Black Moon

by L. A. Weatherly

  “He’s been shot. He’s still alive,” said Ingo as they got Mac inside and lowered him to the ground. Wordlessly, I squeezed Sephy’s arm.

  Mac was short but normally didn’t seem it. I hated seeing how small he looked now, lying with his head falling limply to one side.

  Sephy quickly crouched and gripped his hand. “Mac?” she whispered. She stroked his brow. “Mac, hang on, sweetheart…you’re going to be fine.”

  Mrs Weir came over, her face smudged, yet still looking in control. From her voice’s steel I guessed what it was costing her.

  “My husband?” she asked.

  “We don’t know. I’m sorry.” I didn’t mention what Ingo had said – that he suspected nothing good had happened to him.

  Mrs Weir hesitated and looked down at Mac in the lantern light. Fresh blood was seeping through his shirt, I saw now with dread. Ingo was unbuttoning it.

  “I know a little first aid,” Mrs Weir said finally. “Maybe I can help.”

  I sat slumped against the wall, staring at Mac’s prone form. Ingo was holding down his shoulders as Mrs Weir stitched his wound with a needle and thread from her sewing kit. Sephy still kneeled beside him, holding his hand.

  Ingo had left a bag in the original hiding place; Sephy had brought it with her. The peach schnapps was in it. He’d brought it to celebrate with, in case we’d won.

  Now we’d used it to try to anaesthetize Mac, holding his head and giving him a few large swigs. He still moaned, pale and sweating, as Mrs Weir stitched him up.

  Her older daughter, Darlene, sat hugging Beatrice nearby. The child sobbed softly. I wasn’t sure which scared her more: the bones visible across the tunnel, or Ingo’s face. I rubbed my head, hating her tiredly – knowing I was being unfair and not caring.

  Dwight was there too. He sat next to me, hugging his elbows. His cheek was badly bruised – one of his fists scraped and bloody.

  “I was too late at the telio station,” he muttered to me, staring at Mac. “I got there and…”

  “The Guns were already there,” said Jimmy shortly. “They’d attacked a few minutes before. They got Anton – Susannah – Roddy. Dwight and I barely got away.”

  Ingo had heard. I saw his jaw tighten at Anton’s name. His dark eyes met mine.

  Four for four, he didn’t have to say.

  Feeling numb, I gazed at the bottle of peach schnapps, recalling the summer-sweet taste of hope the night before. For months now, I’d been longing for this day – longing to put my father’s actions behind me.

  Now Kay Pierce would keep on.

  Hal sat on my other side. I had the impression of a taut, trembling wire.

  “Collie didn’t betray us,” he muttered to me as Jimmy and Dwight talked in low murmurs.

  “I don’t know, Hal.”

  “I’m not asking you! I’m telling you! He wouldn’t.” Hal beat his fist against his thigh, staring at Mac. “He wouldn’t,” he whispered.

  Finding out about our father’s betrayal had maybe been even harder for Hal than for me. He’d been only nine when Dad died – had known him even less than I had. He’d needed him to be a hero.

  Now he needed for Collie to be the man he’d thought he was too.

  My temples throbbed. I stared blindly at Mac, wishing that Collis Reed had never been part of our lives.

  “Something went wrong, that’s all,” Hal was saying in a low voice. “Maybe…maybe Pierce found out, and Collie had to pretend to be on her side, or—”

  “I don’t know, Hal,” I broke in, my voice shaking. “But it’s not looking great, is it? The wrong code word, Guns everywhere we were going to be! You figure it out.”

  When I saw his stricken face I hated myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “We’re all upset. I don’t know what happened any more than you do.”

  Hal’s throat worked. He looked away and didn’t respond.

  Jimmy leaned towards me. “Sephy said you saw what happened at the capitol building,” he said in an undertone.

  I sighed. Finally I nodded wearily, and described the scene: the Guns attacking the groups that had been waiting there; the bodies lying on the ground. Jimmy winced. He and Dwight looked at each other. Dwight’s bruise was stark against his pallor. He bit a thumbnail.

  “Hardly anyone’s left, it sounds like,” he muttered.

  “And someone’s been forced to talk – given Mabel and Ernest’s place away.” Jimmy swallowed and cracked his knuckles. “We’ll have to leave the city, like Mac said. Damnit – what’ll we do if he doesn’t pull through?”

  “Shh,” cautioned Dwight, glancing at Sephy. She still sat holding Mac’s hand as Mrs Weir worked on him.

  “But what will we do? Mac is—” Jimmy broke off. He didn’t have to finish the thought.

  Mac was the heart of everything.

  No. He would not die. I got up quickly and went over. Mrs Weir was bandaging Mac with some stitched together handkerchiefs. Ingo crouched at his head. I kneeled beside Ingo, noting with trepidation how still Mac looked.

  “Is he all right?” I asked.

  “I’m not a doctor,” Mrs Weir said tersely. “I took a first-aid course and have a needle and thread, that’s all. But his pulse is steady, at least.”

  “Thank you.” Sephy pressed Mrs Weir’s arm. “I mean it. Thank you.”

  Ingo glanced wordlessly at me. Behind him, the display of bones gleamed in the faint light. The skulls leered, trapped in their ribcage prisons.

