seeping into the loamy soil. By morning there was no trace anything unusual had occurred the night before.

  Chapter 1

  Hannah

  “Get your butt in here, girl, and hope Billy doesn’t find out I’ve already clocked you in. Or else it’ll be my butt!” Barb grabbed the woman by the wrist as she came through the back door. She thrust the apron into Hannah’s hands as the young woman shrugged out of her sweater. “I’m sorry. Carl was being his usual self, and I had to walk over here.”

  The older woman narrowed her eyes and hastily scanned the slender woman tying on her pocket apron. Slender, hell. Hannah Pitt was downright skinny, no thanks to that no-good boyfriend of hers.

  Another more pointed examination revealed the fresh bruises on the woman’s upper arm. At her scrutiny, Hannah pulled on her sleeve to try and cover them. Barb snorted with a trace of anger. If a soul knew where to look, they could spot a dozen of the telltale signs—the fresh or fading bruises, the scabbed-over scratches. The covered-up marks that told more about the short-tempered man Hannah lived with. Worse still, Barb realized the haunted look in the young woman’s eyes was growing more and more pronounced as the weeks went by.

  Hannah had come to work at Barkett’s Diner eight months ago. Although the woman was friendly, and their regular patrons had taken to the painfully shy introvert, there was very little Barb knew about her. But there was a novel’s worth of information the older woman could read on the younger blonde’s face. In the way she reacted to others, it was a classic case of abuse, plain and simple. And it was a damn shame. No woman deserved to be treated as such, especially not a sweet girl like Hannah Pitt.

  If Carl Jamison was being his usual self, it meant the son of a bitch had taken her tips from yesterday then absconded with the ten-year-old Ford to find an open bar. Barb knew Hannah was the sole supporter of the two since Carl had suffered a back injury some time in the past and therefore wasn’t able to hold down a full-time job.

  “Who’s in my section?” Hannah whispered, rubbing her palms on her skirt. If the overflow wasn’t too bad, Barb would take her customers if she was running late.

  “Just Mr. Braddock over at his usual table,” the older woman replied. “I told him you were helping in the kitchen, which was why I took his order.” Lifting her head a few inches, Barb glanced over the storage cabinet and through the narrow slit in the doorway which led out into the dining area. “He’s probably ready for a refill on his coffee by now.”

  Hannah flashed her a thankful smile. “Thanks a bunch, Barb. I owe you.” Straightening her shoulders, the young woman went out the swinging doors with her ponytail swinging like a pendulum.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Hannah grabbed the pot of decaf and marched over to where the hardware store owner was sitting back in his favorite booth, the day’s paper shielding him from view. Quietly she refreshed his cup and picked up his empty plate to take back to the kitchen.

  “I’m gonna need a to-go order of some biscuits and gravy,” the man requested from behind his newsprint shield.

  “Not a problem, Bart. I’ll go put in the order for you right now,” Hannah replied. The moment she spoke, the paper jerked to one side and Braddock gave her the once-over.

  “Morning, Hannah. ‘Preciate it.”

  She nodded and went back to replace the pot before entering the kitchen. Stepping over the threshold, she nearly collided with Billy Barkett, owner of the diner. A look at the man’s face told her what she didn’t want to know.

  “Glad to see you finally got here, Hannah. Tell Barbara I’m docking you both the thirty minutes you tried to finagle out of me by clocking in early.” His eyes were narrow, his face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. The man was not in a good mood.

  Hannah tried to swallow over the lump in her throat. The man intimidated her. In fact, most men did. “Sorry, Mr. Barkett. It won’t happen again.”

  “Of course it won’t,” he snapped and abruptly turned back into the kitchen. Hannah let go of the breath she had been holding and followed him inside to put the empty plate still in her hand into the deep sink. Quickly scribbling Mr. Braddock’s to-go order on her pad, she ripped off the top sheet and slipped it underneath the clip on the order turn wheel.

  Exiting back into the restaurant, she reached for the boxes underneath the counter to keep herself busy. Little mundane chores like refilling the napkin holders and the salt and pepper shakers allowed her to keep busy, at least enough to satisfy the boss man so he wouldn’t yell at her for goofing off on the job. It also kept her mind off of her current situation at home, and what she had to face after her shift was over. Every now and then she glanced around to see if anyone had come in and sat down in her section. Once Braddock left for work after she had delivered his to-go order, she cleaned off his table and scooped the fifty cents he always left as a tip into her apron pocket.

