The Moon Dwellers

“Excuse me,” I say, still trying to avoid confrontation. They don’t move, just stand there staring. I try to squeeze through the middle of them, but they inch closer together, shoulder to shoulder. I attempt to skirt around them, but they move like a single organism, blocking the side. The only option left is through them. So be it.

I take a few steps back and charge.

The feint is as important as the attack itself.

I fake like I am going to try and club each of them over the head with a different one of my fists. Because all of my activity is aimed high, they counter with high defenses and attacks of their own. The guy on the left covers his head with his arms and hands to block my attack. The guy on the right goes on the offensive, attempting a haymaker punch intended to end the fight quickly, possibly breaking my jaw or giving me a mild concussion. Big mistake.

At the last second I throw my head back and launch both feet forward like torpedoes. Each boot heel hits one of the guys’ knees. I have so much forward momentum that the impact is like getting hit by a concrete block. I feel their knees buckle, crack, bend back the wrong way. And I hear their screams of pain, a harmonized “ARGHHH!” that will surely bring the pizza man ru

They tumble backwards out the open doorway and I land on them in a mess of arms and legs, at least two of which contain broken bones. Not mine.

While I attack, Roc is not idle. He is already out the door, grabbing me under my arms, hoisting me back to my feet. And then we are ru

The guys with the broken kneecaps won’t be chasing us, but we don’t know who else might come to their rescue. Given our first taste of subchapter 14 hospitality, we aren’t about to stick around and plead our case to the locals. Apparently, all those screaming, cheering girls—the ones chucking underwear—at the parade the day before live outside the town.

We don’t hear anyone pursuing us, but we don’t stop ru

The hotel guy should look up, considering the way we burst through the door, panting and sweating and out of control. But he doesn’t. He isn’t reading his paper anymore either. He’s rolled it up and is using it as a pillow, his craggly old cheek resting upon it, smudging the print all over his face. Buzzing snores arise from him. Deep sleeper, I think. Hear no evil, see no evil. The perfect place for us to stay.

I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of that tiny shoebox room. Roc and I sit down on the bed and look at each other, our eyes wide. Then we are laughing, in between taking deep, heaving breaths, happy to just be away from that terrible pizzeria.

“What was that all about?” Roc says.

“I du

“More like hate us.”

I nod. “Good thing they didn’t recognize me.”

“We can’t stay too much longer in this place,” Roc points out.

“I know. But I have to at least try to see her, to do something, to make sure she’s okay.”

“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 at midnight,” I say. “Let’s get some sleep.” My stomach is growling, but I ignore it.

We have three hours before midnight. 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. I have to be presentable if I am going to see her tonight.

By the time I get back to the room, Roc is 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, but that is one thing I am used to: stone. Everyone living in the Tri-Realms is used to it. I can’t wait for the day I’ll be free of it.

Before I drift off to sleep, I think about how I fainted when I was thinking about the girl. It is as if her beauty, or her presence—or maybe her aura?—is too much for my own soul to handle. I hope I won’t faint when I meet her—I’d die from embarrassment when I woke up.

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 am 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 once more reach our ears. 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 yard, 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 are 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 is wrong, and manages to thrust an arm behind me, catching me just before I collapse. “Tristan?” he says.

Thankfully, I don’t pass out. My legs feel like rubber and the whole room is spi

“It’s her,” I say. “We have to go.” Although she didn’t look at me, I felt the warmth of her green 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. I’m not used to things going my way.

Before leaving, I risk a final glance out the window, hoping I won’t be affected by seeing her again. 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 yard. They are headed straight for her, toting guns and nightsticks.

Time to go.

Roc is 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 is a wonder I don’t trip and tumble all the way to the bottom, breaking every bone in my body. As long as my heart is intact, I don’t care.

We rush past the sleeping deskman and into the cool night.

We freeze on the sidewalk when we see the scene before us.

Chapter Nine

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 are 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 ru