The Moon Dwellers (35 page)

Next they show
a girl named Tawni, with stark white hair and long, thin features.
I recognize he
r immediately as the girl who was
sitting next to the gre
en-eyed girl the first time I saw
her.
Tawni i
s painted by the media as a good kid who made some bad choices, the latest being her choice of companions in the escape from the Pen.
Her pare
nts are prominent,
wealthy figures in the subchapter 14 community.
They show
a photo of her house.

“Oh my gosh,” Roc says
, watching over my shoulder, “we passed right by her house last night!”

I glance
a
t him.
“You think they might’
ve been hiding out with her parents?”

“Possibly,” Roc says
.

“We’ll check it out before we go into the caves.”

Finally the
y
show
her
.
Her
sad, green eyes suddenly fill
the screen, and then t
he rest of her features follow as they pan
out of the strange choice of close
-
up.
I
was
right.
Green eyes
.
I
don’t know how I knew.
But I did.

Her face is flawless.
Her lips a
re in a tig
ht line, but behind them I can
fee
l the warmth of a smile that has
n’t been used
in a long time.
Her cheeks ar
e pale, but
well-constructed
.
Her hair i
s radiant black, cascading down from her head and in front of her shoulders.
Not only beautiful, she looks
capable, a more import
ant trait in the world she lives
in.

And she has
a na
me!
For the few days since I’
d
first seen her, she’
s
just been a face, an idea, but now the name
Adele
Rose
shivers
through my mind
and body like the wings on
a moth
.
Adele and Tristan
.
Tristan and Adele
.
Like
th
e love
-
struck schoolboy that I am, our names flit
through my
head idiotically.
I do
n’t even know her
, I remind
myself, trying to be sensible.

She wa
s in the Pen for
treason, although the report does
n’t provide any detail
s
on what she
had done
specifically.
Her parents a
re noted as trai
tors, too, but no information i
s given on their whereabouts, and on
e can
only assume that they’
ve
been executed in accordance with the law.
But I kno
w differently.
She has
a sister
,
too, ten
years
old and living out her childhood in an orphanage in a rough part of town.
A slum.
The
slums.

Roc and
I look
at each other at the same time.
“She’s h
eaded for the orphanage,” I say as Roc nods
vigorously.
“Maybe already there and gone.”

“You don’t know th
at.
We have to check,” Roc says
.

“Let’s go.”

Roc settles
u
p with the shop owner and shoves
the
food into our pack.
I am
already halfway
down the path, back the way we came
.
The lig
hts above the majestic cavern a
re dimming, simulating the impending
darker
gray of dusk.
I feel
a warm
th in my skin, although there i
s a
chill in the air.
I think it i
s the warmth o
f determination.
Although I was
d
etermined before, now that I know her name, it is like she has
finally become rea
l to me, more than just a dream or
a boyish fantasy.

Roc catches
up with me at a sli
ght jog and I immediately match my pace to
his.
We make our way back to where we camped, hoping we’ll
b
e able to find safe passage
into the slums.
The new
s
story motivates us, and we mak
e it back in half the time.
Just a
s the large boulders we’
d camped behind appear
in the
distance, we hear
the scurry of frantic footsteps approaching from the path that le
a
d
s
to the slums.

“Down!” I cry, not that either of us need to hear it.
We a
re both already diving for the rocks, flattening ourselves and crawling behind the biggest
stones we can
find on the barren landscape.

Just as we hid
e
, a form burst
s
from behind a large boulder, racing along th
e track dangerously fast.
He i
s big, man-siz
e, dark.
A second shape emerges
, with white, flowing hair and long strides.
Big, dark-skinne
d guy, white-haired girl: it does
n’t take a mining en
gineer to figure out who they a
re.

I ho
ld my breath, watching the entrance to the slu
ms, hoping and praying she will
emerge.
No, not
she
—Adele.
I am
shock
ed when the third figure scrapes
from the path, short legs pumping wildly, dark hair pulled into
a ponytail.
My first thought i
s: she’s much shorter
in person.
But then I realize
my mista
ke when a fourth figure appears
.

