The Star Dwellers (36 page)

Boom!

The sound is deafening but I barely hear it.
I’m choking on my own sobs, but still moving forward as my father
slumps to the ground, the light in his eyes extinguished. I’m
crying and growling and screaming and shooting—one round, two
rounds, three, four, and then I lose count when the gun starts
clicking as I use every last bullet.

The executioner is full of holes, spotting
red, falling to the ground like my dad, but he manages to shoot
again in desperation.
God no!
I’m praying and willing and
trying to use my mind to protect her, but I can’t do a damn
thing.

The bullet tears into Elsey’s side, and I
hear her scream and see the slick red of blood on her skin before I
black out from anguish and exhaustion.

T
he world is black,
but when I open my eyes all I see is white, the underside of my
sheets. Flickering orange light dances through the thin fabric. I
have no words to say to her; I have no words to say to anyone.

I pull the covers tighter around me, like a
cocoon. Inside I feel safe. Outside is only death and pain and a
black, black world. A world created by my father.

Anger plumes within in me, hot and gritty. My
fists tighten, my knuckles turning as white as the sheets. I close
my eyes, trying to control the fire building within me.

After all, Adele needs me now more than ever.
Breathe.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

As the fogginess of sleep clouds my mind, my
last thought is:

Adele first, revenge second.

Waking and sleeping are the same to me, a
swirl of confusing madness, one disorienting and dizzying blur of
time where my face is always wet, my nightmares are constant, and
spots of red flash before my vision, whether I’m awake or not.

My muscles ache and my head is throbbing, but
those pains are minor compared to the ache in my chest. The awful,
awful ache in my heart, where it’s split in two, rattling around. I
can almost hear it clanging around in there.

I’m broken.

And I may never be fixed again.

I slip into another fitful sleep. Or perhaps
I’ve just woken up from a nightmare. It doesn’t seem to matter
anymore.

E
veryone dies
sometime. You would think that would make it easier when you lose
someone, but it doesn’t. As I lie in bed I let the tears flow
freely. I’m not ashamed of them. I’d cry a thousand more if I
could, but eventually I’m all cried out and I just roll over and
jam my face between my two pillows.

They say his death was instantaneous, that he
didn’t feel any pain. A single gunshot to the head.
There’s
nothing you could do
, they said to try to make me feel better.
But that’s not the point. The point is he’s dead and I’ll never see
him again, never hug him again, never learn from him again.

They say it’s a miracle that Elsey survived.
The bullet hit her elbow, shattering it and deflecting before
tearing into her ribcage, narrowly missing a handful of vital
organs. They could save her, but not her arm. Now she has to learn
to do everything with her left hand.

After surviving the Pen, being pursued by
Rivet, watching cities being bombed, trekking through the Star
Realm, I thought I had proved I didn’t have a breaking point. I was
wrong. Everyone has a breaking point. This is mine. The world is
dead to me. All that I cared about. All that I loved. Ripped away
from me. Wrenched from my shaking hands.

Tristan is here and I know I should talk to
him. I haven’t said a word since it all happened. Not to him; not
to my mother. Elsey’s still too unwell for visitors, not even
family.

But still Tristan comes every day, sits on my
bed, talks to me. Lies to me and tells me everything’s going to be
okay, even though we both know it’s not.

He told me all about what happened
afterwards. How the Resistance somehow managed to kill enough of
the sun dweller troops to overwhelm them, eventually driving them
away. How they fought like wild animals, with tenacity and heart.
How they found us clinging together, amidst the dead, me and Elsey,
my teeth chattering as I rocked her back and forth while Tristan
used his tunic to put pressure on her gunshot wound. Roc and Tawni,
of all people, stood guard over us while Trevor ran to get help. I
don’t remember any of that. Although I was apparently conscious for
it, my subconscious protected me from the memory.

His father was never there, was just a voice
through a speaker. A madman using his pawns to do his bidding.

He sits on my bed, in his normal spot, rests
a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m here, Adele,” he says.

