The Star Dwellers (4 page)

“It’s not in my nature,” I say.

Ben and Elsey are already across the moat and
scrambling up the rocks on the other side.

“C’mon,” I say, using the palm of my hand to
splash Roc in the face. He lunges at me, but I am already gone,
swimming underwater to the other side. I clamber out and wait for
him. His slow and steady doggie paddle turns a thirty-second trip
into two minutes.

When he gets to the edge, I reach out to help
him up, tensing my muscles in case he tries something. He doesn’t.
Instead, once on the rock slab outside the city, he says, “Nice
one.” I don’t believe that he means it. His dark eyes are already
plotting his revenge.

Rather than sneaking into the city to the
train station like I expect, Ben and Elsey are working their way
around the city, sticking tight to the edge of the bending
reservoir. They are holding hands and she’s skipping along gaily,
as if we are just out for an evening stroll. Again, the difference
between Adele and her sister is stark. Roc and I begin a light jog
to catch up.

As we walk, I admire the beauty of this
subchapter, nicknamed Waterfall Cave for obvious reasons:
Waterfalls of various heights and shapes spill down the sides of
the enormous cavern, providing everlasting life to the reservoir
and sustaining the city.

Strangely, there are no windows on the
outside of any of the buildings along the city perimeter. Instead,
bare rock stands like a fortress, sometimes rising ten stories high
on heavy stone blocks. Maybe the occupants don’t want to see the
beauty of the waterfalls, as they prefer to numb themselves with
negativity. I don’t blame them—
can’t
blame them. I might do
the same if I were them. I look away from the falls, feeling bad
that I ever enjoyed their beauty.

As we approach the end of each city block,
Ben slows and peeks around the corner and down the cross street. No
one is out. I wonder what happened to everyone. Many would have
died at the hands of star dweller bombs, but there would have been
survivors, too, like us. I hope the star dwellers are treating them
kindly, but I fear they are not. War brings out the worst in
people.

We make it five blocks before Ben stops and
turns around, his green eyes appearing gray under the dusky lights.
“One more block and we head back into the water. Follow me exactly
and don’t ask any questions.” I have a few questions, but I hold
them in. Despite having only just met this man, I trust him. His
quiet, calm demeanor is a welcome change from my father’s ruthless
and anger-filled outbursts.

The final block flashes by and we approach
another cross street. Ben takes his standard peek around the corner
and then motions us to follow. We are halfway across the gap in the
buildings when a throaty sneeze shatters the silence. Ben and I
turn at the same time to see Roc standing frozen in place, eyes
wide and white, his hand over his nose and mouth.

“C’mon,” I hiss. “Don’t just stand
there.”

Too late.

We hear a shout from the city. I whirl around
to see a half-dozen troops wearing sky-blue uniforms with bright
yellow star insignias patched on the shoulders running toward us.
Star dwellers. They have guns and we are sitting ducks.

Roc cries out and starts running. I wait for
him to pass me before I chase after him, preferring to defend the
rear. Maybe I’m not a born leader like Ben, but I
can
fight.

We get around the building without being shot
at, probably because the troops know they can pick us off one by
one on the open slab between the city and reservoir. Pushing Roc
and Elsey behind him, Ben barks, “Tristan—I’ll take the first
three, you get the last three.” I jerk my head down in a quick nod.
He knows what I can do, and I know what he is capable of. But we
still need a miracle.

Although we haven’t run far, I can already
feel the heat of the adrenaline pumping through my veins. My
muscles are tense and slightly shaky, but not in a bad way. I am
ready. I was born for this. I’ve trained for this all my life. This
is our world. I slide my sword out of its sheath.

It’s not always good to be fast. The fastest
star dweller trooper rounds the bend first, wrongly assuming that
we are still running out in front of him. Before the guy has any
idea what’s happening, Ben’s knee is thrust in his midsection and
he’s sprawled out on the rock, wheezing. The next one should be
more prepared, but she’s not, and evidently Ben has no qualms about
hitting a girl, particularly when she’s carrying a gun and trying
to kill us. He takes her head off with an uppercut that will leave
her senseless for hours. I am starting to think he might take out
all six on his own.

