The Earth Dwellers (35 page)

When the next to last transporter shoots up the glass tube, into the rock-lined tunnel, and out of sight, I sit with my back against the wall and close my eyes.

I see nothing but her. Her sparkling green eyes grim with determination. Her knuckles white as she grips the gun. A swirl of shimmering, obsidian hair as she turns, aims…

BOOM!

The eruption is sharp and real in my memory, but even it’s a lie. When Adele shot the monster who was my father, I didn’t even know it was happening because Roc was gasping for air, bleeding from a self-inflicted stab wound in his gut. Dying.

But not dead.

When I hear the camouflaged gate to the not-so-secret cave whir open, so do my eyes. The image of Adele’s face fades as I blink away the false memory.

Tawni and General Rose enter, talking like old friends. Behind them, Elsey grips Roc’s hand, swinging it. When she sees me, her eyes light up.

“Tristan!” she says.

She releases Roc and runs to me, her one arm swinging awkwardly and slightly off-balance, hugging me around the waist. As I squeeze her tightly to me, the gesture feels so…normal. Like I’ve hugged Adele’s sister a million times over a million years. Like I’ve known her my whole life and like we never left to assassinate my father.

“I missed you, Else,” I say, feeling my chest tighten at the sight of the stump that used to be an arm jerking and almost reaching out. Like it wants to hug me too, not understanding why it’s not able to anymore, why it’s not long enough to do so. Because of my father’s command. The one that killed Ben and maimed Elsey.

“I missed you, too,” she says, looking up. “I prayed for you every night.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, still gritting my teeth at the memory of Elsey bleeding on the floor, screaming and screaming until the shock and the pain sent her into a fitful sleep. “You did?”

Elsey nods fervently. “You and Adele and Tawni and—”

“Not Roc?” I say, feigning astonishment. “Tell me you didn’t pray for him, too.”

She giggles and swats at me. “Of course I did. I prayed the most for Roc after he got hurt.”

“He stabbed himself, you know.”

“To save your sorry a—” Roc starts to say.

“Language,” I say, cutting him off.

Elsey giggles again. “I’ve heard worse than that, you know,” she says, matter-of-factly.

I’m sure she has. When her parents and Adele were dragged from their home and sentenced to life in prison, Elsey was taken to an orphanage in a rough part of the Moon Realm. Not an ideal place for a ten-year-old to grow up. I plaster a smile on, even though every muscle in my face is trying to pull my lips into a frown.

“Even still,” I say, “Roc should be kept away from children whenever possible.”

“I’m not a child,” she says, hands on her hips. “And Roc is a perfect gentleman.”

“See that, Tristy?” Roc says, grabbing me around the shoulders. “I’m a perfect gentleman.” He does a perfect imitation of Elsey’s overly formal way of speaking, all the way down to the high pitch and raised chin, which sends her squealing with laughter.

She tries to grab his hand again, but he darts away, and she chases him around the cave, leaving her mother shaking her head and the engineers cringing as Roc nearly crashes into something—a control panel for the transporter, I think—that looks expensive and complicated.

“You better watch out, Tawni,” I say, “it seems you’ve got competition.”

Tawni brushes a loose strand of blond hair away from her face. “Don’t I know it. Since we met up, those two have been inseparable.”

For a moment—just a moment—I forget where we are and why we’re here. As I watch Roc dance out of another attempt by Elsey to grab him, I wonder whether we could ever experience true happiness in a better time, in a better place.

I hope so. Otherwise what are we fighting for?

Roc and Elsey don’t stop their game of tag until the now-empty transporter descends slowly from the roof. No one speaks as the doors open, revealing the dimly lit interior.

“Ride’s here,” Roc says unnecessarily.

“This will take us above?” Elsey asks.

“Just wait,” Roc says, “the surface is the coolest thing you’ll ever see. Try not to get bit by the flying monkeys.”

Elsey’s eyes widen. “There are fly—”

“Usually the twelve-legged mountain lions will protect you from the flying monkeys,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

“Although if they’re really hungry, sometimes they prefer little girls to flying monkeys,” Roc adds, tickling Elsey.

Giggling, she pushes him away. “They do not!”

“Guess you’ll find out,” I say, stepping into the glass enclosure.

General Rose presses a button to open the cave door, ushering in a dozen soldiers. “It’s time,” she says.

Roc, Tawni and Elsey step in next to me, followed closely by the final group of soldiers. Anna squeezes in last of all, barely able to fit.

The door closes and we shoot straight through the ceiling.

Chapter Forty

Adele

“A
nd then I snuck into the New City,” I say, ending my story. Twice I’ve had to stop because the sounds of the guards searching the area got too close for comfort. But like Jocelyn guessed, no one’s looked in her room yet. But they will eventually.

The tears that filled her eyes when I told her about her husband pitting her sons against each other in a fight to the death finally break free, spilling down her cheeks, glistening like liquid diamonds.

She stands and looks away from me and I wonder if I’ve said too much, if I’ve broken her spirit. Should I have lied about Killen and let Tristan tell her the truth later? I know that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have lied to a woman who’s been through so much.

She speaks to the window. “I’ve known for a long time that Killen had too much of Edward in him. I tried to undo the damage that my husband’s brainwashing did to him, but I—I failed.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. She still won’t look at me. “He never had Tristan’s goodness inside him. He never wanted it. It’s not your fault. Nor Killen’s. Nailin—I mean, your husband—is the only one to blame here. You did everything you could.”

“Did I?” she says, turning suddenly and sharply to look at me. Her eyes are the clearest I’ve seen yet, as crystal blue as Tristan’s. I know she’s not really asking me—she’s asking herself.

