by Greg Dragon
“Then we have to do it tonight. We can’t linger, Tristan.” Roc’s eyes are dark and serious. I value his counsel, even when I don’t want to hear it.
“We’ll go in the middle of the night,” I say. “Two in the morning. Let’s get some sleep.” My stomach is growling, but I ignore it.
It’s only nine, so we’ll get five hours of sleep. I let Roc have the bed. It isn’t often he gets something that I don’t. Roc sets an alarm and goes straight to sleep. I linger, taking the time to brush my teeth and shower in the empty bathroom.
By the time I get back to the room, Roc’s breathing heavily, twitching slightly on the bed as he dreams about getting chased by angry guards, or perhaps deranged pizza chefs.
I take my place on the floor, using the extra pillow to rest my head on. The stone is hard under my back, a terrible contrast to the plush mattress I’m used to sleeping on.
Before I drift off to sleep, I think about how I fainted when I pictured the Moon Dweller girl. Was it some weird neurological response to a stimuli of some sort? I hope I won’t faint when I meet her—it’d be hard to ask her questions while unconscious.
I sleep, either dreamlessly or without memory of my dreams.
We wake up, not by Roc’s alarm clock, but by the muffled sound of gunshots in the distance. Before I’m fully awake I know where the sounds emanate from: the Pen.
I leap to my feet, reaching the window at the same time as Roc. My back is aching from sleeping on the hard, stone floor. I’m not used to it.
We huddle together, gazing across the road and through the fence. The Pen is dark and quiet—like before. Gunshots ring out once more. Although the sound is stifled, both by walls and distance, neither Roc nor I have any doubt as to the origin: a semi-automatic weapon. Countless times we’ve heard similar sounds tremor through the walls of the palace, a result of army training exercises nearby.
I spot movement along the fence. I point it out to Roc, and we watch as a dark form creeps in the shadows, moving silently toward a door leading inside. The figure reaches the door and waits. A minute passes without gunshots or movement from the ghost.
The hollow door clangs open, ringing like a bell across the outer courtyard, through the fence, and into our ears. Two forms spill from the Pen, momentarily thrust into the glow of a single light illuminating the entranceway. They move quickly out of the light, joining the shadow in the shadows. Although they’re only visible for a split-second, a mere wrinkle in time, I know without a doubt who they are—I suddenly feel dizzy.
Roc seems to recognize that something’s wrong, and manages to thrust an arm behind me, catching me just before I collapse. “Tristan?” he says.
Thankfully, I don’t pass out this time. My legs feel like rubber and the whole room is spinning, my head thudding like a war drum, but I hang on to consciousness. Roc holds me up until the feeling passes, my head settling into a less painful throb.
“It’s her,” I say. “We have to go.” Although she didn’t look at me, I felt the warmth of her eyes hit me, like a blast of hot air from a furnace. She’s alive! Although I’ve been trying to convince myself that she survived the encounter with the big guy the day of the parade, in my heart I believed it had ended in tragedy, that I’d never get to ask her the questions I need to.
Before leaving, I risk a final glance out the window, hoping I won’t be affected by seeing her again. There are a few stabs in my spine, but nothing serious. The threesome reaches the fence and starts to climb. “No electricity?” I say aloud.
A group of guards, at least six, I think, charge out into the courtyard. They’re headed straight for her, toting guns and nightsticks.
Time to go.
Roc’s already in the hall, looking back like he expects me to be right behind him. I cross the room in two long strides. We tear down the hall.
If the twelve flights of stairs have a hundred and forty-four steps, I think my feet touch about thirty-six of them. It’s a wonder I don’t trip and tumble all the way to the bottom, breaking every bone in my body.
We rush past the sleeping deskman and into the cool night.
We freeze on the sidewalk when we see the scene before us.
Chapter Eleven
Adele
The explosion rocks the still night air like a freight train crossing a rickety wooden bridge. I cling to the fence for dear life, as superheated air whooshes past me with the force of a stick of mining TNT.
We’re lucky. Damn lucky.
The bomb blast knocks out a section of fence twenty yards to the left of us, leaving us relatively unscathed. Had we chosen that part of the fence to climb, we would’ve been hurtled to our deaths on the unforgiving rock slabs in the Yard.
The good news: The bomb has also taken out every last guard in the Yard behind us. Evidently they were running along the fence when it hit, trying to get to where we were climbing. Their bodies are scattered throughout the Yard, some quite a distance away from each other, tossed like ragdolls by the power of the explosion. I don’t know if they’re dead. Frankly, I don’t care.
The bad news: The guards on the other side of the fence were as protected as we were. They’re still standing under us, still aiming their guns at us. Given the stress they’re under—what with all their friends out cold on the other side and the bomb going off—I’m afraid they might just open fire and ask questions later.
We’re frozen in place, waiting to be torn apart by hot steel bullets. All watching the guards, waiting. It’s horrible. An eternity in hell wouldn’t be worse than these ten seconds. Or maybe it’s only five. I don’t know—all I know is it’s bad.