But he runs into trouble on the third
trooper, who realizes something isn’t right. Rather than barreling
around the corner like his friends, this guy leads with the black
nozzle of his gun, which is blindly pointed right into Ben’s chest.
With a grunt, Ben grabs the nozzle and thrusts it downwards at his
feet. The guy pulls the trigger.

Boom!

As close as I am to the gun, its roar echoes
in my ears, momentarily deafening me. However, I don’t need to see
Ben’s face to know he’s hit. His mouth is agape and his eyes are
closed as he continues to grapple with the guy with the gun. Even
in the dim lighting I can make out the glossy sheen of blood
spilling from his leg.

I have to help him.

I don’t have time.

The final three troops—my
responsibility—charge around the corner after hearing the gunshot.
Two girls, one guy. Despite the favorable gender ratio, I don’t
relax. I’ve seen what Adele can do. Perhaps there are other moon
and star dweller women who are similarly capable. Perhaps they are
all that capable. Probably not—Adele is amazing—but still, I don’t
underestimate these women.

They are all in a cluster—one in front, two
on either side and behind—which is good for me. It makes them a
single target rather than three. The one in front wants to shoot
me. She takes aim at my head while running at me. I anticipate the
explosion and dive for the stone slab.

POP!

The gunshot sounds dull and thin to my
deafened ears, but I know I avoided the shot because I don’t feel
anything. Not even a pinch. Just a twinge of pain as my forearms
and then hips and then back skid across the stone. I come out of
the intentional roll at full speed, ducking under my attacker’s
gun, which she tries to jab me with. I am too close to use my
sword, so I crash straight into her, rocking her back and into her
two friends.

We go down in a heap on the ground, me on
top, then the shooter, then her two friends. If we were a sandwich,
the shooter would be the meat in the middle, or the cheese perhaps.
I’m the top layer of bread and her friends are the bottom crust.
Apart from a few bruises and scrapes, everyone in the sandwich is
unhurt, so I push to my feet and kick the metaphorical cheese in
the head. Her eyes roll back and her tongue lolls out as she
tumbles off the pile.

The other two were so surprised by my attack
that they’ve dropped their guns. I pick up one of the weapons and
aim it in their general direction. They raise their hands above
their heads while still lying prostrate on the rock. Their eyes
widen as they see me—
really
see me for the first time. They
know who I am; at the end of the day, whether I like it or not, I’m
still a celebrity.

We don’t have time for prisoners, so I move
in close and give each a moderate-strength tap on the head with the
butt of the gun.

My job finished, I spin around and survey the
scene before me. It’s not good. Ben is on the ground, clutching his
wounded leg and bleeding from the side of his head—his ear I think.
A gun lies discarded a few feet away, but out of his reach. The
last remaining soldier has his sword out and is waving it wildly at
Roc, who stands in front of Elsey with his own sword, protecting
her from the onslaught. Roc’s a maniac, growling between bared
teeth and blocking each attack with a fervor I’ve been trying to
get out of him for weeks. He’s a man possessed.

As I consider my options, I watch as Roc
blocks another sword stroke and then flicks his wrist, rapidly
slipping his own blade around his opponent’s weapon, slashing him
on the hand. The guy cries out and drops his sword as blood spills
from his mangled thumb. Dashing forward, Roc lands a hard kick to
the guy’s gut, knocking him onto his back. I’ve got to hand it to
him—Roc looks amazing, a mere shadow of his former timid self.

But he’s not done yet. He strides forward,
his face awash with fury, his sword raised high above his head.

With no time to think, I rush ahead, closing
the distance in three long strides. Roc thrusts his blade to the
ground and I dive.

Clang!

My hearing returns just in time to appreciate
the full extent of the impact of metal on metal, as I slap Roc’s
blade away from the downed soldier.

From the ground, I look up at my best friend.
Roc stares back at me with horror and anguish, his teeth no longer
bared, his eyebrows no longer fierce. All strength sapped from him,
he’s just a scared teenager again. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he says
weakly.

