The Moon Dwellers (22 page)

When he sees
us standing i
n front of our cells, he stops, looking confused.
He rubs his eyes, as if he thinks
the shadows a
re playing tricks on him.

We ru
n.

It does
n’
t take him long to realize we are real.
He opens
f
ire on us with the big gun he i
s
hefting.
Yeah, he actually shoots
at the backs of two
defenseless teenage girls who a
re inside a secure facility, presumably for the petty crime of breaking curfew.
I don’t know where the Pen hires these psychos from, but I mak
e a mental note to write a letter to the government about them.
The same government that abducted my parents.
Yeah
right, like they
a
re going to
listen to me.

At first I don’t realize what is happening.
As I flee, I feel
a weird rush of air burst past one of my ears
, a
nd then see
a spark to my right
when something glances off the wall.
It isn’t until we reach
the end of the hall a
nd I see the bullet holes that I know for sure that we a
re being
shot at.
I know, it should be
obvious, what with the thundering booms
from the dude’s rifle, but I have
nev
er been shot at before, so I do
n’t really have anything to compare it to.

S
omehow we manage
to get down that first hall
without getting shot, but we a
ren’t even close to being out of the
mines
yet.
We start
to turn right, to take the f
astest route to the yard, but a
re
forced to veer left when we see
th
ree more guards charging toward
us.
A few more bullets whiz
past
, shot by the
original guard.
I hope he
hit
s
the other guards by
mistake
.

The three new guards a
re yelling to the other guard to “S
top freaking shooting!” which gi
v
e
s
me hope that perhaps they
a
ren’t
all
so trigger happy.
With a parade o
f slapp
ing feet behind us, we ta
k
e
the long way around to the yard.

It i
s intense, I gotta say.
More intense than anything I’
ve
experienced in my entire seventeen years of life.
Especially because of the guard with the loose trigger finger.
When you’re moving that fast and you know at any moment you could get knocked flat on your face by a bullet in the back—well, that’s pretty intense.

As we round the next bend, the sweat i
s
dripping into my face and I have
to use the sleeve of my gray prisoner’s tunic to wipe it away.
I try
to
stay with Tawni, but her legs a
re longer than mine and her
long, graceful strides soon edge
her several
paces ahead.
Just as she passes
a corrid
or on her right, a guard steps
out, f
acing me.
He i
s holding a th
ick black nightstick and looks
ready to use it.

I leap
, aiming a high kick
at his face and hoping he will
get th
e worst of whatever collision is about to occur.
I catch
him high, just above his left eye, but not befor
e he i
s able to take a hal
f swing with his club.
Thank G
od he does
n’t have time to wind up the entire way.
CRACK!
I feel
the rod slam into my ribs, sending sh
ivers
of pain through my stomach and into my chest.

There is a crunch as I land
on top of him, one foot on his head and the other o
n his chest.
I think I might’
ve broken
his sternum.
Somehow I manage
to keep my footing and stumble off of him, using my momentum to continue moving forward.

Tawni
hears
the commotion and
stops
, waiting for me
to catch up.
I try
to
yell, “Keep running!” but it co
me
s out as a wheeze—I am
having trouble getting air into my lungs after the h
it from the nightstick.
I wave
Tawni on with my hand and she ge
t
s the message.
She turns
and
continues
running, but at a
slower pace, until I am
a
ble to get alongside her.
We ru
n abreast at my slower pace, cutt
ing through the back entrance to
the cafeteria, past the benches and long tables, and out the
front entrance.
Each step sends
shockwaves through me
,
and my stomach h
eaves
, threatening
to toss up whatever gunk I ate
for dinner.

Once out of the eatery, we cut sha
rply to the left and then push
through the outer door in tandem
, crashing each
of the
double
door
s
into the stone wall outside.
Compared to the air inside
the Pen, the outer air feels fresh and quickly fills
my faltering lungs.
Perhaps if I hadn’t lived in caves my
entire life, the air would feel thick, dense, but to me it is as fresh as it ge
t
s
.