A day earlier his touch would have sent
tendrils of excitement all through me, but now, it’s just a touch,
cold and meaningless.

Finally, I break my silence, although the
words come from a new Adele. The old Adele is gone, dead. “I’m
toxic, Tristan. Everything and everyone that gets close to me dies.
First Cole, now Dad. Stay away from me. STAY AWAY!” My body’s
trembling and my fists are ready for a fight, against whoever is in
my way, Tristan or his father or whoever.

But he doesn’t leave like I expect him to,
like he
should
do. He stays right there, grabs my hands,
pries my claw-like fingers apart. I’ve got nothing left. No fight.
My body goes slack and I fall apart in his arms as he holds me,
rubs his hands along my back. He doesn’t try to soothe me with
words or shush my tortured sobs, just lets me get it all out.

I need something to take the pain away. Just
for a minute, a second. My lips find his and I kiss him hard, then
harder, practically throwing myself at him. He lets me at first,
but then pulls away while still hugging me. “Not this way,” he
says. “We need to give it some time.”

I’m glad he’s still thinking clearly.

* * *

The next day I finally go to visit Elsey, who
is recovering. With each step I take my heart is breaking. It’s
like despite everything I’ve been through, I can’t bear one more
tragedy. Tristan holds my hand to make it easier. It’s strange, how
different it is holding his hand now from the first time. I mean, I
still get the tingles, the tiny bursts of electricity up my
forearm, but now it feels so normal, so safe, like we’ve been
holding hands for a million years plus a million more. I like the
subtle change.

But the strength of the magnetic pull I feel
toward him has not subsided whatsoever. When he is near I can
always feel him on my skin, in my bones, particularly around my
head and down my back. It’s the weirdest thing.

We enter a dim room—only a clouded lantern
provides a soft glow. We see the thin outline of my mother, sitting
on a bed, looking down at a bump under the covers. Tristan releases
my hand and I kneel next to her, gaze at the pale face of my
sister, who’s sleeping. She almost looks dead and for a moment I
think she might be, but then I see the gentle rise and fall of her
chest as she breathes.

“How is she?” I breathe.

My mom has one hand on my sister, and now she
places the other on my shoulder. “She’s a little trooper, hanging
in there. She can barely eat because she just throws it back up.
The trauma of it all is affecting her entire body. But she’s so
positive about everything, it’s hard to keep her down.”

I manage a smile. That’s my sister—a little
firecracker. Even with the covers over her, I can tell she’s lost
weight. Weight she doesn’t have to lose.

“How’s she taking…”—my voice catches in my
throat and I swallow—“Dad?”

Mom’s eyes are misty but she doesn’t cry.
She’s tough—like I used to be. “You’ll have to ask her that, but I
think she’s handling it better than you or I.”

I nod. “Do you think he’s still somewhere?” I
ask, surprising myself, because I didn’t even realize the question
was on my mind.

“Elsey does,” she says. “I think that’s one
of the reasons she’s handling it so well.”

“Yeah, but do you?”

She tilts her head to the side and chews on
the side of her mouth, like she’s really giving my question some
serious thought. “You know, I want to believe it and sometimes I
do, because I can still remember him, can still feel him here”—she
motions to her heart—“but other times I just feel this void and
it’s as if he’s disappeared from within the caverns of the
earth.”

I nod. I appreciate her honesty. She’s
treating me like an adult.

Elsey stirs in her bed, yawns, and then her
eyes blink open. “Hi, Adele!” Although her voice is weak, there’s a
certain energy in it, but the same energy doesn’t make it to her
face, which is ashen. She looks so pale she almost appears dead, if
not for her half-open eyes and limp smile.

“Hey, El,” I say, trying to keep my voice
steady and the waiting tears from my eyes. “How are you
feeling?”

“Like I just lost an arm,” she says, smiling
weakly.

I bite my lip, wishing I could laugh, if only
to make her happy. Underneath the covers it’s easy to forget that
she’s not whole anymore.

“It’s okay, Adele,” she says, acting the role
of the big sister, as usual. “I survived. Because of you.”

