Moongazer

by Mari Mancusi

  "I should have known they'd try to bring you back."

  I stop walking. "Who?" I ask, not turning around.

  "The Eclipsers," Dawn replies, his voice sounding tired and drained. "Glenda and her gang. I told them not to. Said you'd made your choice and were gone forever. But they couldn't accept that. They never could."

  I turn around slowly, curiosity eroding my anger. "Why did Glenda tell me to call you, then? If you're all anti me being here and all."

  Dawn shrugs. "She probably figured if I saw you again I'd take pity on you. Forgive you. Hop back on the Eclipser bandwagon." He scowls again, and I notice his beautiful, angry eyes are shining, wet. "But I don't forgive you. And I never will. To me, you'll always be a traitor." His voice cracks. "I hate you, Mariah Quinn."

  He turns away, but not before I can see his face start to crumble. Pain radiates from his body as he leans against the brick wall, stone cold but ashen faced. I have to fight the nearly overwhelming urge to walk over and hug him. To pull him into a warm embrace and tell him everything will be okay. Not that I have any idea of whether or not that's true.

  "I'm sorry," I say in my gentlest voice, placing a hand on his back. I don't have a clue as to what I'm apologizing for, but I feel the need to say something. Of course, I should be insisting I'm not Mariah, but I don't want to set him off all over again.

  He turns around slowly, looking down at me with his glorious eyes, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me again. Instead, he reaches up and strokes my face with the back of his hand. So soft, so tender. The wisp of a butterfly's wing against my cheek.

  "Look 'Ri, we can't stay here," he murmurs. "It's too dangerous for a Dark Sider to be so close to Luna Park. We must go under."

  I cock my head in confusion. "Under?"

  "We can hide out at my house until I inform the Eclipsers you're back. I'm sure they're waiting for you." He offers his hand. "Come on."

  "I don't know if that's a good idea...."

  Dawn frowns and drops his hand. Then he reaches

  behind him and pulls out a small, sleek silver knife, pointing it directly at my heart. I jump back, shocked.

  "I'm sorry to do this," he says in a terse but even voice. "But if you value your life-what's left of it, anyway-you'll come with me."

  3

  I take a step back, surprised, shocked, stunned. Isn't Dawn supposed to be one of the good guys? The one Glenda told me I should seek out? So how come he's got a knife pulled on me? On the Good Guy scale of one to ten, slicing and dicing the heroine hovers a bit below negative two in my book. Of course, that's assuming I am the heroine in this story. At the moment, I'm not a hundred percent on that.

  Dawn seems to share my confusion. He's white knuckling the blade, hands trembling. Could a precisely placed kick knock it out of his grasp, or will that impulsive trick only leave me with a bloodied foot? My life may depend on the answer. And right now, my only friend is surprise.

  Do it!

  Suddenly, a strange confidence wells up inside me. For no logical reason at all, I know-beyond the shadow of a doubt-that I can take this man in a fight. Steal the blade and turn the tables, draw all the power into my own two hands.

  And so, as if compelled by ancient training I never had, I hold up my hands in fake surrender and take a step forward, waiting for the moment I see him relaxing his grip, thinking I'll give in sweetly and come along like a good little girl. At that instant, I launch into a roundhouse kick, my heel slamming into his palm. With a shocked grunt, he loses his grasp on the weapon, sending it skittering across the ground. I lunge forward, head-butting him with all my might. Our skulls collide with a sick clunking sound. He flails, stumbling backward. Seeing stars myself, I lose my balance, falling into him, and soon we're both entangled on the floor.

  Now I need that knife. I roll off my would-be kidnapper, scrambling to my feet, ready to make a mad dash for it. But Dawn reacts, grabbing my boot heel, and I trip, falling flat on my face, hands and chest slamming into the hard cold street. For a moment I can't breathe. The wind is literally stolen from my lungs. Dawn takes advantage with lightning speed, dragging me by my heel, then my ankle. I kick backward, using my free foot to slam my boot into his face. He bellows in rage but can't hold on. I wiggle forward along the ground like a worm, fingers outstretched, reaching, straining only millimeters away from the weapon. Finally I feel its cold metal connect with my hand. Got it! Wrapping my fingers around the knife hilt, I flip over, grasping it in both hands, waving it unsteadily in his direction. Advantage: me.