A dull light illuminates
us for a moment, before we h
ave
a chance to duck against the wall.

Cole i
s waiting just outside
, in the shadows
.

“Could you
be a little quieter!” he hisses
.
“Someone’s gonna hear us!”

“Too late for that,” I choke
out.

“They’re after us,” Tawni says
, grabbing Cole
’s hands and forcing him toward
the fence.

We have
no idea whether Cole’s guy came
through for us, but by G
od we a
re going to
try anyway.
Cole finally seems
to grasp the urgency and powers
ahead, reaching the fence about
five seconds before us.
He uses
the time to rip his
prisoner’s tunic
over his head and chuck it against the fence.

Nothing.
No crackle of electricity, no smell of burning cloth
, nothing.
The fence’s power i
s off—but for how long?

We aren’t about to sit
and place bets.
Cole
already
has his tunic back on and is
a quarter of the way to
the top when Tawni and I start climbing.
As usual, she ge
t
s
in front of me immediately, using her long reach to skip as
many rungs as possible.
I hear a shout from the yard, but don’t risk looking back.
I have
to keep climbing.
Str
etching my arms over my head mak
e
s my stomach throb and I can
feel
my
crushed ribs grating a
gainst each other.
But I push
through
it
, even
when
the pain gro
w
s so bad that I start
seeing stars
.

We are so close I can
practically smell the freedom.

So close.

And yet so far.

Cole i
s straddling the barbed wire at the top of the fence, trying to avoid ge
tting poked somewhere that will
have
a permanent impact, when I hear the next shout.
It i
sn’t from the yard this time, but from the street outside the fence.

This time I look.
I do
n’t eve
n have to turn my head, just have
to look down.
Half a dozen guards, armed to the teeth with automatic weapons
, which are pointed right at us, a
re shouting for us to get down.

We a
re trapped like rats.

Chapter Eight

Tristan

W
hen we exit the transporter, it i
s getting very dark in subchapter 14.
The day lights on
the roof of the cavern—which are already dim to begin with—are
nearly extinguis
hed, simulating twilight.
I am glad.
It mak
e
s
it easier to avoid being spotted.

Although most of the time the many subch
apters in the Moon Realm blend
to
gether in my memory, becoming
one continu
ous subchapter in my mind, I have
a pretty good idea of the layout
of subchapter 14 because we
just visited
it
.
Roc also has a map—he has
a map for every pla
ce in the Tri-Realms—and we use
it
,
along with our memories
,
to navigate our way from the transporter station, through the streets past the
familiar
government buildings, and into the light commercial d
istrict, near where the Pen i
s located.

I still have
n’t
worked out what to do when we ge
t there.

We emerge
from a crowded street, full of people bartering goods and servi
ces for their next meal, and see
the intimidating fence surrounding the Pen.
It
i
s
a formidable obstacle, complete
with barbed wire and signs warning of “Electrified Fen
ce—Keep Back!”
It certainly mak
e
s
you appreciate being on the outside of it.

T
he rock yard beyond the fence is empty.
It’
s
getting late and the inmates a
re pro
bably
in their cells.
I’
ve
n
ever visited the Pen before—
never had a reason to—so I do
n’t know their rules around prisoner visitation.

We have
a choice to make.
Hole up for the night and wait until morning to try to get inside the Pen, or give it a
try now, at a time which will
be considera
bly more suspicious.
We decide
to get a hotel room first.

The only optio
n in near vicinity to the Pen i
s a ratty old building across the road.
The anc
ient clerk at the front desk has
a wispy white beard and pockmarks covering the whole of his face.

“We’d like a room
for the night
,” I say
gruffly.

The guy
does
n’t bother to look
up from the newspaper he i
s rea
ding.
“Which one would ya like?
” he says
.

“Do you have anything available that overlooks the Pen?
” I ask
.

The man
starts to chuckle, but then start
s
coughing—a heaving, wheezing blast o
f air from his mouth that reeks of disease.
When he ge
t
s control of his lungs, he says
, “We currently have one hundred percent availability.”