There i
s no mistaking her this time.
Athletic strides
,
fiercely determine expre
ssion
,
piercing green eyes—it is Adele.
My heart flutters
.

My mind is a black hole; my heart i
s a stal
lion.
The stallion in me wants
to jump up, say
,
“I’m here, and I’d love to meet you!” but thankful
ly my mind’s black hole implodes
upon itself, evaporating and returning clarity of thought.

The orphanage.
Her sis
ter.
A small girl who resembles Adele.
It is clear what has happened.
They’ve
brok
en her out.
And the way they a
re run
ning—like the wolves of hell have
been unchained be
hind them—
mean
s that someone i
s chasing them.
Enforcers perhaps.
Or orph
anage security, if there even i
s such thing.

Wrong and wrong.

The D
evil himself emerges behind her
, running with purpose, perfectly balanced and efficiently functioning, like a machi
ne.
A very evil machine.
I kno
w that face, that form, all too well.
Rivet.
The best of my father’s special purpose unit.
And the most evil.
The most like my father.
He i
s chasing my Adele.
Or at least Adele
;
I still have
to ask her about the
my
part.

Behind him i
s the rest of his unit: half a dozen special forces personnel with big guns and sharp swords.
Death on twelve feet.

Adele and her friends look like they might turn toward us, but then they veer
left, up a slight rock hill, heading fo
r the mouth of one of the
Lonely
Caves
.

Rivet i
s gaining.

Without thinking, I stand up and ru
n hard, cutting the distance between them like a knife, will
ing my legs to fly.
My hand dra
w
s
my sword instinctual
ly, using small movements to con
serve st
rength.
My heart i
s pounding, not from the urgen
cy of the run, but because I know Adele i
s so close, an
d yet she might never know I am even here.
I hear footsteps behind me and know right away that Roc has
my b
ack.
He and I both know he’ll
be no match for the hi
ghly trained soldiers, but he i
s my f
riend—a true friend—and he will
go down fighting, whether to the grave or to a prison cell.
Just like me.

Rivet i
s like
a heat-seeking missile: Such i
s the intensity in his venomous eyes and the way hi
s stare is locked on Adele that he does
n’t even see me coming.
One of his men shouts something as I approach, but he ignore
s
it, thinking it i
s just a standard war cry, an adrenaline-induced
whoop!
of the chase.

When a collision gro
w
s imminent, I lower my shoulder and target his chest.
The timing i
s perfect.

I
hit Rivet just before he starts
up the
hill, ensuring his momentum has
n’t lessened whatsoever, crea
ting a human shockwave that sends
tremors through both our bones.
But
I am
the aggre
ssor in the collision, and I am ready for it, so he ta
k
es the worst of it by far.
He i
s knocked off course, his feet momentarily leaving the rock and his body contorting awkward
ly in midflight until he thuds
onto a hard slab of rock more than fifteen feet away.

There are people who
,
if hit tha
t hard, at that speed, might die.
Unfortunately, Rivet i
sn’t one
of them.
Not even close.
He i
s pure strength, sporting more muscle around his finge
rs and toes than most people have
in their biceps, back, or abdomen.
Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but not too f
ar from the truth.
Plus, he is
wearing a thin layer of moldab
le body armor.
The hit would’
ve hurt, but to Rivet, pain i
s pleasure, all part of the game.

I glanc
e
up the slope to see if she’
s
gotten a
way okay.
To my surprise she i
s at the top gazing down, watching my fight with Rivet.
I want
to run to her, to em
brace her, to tell her what I’
ve been feeling.
But that is madness.
Rivet will just kill us both.
I need to give her time.
It i
s the hardest thing in the world to push her away.

“Adele!” I scream.
“Run!”
I do
n’t have
a chance to see if she listens to me, because I sense
movement to my left.

The sick puppy i
s on his feet and drawing his sword befo
re I even have
a chance to say
nanny nanny boo boo!
which i
s p
robably good because it would just
mak
e
him even angrier.