  "Freeze!" I command. "Don't fucking move a muscle." Dawn starts laughing.

  I squint at him, confused and angered by his reaction. I just bested him in a fight. I've got a knife and I'm poised to strike. He's lying there, helpless, bloody, and bruised. Left eye swollen, his lip's split, and his nose is gushing. What the hell does he find so funny?

  "That was great. You're a much better fighter than you used to be," he remarks, shaking his head with apparent amusement. "Get a lot of practice on Earth?"

  "Shut up. I'll gut you," I growl, struggling to maintain some semblance of control of the situation. Kind of hard to do when the man you're threatening to kill is too busy laughing at you to care.

  "Go ahead and try," he says, brushing himself off and climbing to his feet.

  "Hey! I said freeze!"

  He grins cockily, his bloody face both arrogant and disturbingly sexy. He holds up his hands, but the gesture is one of amusement instead of surrender. "Oh, go ahead, Sister Mariah," he snorts. "I dare you. And then, when you're done fooling around, get down the damn Rabbit Hole before the patrol comes for us."

  My fingers caress the hilt, my pulse beating a mile a minute, knowing he's called my bluff. There's no way I can bring myself to drive a blade through an actual person, extinguish their spark of life with my own two hands. Dawn, somehow, seems to know this. And he's using this knowledge to turn the tables once again, effortlessly taking back control of the situation.

  I lower the knife, defeated. Dawn smirks, as if he knew all along I didn't have it in me. I want to smack the self-satisfied grin right off his face. But suddenly I feel too weary to fight.

  "Earth make you weak? Cause you to lose your nerve? Don't worry, 'RI," he says, walking over and holding out a hand, inviting me to get up off the ground. "It's all good."

  His patronizing attitude burns in my gut. I ignore his hand and scramble up by myself. "Watch it. I can always change my mind," I remind him, shoving the knife into my boot.

  "Of course, princess. I'll be on my best behavior. Dark Sider's honor."

  We stare at each other for a moment, me angry, his face cocky with a trace of underlying sadness. Neither of us seems willing to look away first. To submit to the other. That is, until a siren's mournful wail shatters the silence. Dawn's arrogant expression fades, and concern takes its place.

  "Enough games," he says. "That's the Park Patrol. Underground. Now." He turns tail and strides out of the alley and onto the street. He pauses, pivoting back to me, his face beseeching. "Seriously, 'Ri. You don't want to be caught out here alone."

  I want to tell him to go to hell, but something in his voice gives me pause: serious concern, laced with fear. Could we really be in danger? I remember Glenda's Words. Trust Dawn. At the end of the day, that's all I have to go on in this crazy world. I'm a stranger in a strange land, and Dawn's the only one I've met so far who seems to know why I'm here. Even if his comments don't make any sense.

  "Okay," I agree, firming my resolve. After all, I still have the knife. I can always escape later. "Lead the way."

  He nods and I follow him out of the alley and onto the street. We make a left, walking briskly past Moongazer Station, and then another left turn at an abandoned building. Dawn stops in front of a small manhole cover in the center of the street, silhouetted in sickly orange by one halfheartedly flickering streetlight above. He gets down on his knees and starts twisting it in his hands.

  The siren
wails again. This time louder. Closer.

  Dawn looks up. "Give me a hand with this," he orders. "We don't have much time."

  I drop to my knees, still sore from our fight, and help him wrench the cover off. We toss it to one side, revealing a metal ladder leading down into the blackness. Just like in my dream. The one where I was on the other side, in the pit, banging on the manhole cover above me, unable to get back up. I shiver, praying this will not be some one-way trip as well.

  "Go ahead, I'll be right behind you," Dawn instructs.

  I stare down into the hole, trying to work up my nerve. I've always been a bit claustrophobic, even when I'm not running around in some kind of weird post apocalyptic underground dream world. Climbing down into a black pit with no idea of what awaits me below? That's a bit much to swallow.

  The siren wails again. Piercing. Right around the corner now from the sound of it.

  "They're at Moongazer Station," Dawn says in a hoarse whisper. "They'll be here any second. Please, Mariah. Just go down the damn Rabbit Hole."

