The Sun Dwellers

There’s a surge of warmth as blood pumps to my extremities in anticipation.

My fingers tingle with nervous energy.

We’ll go down fighting, one way or the other.

Ram’s the first one up, exploding from his haunches like a missile, his shoulder a battering ram, shattering the sternum of the unlucky soldier who was about to use a small snatch of rope to secure him. Tristan, Trevor, and I snap to our feet simultaneously, each attacking the closest soldier. Mine is tall and broad and holding a sword in front of him like he knows how to use it. But even he’s surprised by the swiftness and ferocity of my attack, probably because I’m a girl, and not particularly big. My father’s face appears in my mind a split-second before I hit the guy. His words: Even the big ones will fall if you hit them in the right places.

He swings high with his sword, a head-lopping attempt, but I duck under and thrust my leg straight up toward his crotch. The right place. He’s in agony the moment I co

One down. I’m due another. Gunshots explode through the night.

I whirl around, searching for my next victim, anticipating the need to dodge a bullet or an arrow—or maybe another blade. Or—

None of the above.

As it turns out, I was deemed a lesser threat. Tristan and Trevor are each finishing off their own victims—Trevor bashing a bulky dark-ski

“No!” Tristan shouts as he charges toward the line of enemies. Trevor and I follow in his wake, both yelling at the top of our lungs, as if the loudness of our yells will determine the strength of our attacks. I pass Tawni, who’s splayed on the ground, clutching a bloody knee, Roc hovering near her, a downed sun dweller soldier nearby. Roc got his man and I’m glad.

More gunfire: a soldier drops, then another. To my right: Ram’s fallen to two knees again, his chest covered in swarming darkness, a death plague eating away at him. Still shooting. Another enemy down.

Tristan smashes into one of the last four from the side, knocking him into another. The third and fourth men turn toward Tristan, trying to find their aim. I’m too far away. Trevor is closer, but not close enough.

Boom, boom!

The last two upright soldiers, one of whom is the ape man himself, slump to the ground, their eyes rolling around like marbles. The thump of Ram’s body follows a second later, his final act completed.

My head is on a swivel, trying to take in the carnage before me: Ram’s crumpled mass; Tristan kicking away the guns of the two soldiers he tackled, a strange guttural groan rising from his throat and out his mouth, moving toward Ram; Trevor rushing forward and kicking the final two men in the head, knocking them unconscious; Tawni sobbing somewhere behind me, Roc muttering soothing and utterly unbelievable words; red sun dweller soldiers strewn across the cave like boulders, some dead, some out cold. And me in the midst of it all, dazed and energized and sad.

I walk numbly to where Tristan is huddled over Ram, his head bowed, his hands folded reverently in front of him, as if in prayer. Tristan’s words about Ram echo in my head: Let’s just say our friendship has had its ups and downs. Right now we’re on an up.

The up has crashed to a lower down. The lowest.

I place a hesitant hand on Tristan’s shoulder. He jerks slightly as he tilts his head back to look at me. His eyes are rimmed with red and filled with moisture, but his cheeks are dry. I don’t expect he’ll shed tears today, not while in the Sun Realm with all of us one mistake, one wrong tu

“I’m sorry,” I say, and although I don’t know Ram that well, I avoid looking at the dead man’s face.

“Me, too,” Tristan says, standing up. “We have to make this look like a one-man job.” There’s coldness in his voice—his attempt at pushing aside the loss of a friend.

“Okay,” I say. “What do we do?”

Trevor’s picked up on the vibe and pitches in right away. “All the bodies have to be in the same general area, so it’s believable that Ram could have inflicted all the damage on his own.” He practically did anyway, I think.

“But they’re not all dead,” Roc chimes in. “One of them will just tell them the truth.”

“None of these guys will wake up anytime soon,” Tristan says, giving one of them a harsh kick to the head as if to illustrate his point, or possibly as a final act of revenge for what they did to Ram. “By the time they do, we’ll be long gone.”

“But they’ll know we’re coming,” Roc persists.

“That’s unavoidable,” Tristan says.

“Not if we take the rest of them out,” Trevor says. I bite my lip.

Tristan stares at Trevor. I know they’re both thinking it’s not only the smart thing but the just thing. My lip starts to bleed.

“We can’t kill them—they’re unarmed and unconscious,” Tawni says, the only voice for humanity in our group.

“It’s no different than what they did to Ram,” Tristan says flatly. “It’s what they deserve.”

Tawni looks at me, her eyes wide and white, all color sucked from them under the glare of the spotlight, which continues to cast a beam of light through the center of the cave. “Adele, tell them they can’t do this.”

I’ve endured so much death in just the last few weeks that I feel as if there’s a hole in my heart, because although I know I should be on Tawni’s side, I’m not. I understand what Tristan is feeling; it’s the same thing I felt when I killed my father’s executioner, when I killed Rivet after Cole’s murder. Although they were still conscious and dangerous when I killed them, had they not been, I would have done the same thing. Stabbed Rivet. Pumped hot steel into my dad’s murderer. If I could have killed them twice I would have.

I don’t say anything.

“Adele!” Tawni exclaims, horror creasing her tear-stained face. “Don’t let them do this.”

I don’t say anything, look away from my friend, a pathetic act of avoidance.

I look at Tristan. “She’s right,” he says, to my surprise.

“She is?” I say.

“I am?” Tawni says.

“No, Tristan, we don’t have a choi—” Trevor starts to say.

“There’s always a choice,” Tristan interrupts. “We can fight them, but we can’t become them. And we can thank Tawni for reminding us of that. C’mon, we don’t have time to sit around and talk about it.”

No one argues and everyone pitches in, dragging dead and unconscious bodies in a circle around Ram’s fallen form, like a final monument to his character, like he defended us from all of them. It’s not far from the truth.

Finished, we stand and pay our final respects to a man who was a mystery to me, maybe a mystery to all of us. The only words spoken are by Tristan: “You’ve more than paid your debt, new friend,” he says, and I wonder what his words mean, but don’t ask. It’s not the right time, nor can we linger much longer. We flick on our flashlights and extinguish the spotlight, thrusting us back into a shaky-red form of existence.