My whole body is crackling with a sharp pain in my bones. Did I get hit by one of the bullets back in the Pen and not even realize it? Or maybe shards of shrapnel are all throughout my body, ripping and tearing. I quickly scan my tunic for blood. Nothing.
Dark shadows move along the tops of some of the buildings, running, running, and then stopping, heaving something over the side…
BOOM!
The next bomb hits a building across the street from the Pen, directly beyond our section of fence. A maelstrom of glass and rock rubble rains down upon the guards and they do what any other well-trained officers of a fine juvenile delinquent facility would do when three of their guests are trying to escape: they run. For good measure, they even throw down their guns to allow themselves to run faster. I’ve never understood the expression turned tail and ran until now. If the guards had tails, they most definitely would’ve turned just before they took off.
I glance at the tops of the buildings, scanning for the shadows. There’s movement somewhere in my peripheral vision, but I can’t seem to pinpoint it. Who are the shadows? And why the hell are they blowing up subchapter 14 of the Moon Realm, of all places? My guesses are: 1) Sun Dweller military are attacking our subchapter because we only pay 80 percent taxes instead of 82 percent; 2) fed up, underpaid miners have gone crazy and are determined to destroy everything in sight; or 3) other Pen inmates have managed to get their hands on incendiaries and are shooting them off from the roof.
Cole swings his leg over the top and starts climbing down the other side. I’m still frozen in place, trying to process all that has happened. As I watch Cole shimmy down, I can see the hole in the building in the background. The scorching hole is about three times his size, making him look extremely fragile and exposed all alone on his side of the fence. Not that Tawni or I are any more protected.
I’m glad Tawni is there, because I’m not thinking clearly. I’m ready to continue my ascent to the top of the fence, to finish what we started, carry out the original plan, when she brushes past me, heading back down on the Pen-side of the fence.
“C’mon, this way, Adele,” she says.
Duh. Why fight gravity and barbed wire (and my aching bones) when we can go through the fence? Given a full fifth of the fence has been toppled, it’ll be far easier to just walk straight out.
We make it down without i
ncident and climb over the mangled fence. We fight through a few nests of barbed wire, but it isn’t too difficult. Just as we get on the street side of the fence, we see Cole waving wildly from down the road. Hurry! his body language screams.
Alarms begin whooping in the background, coming from the Pen. Jailbreak alarms. For us. The jailbreakers.
We run. We run because we’re worried about the alarms and the guards that will surely pour from the Pen as a result.
BOOM!
Hot stone shrapnel drills me in the cheek, snapping my head to the side. I see Cole and Tawni get pelted by similar flying projectiles, but none of us so much as considers stopping to check for serious injuries. I think we all know that the only thing to do is keep running, to try to get as far away from the commercial district as possible. Whoever is blasting away—the shadows on the roofs—isn’t showing any signs of stopping anytime soon.
It’s weird—the way the night can be lit up so brightly and quickly and then just as quickly return to darkness, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlights. That’s the way our run goes. Flash! And then dark. BOOM! And then silence. It’s eerie, like we’re in a war, bombs exploding all around us as we literally run for our lives.
The thundering explosions fade and the manufactured lightning grows distant as we escape the city limits, moving into the sparsely populated suburbs.
With each step another aching bone recovers, until I’m left feeling refreshed, like I just took a long nap. My body is strange these days.
None of us speak as we continue running, making our way around the huge stone columns that help support the cavern roof. I’m not sure how far or how long we run, or why we finally stop when we do. I think we all just stop at the same time, like robots, perfectly synchronized, slipping behind a high stone wall that rings one of the houses.
I’m breathing heavily—Tawni is, too. I’m out of shape. There isn’t much use for exercise inside the Pen. My mind is racing; my side is hurting. I feel a twinge of pain on my cheek and I flinch. Pressing a hand to my face, I feel the sticky wetness of drying blood. I guess the rock hit me harder than I thought.
“Do you…think…we’re safe?” I pant, directing the question at whoever has enough energy to listen.
Tawni hunches over, trying to catch her breath. Evidently she’s as out of shape as I am. Cole, on the other hand, has apparently kept up his fitness while on the inside. He doesn’t even seem winded.
“I expect we’re all right,” he says, glancing to his right and left, as if they might be surrounding us any second. “Especially given everything else that’s happening.”
Everything else. If only we knew what everything else is.
“What do you think is happening?” I say.
Cole laughs. “Uh, I think our subchapter is getting bombed to hell and back again.” He laughs again.
“No kidding,” I say. “I meant who do you think is doing it? And why? I saw people on the roofs of some of the buildings—or at least their shadows. They were the ones throwing the bombs.”
“My guys,” he says. “I paid a little extra to get a small diversion to ensure we’d get away.”
A day earlier, before I knew him at all, I might have believed him. Not anymore. “Lie,” I say. “Is now really the time for sarcasm?” Despite myself, I smile. “Are we really free?”
Tawni’s breath is mostly back. She rises to her full height, once more towering over me. “For the moment we are,” she says. “As long as we don’t do anything stupid and get ourselves caught.”
“Or killed,” Cole says.