  The panic in his voice compels me to obey. I suck in a breath, wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt, then stick my legs down the hole. Carefully I find each foothold, securing my step before lowering myself to the next rung. The blackness quickly swallows me with only a dim circle of light from the opening above to guide my way. Down, down, down. How deep is this "rabbit hole" anyway? And what if there are multi-sized doors and cupcakes reading EAT ME at the bottom?

  I glance up to see Dawn's silhouette far above as he starts his own descent. He's still way up high. If I wanted, I imagine I could jump off the ladder now and make a run for it. But where would I go? I'm completely at his mercy. Better to just bide my time, figure out what's going on, and then make my escape.

  Or, better yet, wake up. Realize this is all just another one of my psychotic dreams. That's still a possibility, right? But something inside me, some niggling know-it-all voice, tells me that this isn't like the other times. Those dreams were ethereal, mystical, ungrounded in any kind of reality. This seems different. Solid. Like I'm ... actually here. In the present. Now.

  Dawn drags the cover over the manhole and the dim light above me fades until it is gone altogether. The metal has clanked into place, leaving us smothered in blackness. I hold out my hand; it's so dark I can't even see it. Cave darkness. Panic bubbles into my throat, but I swallow and force myself to begin my breathing exercises as I keep climbing farther down. No time to freak out. I need to keep my wits about me now more than ever.

  The ladder ends and my boots struggle to find purchase on a surprisingly slick metal-surfaced road. My kingdom for a pair of sneakers. It seems a bit lighter down here and I notice there's dim crimson-colored track lighting running along a small underground road. I use the illumination to take stock of my surroundings. It appears I'm in some kind of wide circular aqueduct, a smooth stone tube, like a sewer (and it certainly smells like one), but with a metal highway running its length. Every few feet, mammoth fans, cut into the stone, blast hot, stale air through the tunnel, whirring loudly, drowning out most other sounds. I gasp, recognizing the scene. The tunnel from my dream. It has to be.

  What if the dream was a premonition of some sort? What if there are uniformed men just around the corner, ready to chase me, to pin me down, to "send me to the moon"? Should I be ready to run?

  My panicked thoughts are interrupted as Dawn jumps down off the ladder, landing with a thud by my side. He pulls an industrial-strength flashlight from a utility belt and switches it on. I relax a bit. In my dream I was alone. Here, at the very least, I have my reluctant hero/kidnapper by my side. Can I trust him? I have no idea. But what choice do I have?

  "Ready?" he asks. "My bike's stashed in a side tunnel nearby. I don't think they saw us and I did lock the hole, but I don't want to take any chances."

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "I told you. To my house. I'll contact Glenda and the Eclipsers and let them know you're here." He grunts. "They can come get you and then you won't have to deal with me anymore."

  "Uh, okay." At least Glenda will be a familiar face. Maybe she can tell me what the hell is going on.

  Dawn leads me down the corridor, his flashlight casting sharp silhouettes against the smooth cave walls. I resist the urge of grabbing his arm like a girly girl frightened by her own shadow. I square my shoulders and force myself to keep a brave face. Can't let him know how freaked out I am; he might try to take advantage.

  The tunnel breaks ahead, forking one way into an unlit side passage. Dawn motions for me to wait and then disappears into the darkness, returning a moment later leading a small motorcycle. He straddles it and then instructs me to hop on the back, after handing me a helmet. I hesitate at first, weigh my options, then reluctantly pull the helmet over my head and climb on.

  "No handholds," I remark, looking from side to side on the bike.

  "Sorry, princess," Dawn says mildly, "you're just going to have to hold on to me."

  I want to be annoyed at that, but my body betrays me with a shiver of involuntary excitement. The idea of wrapping my arms around this stunning specimen of a man, pressing my chest against his taut back and holding on for dear life ...

  God, Skye. I shake my head. Sexually frustrated much? "Come on. We've got to go," Dawn prompts, tapping his fingers against the handlebars.

