The Moon Dwellers (46 page)

“El
, I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Sure, sis,” Elsey says
with a wink.

I do
n’t have a chance to contradict her further,
because
the others return
, excited.

“We found a route that’s pretty dark the who
le way to the center,” Cole says
, smiling.

They a
re still thinking ab
out getting real food, but I am
thin
king about what to do afterwards
.
We ca
n’t
stay in subchapter 16
—not with Rivet and his gang roam
ing somewhere nearby.
We need
a plan to get to the Northern subchapters
, subchapter 26, where my dad i
s being kept prisoner.
Camp
Blood
and Stone.

“Okay, food first,” I conce
de.
“Then what?”
I hate
asking the question without having some br
illiant suggestion, but I can
’t seem to think.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve only got two brain cells, and even when I rub both of them together n
othing seems to happen.
This i
s one of those times.

“We’ve been talk
ing about that, too,” Tawni says
.
“And I think we’ve got it figured out.
Why do we need to keep trekking through the dangerous inter-chapter caverns, being chased by a gang of bloodthirsty men with a license to kill us, when we could ride all the way north?”

“Ride?” I say
.
“You mean, like on a train?”

“Of course a train, what else?
They have night express trains, direct from subchapter to subchapter.
We could disguise ourselves as nomads, cover our faces, and buy a ticket.
Even
if they recognize us, we’ll
be
long gone before anyone has
a chance to do anything about it.”

The thought of saving
us hundreds of miles of walking
and getting to m
y dad faster at the same time i
s ta
ntalizing.
But it also screams
suicide.
“I
don’t know…” I say
.
“Seems a bit risky.”

Co
le says
, “This whole thing is
risk
y
, Adele.
All I know is we’ve got to do something unexpected or we’re gonna get caught.
Let’s give it a try, and if we get caught, I promise to let you say ‘I told you so.’”

“I’ll
relish the opportunity,” I say
, not m
entioning the fact that if we get caught we’ll
be dead.

The city i
s beckoning t
o us, and the thought of food i
s making my mou
th water.
As planned, we pick
our way through the city via alleys and small side streets, staying out of sight like ghosts in the night.

Eventually we find a small café that seems
to be open and still taking customers.

“Showtime,” Cole says
, gesturing to Elsey.

I scowl
, still not completely comfortable with my
sister’s role in our operation, b
ut I bit
e my tongue and manage
to keep my tho
ughts to myself.
Before I can
even consider changing my
mind, Elsey gi
ve
s me a quick hug and sneaks
away,
sticking to the shadows, m
oving
toward
the café, which i
s conveniently located on the corner of our alley and
the main
street.

I watch as she spots a
D
umpster and moves
behind it, peeking out at the road.

A family of four passes
her: a mom,
a dad, two girls.
They remind
me of my own family
in the old days
.
The girls look
happy, holding hands with their pa
rents and skipping along.
It i
s good to know that even
in the Moon Realm some people a
re s
till happy.
Of course it helps that their parents have
n’t been abducted and their
city bombed, but still, happy i
s happy.

Else
y wisely ignores the family, waits
for a better target.
An old man with a bad lim
p and a rickety old cane hobbles
past.
Perfect
.
Elsey evidently thinks he’s a perfect candidate
,
too, because she sti
ck
s
her head ou
t a bit further and must make
a noise, because
the man stops and peers
into the gloom.

He changes direction and moves
toward
her, taking ages to reach he
r behind the
D
umpster.
I tense
slightly, ready to spring into action if neede
d.
I’m not sure what I expect
; I guess that maybe the old man
is faking his injury and will
suddenly smack her over the head with the cane and carry her
away.
Not surprisingly, he does
n’t.

Apparently
,
Elsey i
s able to convince
him to help, because he hobbles
off a minute later, and Elsey gi
ve
s
us the okay sign using her in
dex finger and thumb.
I reply
with a thumbs
-
up.

Waiting for the man i
s as boring as watching rocks being eroded by the flow o
f an underground stream.
He ta
k
es so long.
I swear he must be
in there negotiating a peace treaty, not just ordering som
e food.
In any event, I manage
to keep
my eyes open until he reemerges
holdi
ng big cloth bags.
He struggles
under the weight of the bag
s
,
readjusting his grip and switching arms several times before fi
nally reaching my sister.
I see
her hand him the pouch o
f Nailins
as payment.
As we’d instructed her, she waits until the man limps onto the street and
out of sight befo
re tiptoeing back to where we a
re hiding.

Her eyes a
re wide with excitement and her smile gleeful.
“How’d I do?” sh
e asks
.

“You were perfect,” I say
, meaning it.

“Y
ou did really well,” Tawni adds
.

“Your first solo mission wa
s a complete success,” Cole says
.

Elsey beams.
By the way she looks
at hi
m, I think Cole’s compliment mak
e
s
her the happiest.

It i
s amazing
what money can buy these days.
The spread of food i
s impressive, even wit
h four of us eating.
We each ge
t a sourdough roll, two pieces of bacon, a sizable hunk of some kind of cheese we never could’ve afforded growing up,
a sort of root we call
hyro
, a cinnamony potato dish, and a small flask of war
m tea.
The icing on the cake i
s literally the icing on the cake.
We split two pieces of dark chocolate cake with chocolate icing.
Down in the Moon Realm—at leas
t in our subchapter—chocolate i
s scarce, and very expensive, so the fact that the café had it, that we could affo
rd it, and that the old man thought to ask for it, i
s a small miracle.
My only mistake: eating way too
much too fast.
By the time I finish eating I’ve
crossed the line between pleasantly full and disgustingly stuffed.

“
Uhhh,” I groan
.

Elsey i
s nibbling daintily at the corner of her cake.
“You okay, sis?”