I cringe. My mind is clearing and already I’m analyzing the situation. It’s like a puzzle. There are certain tasks we need to complete, in a certain order, and wrapped around them all is the requirement that we can’t get caught. The first task is obvious.
“We need to get rid of these tunics,” I say.
Cole smirks. “Yeah, I was thinking going naked was a good idea. They’d never expect it.” He starts to raise his tunic over his head, revealing his strong dark legs and a pair of tight, black briefs.
“That’s more than I wanted to see,” I say, looking away.
When I look back he’s lowered his tunic and is winking at me. I shake my head.
“Where are we going to get different clothes?” Tawni asks. “I mean, I’ve got money, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to walk into a shop wearing these.”
“Yeah, plus we’ll be public enemy number one after the breakout. Our faces will be plastered all over town,” I say.
“Do you think so?” Tawni says, suddenly looking excited. “I would die to see my parents’ faces when they see me on the news.”
“I knew I should’ve had them retake my mug shot,” Cole says. “I think I blinked during the first one.”
“No amount of retakes would be able to help you,” I say dryly.
Cole stares at me, his eyes widening and his mouth opening wide to form an O. “My gosh, Adele. Was that…was that a joke? Well played.”
I play-punch him in the arm and am surprised when he winces. At first I think he’s kidding, but then I notice the slight tear in his tunic. “Are you hurt?” I ask.
“I think we all are,” he says. “But nothing serious for me. Are you guys all right?”
Tawni glances at me. “Just a few cuts on my arms. I think Adele is hurt the worst.”
I raise a hand to my face, once more feeling the stickiness. “Nah,” I say, “it’s a scratch. Probably looks a lot worse than it is.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Tawni says.
Damn, I was hoping not to talk about my crushed ribs—where the prison guard smashed me with his club—just yet. Evidently Tawni saw more than I thought. “It’s not that bad, really,” I say. “I’ll deal with it once we find a better place to hide.” I try to breathe evenly, despite the pain.
Cole looks at me suspiciously, and then at Tawni. I squeeze my fists tight, hoping they’ll both just let it go. Thankfully, they do.
“Okay, where should we go?” Tawni asks.
“First, we need clothes,” I say, bringing our strange conversation full circle.
“I can help with that,” Cole says. “We’ll just go shopping somewhere less visible.”
Tawni frowns, clearly not understanding his meaning, but I get the message. “You want to steal them?” I confirm.
“Not steal, just borrow,” Cole says. When Tawni gives him a look, he adds, “We can even leave some money for them if you want.”
I’m not that comfortable with the idea of stealing from innocent people, especially because things are so tough in our subchapter at the moment, but it’s not like we have much of a choice. Tawni, however, isn’t such an easy sell.
“I’m not stealing from anyone,” she says firmly.
“Shhh, keep your voice down,” I say, glancing at the house for any signs of activity.
“Don’t worry, Tawns, I’ll do the stealing,” Cole volunteers. “Consider the clothes a gift from me and don’t worry about where I get them from.”
“No,” Tawni says, lowering her eyes and putting her hands on her hips. I’m not sure why she has such a big problem with it considering our situation. I guess she’s just a person of principle, unwilling to budge on certain things. It’s probably caused by her parents—her way of proving she isn’t like them, isn’t willing to cross some line in her head. I’m more of a realist.
“We don’t have much of a choice,” I offer.
Tawni’s eyes brighten all of a sudden, like she’s just thought of something. She’s really pretty when she gets excited. Her blue eyes sparkle against the whiteness of her hair. If she’d been born in the Sun Realm, she probably could’ve been a model in one of their fashion magazines. Funny how our lives are so affected by where we’re born.
“What?” I say.
“We’ll get the clothes from my parents’ house…my house,” she says.
“I’m not so sure that’s—” I start to say.
Cole just grunts and follows us. Given how long he’s known Tawni, I guess he knows how hopeless it is to argue with her when she sets her mind to something.
Stopping to catch our breaths was a bad idea. At least for me. My body is completely frozen up. My thighs and calves burn from the sprint through the Pen, the frantic climb up and then back down the fence, and our distance run across the subchapter. My back is sore and pleading with me to take a break—just rest for a minute, or even thirty seconds, please!—and my bruised side, well, it gave up on pleading long ago and is practically screaming at me to stop. I want to look at it, but am afraid to stop, because I might not be able to start again if I do. Plus, Cole and Tawni will see it then, too, and it might be too hard to convince them I’m okay. Instead, I just ignore my body. I’m sure it will punish me later.
We try to stay off the main roads, sticking to the shadowy fringes of houses and properties. As we walk, we talk, speaking in hushed tones. We can still hear the dull boom of explosions in the distance, can see intermittent flashes of light exposed against the dark backdrop of the giant cavern, but they’re neither loud enough nor bright enough to wake the sleeping Moon Dwellers. Closer to the city, I’m sure it would be pandemonium.
Tawni says, “I think it’s the Sun Dwellers.”
“What reason do they have for attacking?” Cole says. “They’ve got a sweet deal with us, and your boy Tristan”—he motions to me—“was just here shaking hands with the leaders and mugging for the cameras.”