  Seeing no alternative, I tentatively guide my arms around him, clasping my hands together in front. His chest is as built as I had imagined it. Solid, toned. Not an ounce of fat encasing his well-defined ribs. With me crushed against him, the tingling feeling returns and I find myself resting my head against his back, even though it's not necessary for my safety. I can feel his heartbeat through his leather jacket, thudding too fast. Matching the beats of my own. Am I having a strange effect on him as well? Is all the bitter sarcasm just a cover for his underlying attraction?

  He starts the engine and the bike roars to life. It's then that I realize this is not a regular motorcycle.

  Namely because regular motorcycles do not hover six inches off the ground.

  I open my mouth to remark on the unusual mode of transportation, but my words are drowned out as Dawn releases the brake and we begin to fly down the corridor. Yes, literally fly.

  The wind whips through my hair as we soar down the road. The ride is smooth; by hovering we avoid any potholes or rocks. Dawn seems to steer the bike effort1 Sly tipping to one side and then the other as he maneuvers down the sharp tunnel turns. I tighten my grip around him-we have to be going nearly a hundred miles an hour-and I wonder what would happen if someone comes around the corner in the other direction. A high-speed flying collision? No, thanks.

  It doesn't happen. About ten minutes later Dawn slows the bike. I tilt my head to the side to get a better glimpse as to why we've stopped. We've come to a large, rusty gate that extends from the ground to the cave ceiling. Two identical spotlights cast shards of illumination against its closed metal mouth.

  "Welcome back to the Dark Side," Dawn says grimly. He presses a button and the bike sinks back to the earth. He dismounts and walks over to the gate.

  "The dark side?" I can't help but laugh. "As in, `Use the force, Luke'?"

  "Hardy-har-har," Dawn mutters, not sounding the least bit amused. But he does seem to recognize the Star Wars reference. Weird, for such an Un-Earthlike place. "Dark Side. Like, the place where the Dark Siders live," he clarifies with more than a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. "You know, those of us deemed unworthy to mingle with the Indys of Luna Park?"

  "Indys?"

  He sighs. "You really have forgotten everything, haven't you? Indys. Short for Independents. The free citizens of Terra. The bankers and lawyers and teachers and other white-collar types. They live on Level One of the underground strata in their luxurious condos with sparkling swimming pools, tennis courts, and expensive restaurants. While we, the working class, the ones who keep Terra running, are trapped down here in Stratum Two. Doomed to live in the dirt and
squalor and work like slaves our entire lives."

  "You're really forced to live down here? That's terrible."

  Dawn chokes out a laugh. "Funny you should say that." He presses his thumb against a small screen embedded into the gate. The device beeps twice and the gate creaks open. "I mean, seeing how you betrayed us and all."

  I cock my head in confusion. Betrayed them? Is that what he thinks? That this Mariah girl did some kind of double cross? I guess that must be why he seems to hate her so much.

  Dawn joins me back on the bike and turns over the engine, drowning out my billion questions, so I put them temporarily away and content myself to just wait and see. After all, what choice do I have?

  We head through the gates and into the tunnel beyond. The Dark Side is very unlike the town I found one stratum above, where buildings, while decrepit, still seemed semi normal and recognizable. This place is more like an ant farm, an intricate set of tunnels with twisty, low-ceilinged passageways and doors embedded in the rocks every few feet.

  Dawn banks a sharp left, we glide down a corridor, and suddenly the world opens up into what appears to be a town square: rusty trailers haphazardly plopped down in random spots, tattered canopies, and multicolored Christmas lights serving as gaudy decoration. We pass junk stores selling indecipherable odds and ends, and tiny grocers doling out moldy vegetables and crusty breads. Scantily clad women hang out of rusty metal buildings that presumably serve as brothels.

  Steam rises from the grated floor, and condensation drips from the high ceiling, giving the impression of a drizzly rain. The place is packed, too many people for such a small area, all milling about, many waiting in ridiculously long lines for the aforementioned groceries and junk. Most are dressed in gray rags and appear scrawny, impoverished, and blindingly pale.

  Dawn parks his bike and we disembark. He gestures to the scene. "Spark any memories?" he asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

  I shake my head. I've never seen anything so foreign in my whole life. I try to imagine what living down here would be like. Trapped in an underground ant world with no hope of ever going up to the surface. Living your whole life as a blind mole without ever catching the merest glimpse of the sun. Sad. So sad.