Despite my efforts, a tear rolls down my
cheek, stinging my skin. “But you lost…and Dad is….” I can’t get
the words out, even now.

“I’m fine,” she says, sticking her jaw out.
“And Dad is…in a better place. Away from all the bad people.”
Away from all the good people, too
, I want to say, but I
don’t. How can she be so strong when she’s the one who lost an arm
and
a father? Why do I feel so weak? I try to think about my
sister’s words, try to take strength from them, like she does.
Dad is in a better place.
Is it true? Is he somewhere, his
soul flying high, away from his broken body, away from the turmoil
and strife of the Tri-Realms? Is he on Earth, aboveground, seeing
the real moon and real sun and real stars for the first time,
feeling the wind through his hair, the sunlight on his skin, the
rain on his face? Maybe he is. Who am I to say Elsey is wrong?
Warmth suddenly fills my chest and I know I’ll get through this,
just like all the bad times before. It’s not about what I don’t
have, it’s about what I do. My mom. My sister. Tristan. Tawni and
Roc and even Trevor. Family and friends—that’s all I’ll ever
need.

* * *

The funeral is a blur of tears and speeches
and emotions and I don’t remember any of it when it’s over. As is
the custom of the moon dwellers, they cremate him, which is good
because I couldn’t have handled seeing his face again, not like
that. I prefer to remember him as the man who showed me how to kick
and punch on our back patio.

Tristan’s been following the news but I’ve
stayed away from it. I’m just not that concerned with politics and
rebellions and wars at the moment. I’m just trying to spend as much
time with my family as possible. Half the moon dweller VPs are
dead, but a vote will be held in a week’s time to replace them.
After everything that’s happened, everyone’s expecting that once
the new leaders are elected, the VPs will unanimously vote to unite
with the Star Realm and support the rebellion. Evidently the Sun
Realm has already officially declared war on us, which I’m not too
surprised about. Tristan tells me that people are saying the first
battle could occur in as soon as week’s time.

My mother asked for and was granted a couple
of days off, and she wants to use it to visit our old subchapter,
14. Elsey is still too unwell to travel with us, but Roc and Tawni
agreed to keep her company while we’re away. Tristan insisted on
coming. He seems afraid to leave my side, maybe ever again, which
is cute. Despite his good intentions, however, Mom said we needed
to do this alone, and after much discussion and debate, he
conceded, promising to tear the Moon Realm apart looking for us if
we don’t return within two days. I thought it a bad time to remind
him that the Moon Realm is already torn apart, so I just agreed
with him.

Although the train ride only takes half a day
and we arrive in the afternoon, the lights are off in the big
cavern I used to call home. The sun dwellers have cut off all
electricity to the Lower Realms and for now we have to use
flashlights and lanterns until the Moon Realm engineers come up
with a solution to the problem.

As we walk through the city, the beams from
our bouncing and bobbing flashlights reveal the destruction that
took place a lifetime ago. Memories of the explosions as we climbed
the fence to escape from prison flash through my mind like a
slideshow. Buildings crumbling, cracks in the streets, the toppling
of the fence. All distant memories now.

We pass a number of work crews, busily
repairing the damage. They stare at us as we pass, and while
outwardly they look haggard, tired, I see the fire of determination
in their eyes. These are the men and women who will rebuild and
then go to war for their very survival, and for the survival of
their families.

The houses in our old suburb didn’t fare much
better than the city. Many of them have shattered windows and
crumbling roofs. Some even have gaping holes in their sides which
allow us to see inside. I’m surprised to find entire families
inside, sitting down to have a meal together, to play games
together, to simply be together.

“They can break our things, can break our
bodies, but they can’t break our spirits,” my mother says.

I feel a shot of heat in my belly, as if a
match has been lit within my gut.

We reach our house, which is in shambles, the
entire front wall caved in. As we step over the threshold, I can’t
help but feel a twinge of pain as I remember the way my father used
to look when he came through the door after work, tired but happy.
We’d run to him, Elsey and I, and hug him.