“Other than being on the verge of throwing up, I’m fine.”

“Here, a little extra cake might help wash it down,” Cole
suggests, pushing the chocolate toward my face.
I do
n’t even have a chance
to tell him how obnoxious he is, because the food i
s coming back up.

I barely have
t
ime to turn my head before I throw up.
Although it i
s di
sgusting and unpleasant, I feel
better afterwards.
I even let Cole’s antics go without revenge.

When we finish eating, we pack the leftover food (which isn’t much), and begi
n the second phase of our plan: operation night train.

I’m still not
very comfortable with t
he idea, but I’ve committed to it, which means I’m
going to do everything in my power to help us be successful.
It’s just the way I am.
For me it’s all in or all out—no middle ground, no wishy-washy, no excuses.

Continuing to use back streets, we manage to get pretty c
lose to the rail station.
We hide
in the shadows, performing reconnaissance, waiting for the right time to make a move.
Th
e area around the station looks
pretty deserted, although ever
y once and a while someone
pass
es
by and go
es
inside.
In the en
tire subchapter, the lighting i
s
the best in this area, which i
s go
od for most travelers.
Unfortu
n
a
tely, we a
ren’t most travelers
, and would prefer
utter darkness
.

After twenty minutes or so of no one passing us, Co
le hisses
, “We can’t wait here all night.”

“Now or never,” I agree.
We each don
the hood
s attached to our tunics.
It’s a cool night, so the hoods a
re unlikely to draw any special attention to us.

We leave the safety of the dark and stri
de out int
o the light.
We walk
side by side, at a normal but purposeful pace, eyes ahead, ears listening for any signs of discovery.
With every footstep I expect
to hear a shout, a whistle, alarm bells, something.
Something saying
We gotcha!

We mak
e it inside the termi
nal without drama.

The ticket window
is straight ahead.
As we previously agreed, I ta
k
e
the lead
on buying the tickets.
I walk
up, trying to
appear confident, like I buy
train ticke
ts all the time, like I belong
here.
At the same
time I keep
my head lowered slightly, trying to cast a shadow across at least part of my face.

“Three adults and one child for the next
train to subchapter
twenty-six
,” I say
, attempting
to
keep my voice steady.
I lock
my knees to stop them from shaking.

At first the guy behind the counter—a short, grumpy-looking fellow with gray stubble and more nose hairs protruding from his nostrils than m
ost people have in their nose—i
s indifferent to me, his voice monotone, like a robot.

“T
hree and one to
twenty-six
,” he repeats
.
“Next train a
vailable…”—h
e
pauses, consults
a timetable—
“
…d
eparts in six minutes.
Express train.”

He i
s just goi
ng through the motions, which i
s fine by me, bu
t I know the hard part is still to come
.

It co
me
s
.
“I need travel vouchers for all adul
ts,” he says
, finally glancing up over his glasses at my face.
His
boring, emotionless face changes in an instance.
It’
s just a slight twitch, a flash of reco
gnition in his eyes, but I can see that he kno
w
s who I am
.
Smartly, he pretends
not to.
I
wonder if he’s got
a big red security button somewhe
re underneath his desk.
I can
see both
his
hands, but he might be able to press it with his knees.

“Look, buddy, we don’t have travel vouchers, but you probably already guessed that.
But we do have thi
s.”
I spill
the pouch of shiny gold Nailins out onto his desk.
“If you keep quiet you can have them all.”

At the sight
of the money, the guy’s eyes light up and his fat lips twist
into a gr
eedy grin.
“Done deal,” he says without hesitation.
He stamps four tickets and hands
them to me in a stack.

I know we a
ren’t out of th
e woods yet.
Because the guy i
s
willing to accept a bribe, he i
s also probably prone to dishonesty, like accepting said bribe while still planning to turn us in to the authorities.
At least we have
tickets.

With only a few minutes unt
il the train’s departure, we do
n’t have time
to bet on whether the guy will
stick
to our deal.
Instead
,
we hurry
through the automatic
ticket turnstiles, praying he’
s
given us real tickets.
With each swipe of one
of the tickets, the gates open and allow
one of us through.

The train has
just pulled into the station, its doors open and waiting for us to bo
ard.
A few passengers straggle off, but they a
re so haggard from the long
journey
that they don’t even look up as we pass
.

“Last car,” I say
, leading the group into
a light jog.
The last car will ensure we a
re away from a
ny other passengers who happen
to jump
on the train just before it leaves
.

We a
re
halfway to the last car when an
alarm goes
off, blaring through the sil
ent station.
Red lights flash
.
There i
s m
aybe a
minute before the train departs
.

We ru
n.

I hear
a
shout from behind us and twist
my head to see men jump
ing over the turnstiles.
They a
ren’t looking for a free ride—
that is for sure.
They a
re after us.
And leading the pack: Rivet.

We ru
n harder.
Thirty seconds to departure.

We reach the last car and board.
I try
th
e manual door levers but they a
r
e jammed.
Just in case I’m not
strong enough
, Cole tries them
,
too, but reaches the same conclusion.
We a
re at the mercy of the train being on time.

Pressing our fac
es against the glass, we watch
as Rivet’s group split
s
into two.
One group, led by a big black guy with a wicked barbed-wire tattoo
around his exposed bicep, heads
straight for us, trying to beat the doors.
The other group, led by the
Devil—also known as Rivet—veers left and boards
the train about three cars
in front of
us, thus ensuring they a
re at worst traveling with us.

I’m not
worried about the second group at
the moment.
The first group i
s closing in, running full speed, their eyes
heavy with
violence.

The doors start to close
.

The guys are so close I think they’ll
make it.
My instinct is to shrink back toward
the back of the car
, away from the doors.
Cole has
a better idea.