  She had just reached for the tray of ketchup bottles to refill when an finger poked her in the back. “Mr. Hunk of the Month just walked in,” Barb whispered next to her cheek. Immediately that same cheek, plus its twin, went bright red, drawing a chuckle from the older woman. “Oh, come on, Hannah. When are you two gonna stop dancing around each other and go out on a date?”

  “Barb! I already have a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah. A boyfriend. Not a husband,” the woman reminded her.

  Hannah shot her friend a look of dismay, then glanced up at the man taking his usual seat at the far end of the diner, facing the interior where he could see the whole of the establishment. She took a deep breath to try and calm the heavy thudding of her heart as she grabbed the coffee pot and went over to take his order.

  As she approached the man, she could feel her knees going watery with every step. Fortunately his head was bowed over something he held in his hands, which prevented him from seeing her until she reached down to turn his cup over in the saucer.

  “Morning, Jeb,” she somehow managed to say.

  Jeb raised his face and graced her with a smile. The whole diner lit up with sunshine. The man couldn’t have been more gorgeous than if he had just stepped out of one of those fashion magazines. By sheer will alone she managed to grab onto her racing heart and calm it down to a slow trot.

  “What can I get you this morning?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice her flushed face. What would you like? Pancakes? An onion and mushroom omelet? Me?

  Shut up, Hannah, a little voice told her. Hannah knew that voice and that tone all too well. She referred to that part of herself as Mr. Mean. It was the side of her conscience whose job it was to remind her of her obligations. Of her duties. Of her inevitable lot in life.

  “Morning, Hannah. I’d like a Belgian waffle, please.” His voice was as warm as the syrup they served. The mere sound of it had the power to ooze through the cracks in her parched soul and tempt it with its undeniable sweetness.

  “Would you like strawberries or blueberries on top?”

  Her eyes were drawn to his large, long-fingered hands as they emptied two packets of granulated sugar into his coffee, then picked up a spoon to stir. The utensil looked tiny in his hand. On the seat next to him was a pamphlet of some sort. She couldn’t read it because it was lying face down.

  “Strawberries, please.”

  Please. He always said please. Didn’t matter what he needed or did, Mr. Jeb Morr always added a please to the end. Hannah had a fantasy that he even said please to the women he took to bed. Let’s make love, please. A shiver ran through her at the thought.

  Immediately those brown-gold eyes narrowed slightly. She could see his nostrils thin as he inventoried her from top to bottom. Before she was aware of doing it, Hannah reached up to tug on the sleeve of her blouse, hoping he hadn’t seen the fresh marks. Pasting a smile on her face, she nodded. “One plate of Belgians with strawberries on top coming up!” She knew without looking back that he watched her departure into the kitchen.

  While his breakfast
was on the griddle, Hannah went from table to table to exchange the salt and pepper shakers with refilled ones. All the while she kept one eye on Jeb while he continued to read the brochure. By the time she reached his table she noticed he was ready for a refill. Quickly she went to get the pot.

  “Planning a vacation?” She tried to sound nonchalant. Making casual conversation.

  “Just reading up on a few things,” he answered enigmatically as she poured. “Looks like today is going to be another scorcher.”

  He had an accent, but no way could she place it. It didn’t sound French or Spanish. Or Italian, or German. Heck, it didn’t sound like any kind of accent she had ever heard on television, but she didn’t want to appear rude by asking him where he was from.

  Not that she hadn’t dwelled about it in the past.

  In all the time he had been coming to the diner for breakfast, regular as clockwork for the past five months, they had spoken less than a page full of words to each other. And most of those had been what he had ordered to eat.

  She knew he worked on the construction site for the new bank over on Fifth. She knew he was a vegetarian, of sorts. He never wanted any kind of meat with his breakfast, although he ate eggs. She also knew he seemed overly alert to whoever entered the diner, as if he was anticipating someone. That was the extent of what she knew about the man. That, and the fact that his name sounded as foreign as his accent. But it was enough to make her happy. It was enough to allow her to dream.

  Did he have a girlfriend? It didn’t matter, and Hannah wasn’t about to ask for fear of finding out that he did. In her dreams she could imagine him timidly asking her out on a date.

  Him. Timid. Instead of me.

  Me. Hannah. The aggressor instead of the subservient one.

  In her dreams he wasn’t the abusive kind. He used those large hands to hold and caress instead of clenching them into fists to strike at her.

  They would agree to meet at some out-of-the-way place where he would pick her up and take her to some nice secluded restaurant so they could enjoy a real meal over candlelight. They would talk about everything and anything. They would be honest with each other, and make confessions they knew would not be spread about.