“Roc, it’s okay. You were just doing what you
needed to.”

“But I…I didn’t need to kill him.” His
brown-skinned face is ashen, appearing paler than I have ever seen
it.

“You didn’t.”

“Only because you…” He trails off.

“It doesn’t matter how,” I say. “It’s
over.”

From beside me on the ground, the soldier
sucks the air sharply through his teeth, grimacing in pain and
clutching at his severed thumb. “What are you going to do with me?”
he asks.

In one swift motion, I snap my elbow across
his skull, delivering another knockout blow. He slumps over and
becomes still.

I stand up and take Roc’s sword, which is
dangling precariously from his loosened fingers. I don’t want him
to lose a toe when he accidentally drops the blade point-first onto
his foot. Closer to him, I can see him trembling slightly, his
body’s reaction to the burst of adrenaline he received during the
fight.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “You did
well, my friend. You were amazing actually.”

“But I almost…”

“He was trying to do the same to you,” I
say.

“Roc,” a tiny voice says from behind him.

Elsey is wide-eyed and serious, her brow
furrowed, her lips bunched and tight. As soon as Roc turns, she
rushes to him, throws her thin arms around him, pulls him to her.
“I owe you my life,” she says solemnly.

At her words, Roc’s face finally relaxes and
his body goes slack. He hugs her back. He’s going to be okay.

“I need to help Ben,” I say.

“Father?” Elsey says, her head popping
up.

“I’m okay,” Ben says, lifting a hand to his
mangled ear, which is still bleeding heavily. “We don’t have time
to linger.”

“You need medical attention,” I say, kneeling
down to inspect his leg. The bullet entered his skin just above the
knee. I search for an exit wound but there isn’t one. “The bullet’s
still inside you.”

“No—I’m fine. There will be time for that
later. More troops will be here any second.” His face tells me he’s
not fine, but he is right. We have no choice but to keep going.

“Okay, let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” he says again. I think he’s
saying it to convince himself—like a self-motivation sort of thing.
It seems to work as he manages to push himself to his feet,
favoring his uninjured leg. “Follow me. Hurry.”

Elsey clutches her dad’s side as he limps
toward the reservoir. She doesn’t ask if he’s all right, just takes
his word for it.

With no other choice, Roc and I follow in
their wake, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t stumble. Ben
stops at the water’s edge and gazes into it. I wonder what he’s
doing. Has the loss of blood affected his mind?

He dives into the water headfirst.

T
he first two hours
are fine. We maintain a light jog, trying to use our relative
health to our advantage. Tawni stumbles once when she trips over a
stone, but I catch her arm and we keep going. No one dies. I
consider it a victory.

Although our fitness levels are improving
since we left the Pen, we are still in no shape for an eight-hour
run, so we eventually slow our pace to a hurried march. Tawni’s
long strides force me to take two steps for every one of hers. Her
white ponytail swishes from side to side, like the ticking spindle
on a clock. Ticking away the minutes on our lives.

Halfway into the third hour, Tawni says,
“Uh-oh.” It’s the first thing either of us has said, as we are
concentrating on our breathing. It’s not the first thing I hoped to
hear out of her mouth.

“What is it?”

“I have a headache.”

“It might just be a headache,” I say.

“It’s not.”

“The symptoms are too early.”

“You can’t predict these things, Adele. Three
hours is just the average. Plus we didn’t leave right after we
drank the water.”

I know she’s right. Since I’ve known Tawni,
she’s never complained of headaches. It would be too much of a
coincidence that she gets one now. I don’t believe in
coincidences.

“We have to go faster,” I say.

We start to jog again, even though we both
know it’s not sustainable. A half-hour later my legs are on fire
and I can’t seem to swallow enough air to satisfy my hungry lungs.
A silent drumbeat begins to thump in my temple. A headache. I don’t
say anything. Just keep jogging.

“I need to stop for a minute,” Tawni
pants.

I pull up short and look at my friend. She’s
not doing well—that much I can see. She’s breathing even heavier
than I am and her face is knotted with pain. “Any new symptoms?” I
ask.