The Moon Dwellers

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 ru

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 ru

“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.

“Ra

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, ru

“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 wanted 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 ru

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.