I let the question hang in the air, my gaze wandering past her to the screen on the wall, where a new image has appeared. I gasp, rising to my feet. “No, no, no, no,” I say, my heart slamming around in my chest. But no matter how many times I refute the image with my lips, it remains, as clear as the sparklingly clean glass windows of the New City buildings.

Lin’s face fills the screen, her expression frozen in a sneer, her eyes dark and stormy.

“You know her?” Jocelyn says, turning the volume on once more.

I don’t answer, just listen. “This just in,” a voice says. “As the ongoing search for the dangerous soldier calling herself Tawni Sanders tightens, at least one mystery has been solved. Sixteen-year-old Malindra Elliot, niece of Avery Elliot, has been taken into custody under suspicions of aiding and abetting Tawni Sanders. According to sources close to the investigation, Lin has been uncooperative and somewhat belligerent during early questioning. Police are confident that, given time, they’ll be able to draw the information they need from Ms. Elliot.”

The room begins to spin. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I think as I try to focus on the screen, which seems to be darting away from my gaze. I stumble and would fall if not for the hand that grabs my arm. Jocelyn guides me back onto the bed as the report continues.

“Dr. Wayne Zhou, government psychologist, has reviewed the facts of the case and his preliminary hypothesis is that Tawni Sanders is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of her time spent in combat. Although no one knows exactly who she really is, or what unit she was stationed with, it’s clear from the way she emerged from the desert into the New City that she’s seen and experienced the terrible atrocities carried out by the natives on our people.”

“BS,” I say.

“It’s normal,” Jocelyn says.

“What is?” I say, massaging my temples, the room finally slowing its rotation.

“The propaganda. It’s what Lecter does to control things. He controls the information so he controls the people.”

“No one actually believes this crap, do they?” I ask, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t exactly get to interact with anyone other than Borg. But so far it’s seemed to have worked for him.”

“Why do you call him that?” I snap, unable to hide the fire in my words.

“What?” she says, like she doesn’t understand.

“You keep calling Lecter, Borg, like he’s someone you’re fond of. Why?”

“He is…was…someone I was fond of.”

I cringe, my hands balling in my lap. Look away. She’s not the strong woman I’d built up in my imagination. Falling for psycho after psycho.

“It’s complicated,” she says.

“Then explain it,” I say coldly.

She sighs. “I—I’d gotten so used to being treated like a rat, like a thing, by Edw—by my husband—that when Bor—Lecter”—she says his last name slowly, like she’s not used to it—“treated me with kindness, I reached for it, like a drug, grabbed hold of it. I needed some kindness.”

“Yeah, but—”

She rushes on. “And at first the way he talked about his plans…about equality for all people, expanding the population, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked and sheltering the homeless…it was exciting. It was what I wanted to hear. No, what I
needed
to hear. The exact opposite of my husband. I fell for it, grew fond of hearing his vision, of having normal meals with him, of talking to someone who seemed interested in what I had to say…”

“And then it all changed.” I’m trying to hear her side, but I still can’t understand how she could be so blind.

“Yes. The first time I questioned something that didn’t make sense…let’s just say I’ll never forget his eyes. They were so dark, so full of anger, and then poof! The smile was back, the sparkling eyes, the happy-go-lucky expression. He very calmly and logically explained why I was wrong. But I knew something didn’t make sense.”

“And the more you questioned, the more you got the
other
Lecter,” I say.

She nods. “But I still can’t seem to make sense of him. How he could seem so kind and caring one minute, and so brooding and threatening the next.”

“He’s a liar,” I say. “It’s that simple.”

Her face twitches, like she’s been bitten or slapped. I can see the torment in her expression. This woman has gone from the devil to a demon and it’s done things to her I may never fully understand. In her current state, she can’t be reasoned with, so I just add, “But I can see how hard all of this has been.” It’s an understatement so deep I might as well be saying it from the Star Realm.

She just nods, her face going back to normal. “What are you going to do?” she asks.

That’s the question, isn’t it? I’m out of options. The streets are too dangerous, the chances of getting back to Avery slim to none. He’s probably being watched anyway, if he hasn’t been imprisoned along with Lin. There’s no chance of me getting to either of the entrances to the city—the one from underground or the one from the desert—so I can’t help Tristan and those on the outside.

I have only one choice, but I can’t tell Jocelyn, can I?
I’m going to kill Lecter
, I think.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I say.

~~~

I awake to darkness. Where am I?

Mother? Elsey? I almost say their names, but my lips are too dry and chapped to speak.

I was dreaming, something that’s left me feeling warm and alive. What was my dream about? Something about my family? I frown, trying to remember. Try to sit up.

Crack!

“Ahh!” I cry out as sharp pain rips through my skull. I slump back, raising one hand to rub my head and the other to feel for what hit me. Wood. Hard. Very hard.

The truth flashes back. Killing the presidential guards. Climbing the wall. Somehow, almost miraculously finding Tristan’s mother, crawling through her window. Rolling under her bed to get some much needed sleep. No Elsey. No Mother. No Tristan.

There’s a rustle beside me and I stiffen. “What happened?” Jocelyn’s voice says. I must’ve woken her when I cried out.

“Hit my head,” I say. “I’m okay.”

“It’s not morning yet,” she says.

Though I should try, there’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep, not when Borg Lecter might already be back, sleeping under the same roof as me.

I hear Jocelyn roll over, and soon the soft sounds of sleep roll past me.

My head throbs, but I don’t mind it. The pain helps sharpen my mind, pulls me away from sleep, from the dream…