  Mrs Weir had just finished bandaging Mac when another explosion rumbled. My chest clenched. I stood up in a rush, staring down the darkness of the tunnel.

  Ingo had scrambled up too. “Where was that from, do you think?” he muttered to me.

  I felt panicked. “I can’t tell! Maybe—”

  Another explosion. This time the ground under our feet shook.

  Sephy rose slowly, eyes wide. “What…what does this mean? Are they coming?”

  “They’re blocking off certain routes,” Ingo said. “We hoped they wouldn’t make it this far down, but—”

  Mrs Weir paled and looked quickly at her daughters. “Can we still get out of the city?”

  “With luck.” Ingo’s gaze met mine. That route under the river had been so difficult to find – we’d never encountered Guns in the northern part of the Lexington Avenue Line. “But Mac can’t be moved yet!” cried Sephy.

  Ingo touched her arm. “He’ll have to be. We’ll be gentle with him.”

  I stood frozen, remembering the rioters shouting V for Victory and Vancour! And the man I’d encountered near the safe house. We’re all behind you. Everyone I know.

  Pierce would not retaliate lightly to the events of the day. How could I just leave New Manhattan to its punishment, when I’d been the one urging people to fight?

  Yet what else could I do, with the Resistance shattered?

  Another explosion rumbled, far too close this time. “That might be our route north gone,” muttered Ingo. I could practically see his mind working. “We’ll have to travel down further and then go up again—”

  All at once something hit me. I looked wildly around the small, dimly-lit room. “Where’s Hal?” I gasped.

  Sephy’s expression turned blank. “Hal? But he was just here!”

  Darlene, the older Weir daughter, came over. “Are you looking for that boy with the dark hair? He left.”

  “When?” Ingo said sharply.

  Darlene flinched slightly, very deliberately not staring at the puckered half of his face. “Maybe twenty minutes ago? He seemed upset…” She gave a short, humourless laugh. “Well. We’re all upset. But I just thought he was doing something he was supposed to do.”

  She nodded at a service ladder. “He went up there.”

  I stared at it. The ladder led to the eastern tunnels heading topside. Why would Hal venture out into the city now? I remembered snapping at him about Collie and felt chilled. He hadn’t run off because of that, had he? Hal? Like Mac sa
id, he was usually a steady, responsible kid.

  I’ll kill him, I thought. But my sudden terror whispered that I wouldn’t get the chance.

  Ingo drew me to one side. “Amity, we can’t wait. If we still have any hope in hell of getting out of the city, it has to be now.”

  “I’m not leaving Hal.”

  “You have no idea where he is!”

  “I can’t leave him anyway! Don’t ask me to, Ingo. You’d feel the same.”

  “I’m not asking! You’re right! But—”

  He broke off. I could guess what he was thinking. Apart from me, he was the only one who knew the tunnels well enough to have a chance of getting everyone out alive, with routes being closed off by the second.

  Finally Ingo reached behind him and drew a pistol from the back of his waistband. “Take this,” he said quietly.

  I did. The weapon felt heavy in my grasp.

  Another explosion rumbled. The little girl started crying again. Ingo gripped my shoulders; his voice was low. “I have to leave – I don’t have a choice. If you’re not out of the city within two hours after us, I’m coming back for you.”

  “No – Ingo, please! Once you get out, stay safe – don’t come back! Promise me.”

  Raw anger leaped across his angular face. “I would never make such a promise and you know it.”

  I couldn’t answer. His hands felt hot on my shoulders as we stared at each other. The weight of what was unsaid pressed down on us.

  “Ingo, I…” I licked my lips. My throat was tight.

  Suddenly he seized my hand and pulled me further into the shadows. “That night on the roof,” he said in a rush. “Was it because of this?” He put my hand on his scar.

  I was horrified. “No! Ingo, no. Never.” Gently, as if I could smooth the creases from his ruined skin, I stroked his cheek, close to tears suddenly.

  “I don’t see the scar,” I whispered. “All I see is you.”

  Another explosion shuddered, far too close. I gave him a soft shove. “Go! Stay safe,” I implored.

  Ingo was breathing hard. “And you. Please.” He hesitated, then took my hand again and kissed my palm, his lips fleetingly warm against my skin. He squeezed my fingers tightly.

  Before I could respond, he turned away and half-jogged to the others. Beatrice was still sobbing about the “monster man”. Darlene was trying to soothe her.

  “Let me,” said Ingo hurriedly. He crouched down in front of the little girl. His voice floated back to me, suddenly gentle, hard to hear.

  “I’m sorry I scare you,” he said. “I don’t mean to. My face is only like this because I got hurt. I’m here to keep you safe, Beatrice – I promise. But you have to be very brave and quiet now. Can you do that?”

  “Please, Beatrice!” said Mrs Weir.

  Hesitantly, the child nodded. Darlene scooped her up in her arms. Ingo and Jimmy got ready to move Mac, one on either side of him. Please be all right, Mac, I thought.

  Sephy rushed over; we embraced tightly. I pressed my head against her shoulder.

  “Be careful!” I whispered.

  “You too. Follow us as soon as you can.” She pulled away, her eyes bright, but she managed a smile. “I hope that meant what I thought, with you and Ingo.”

  I did too.

  As she headed over to the others, I braced myself and put the pistol in my clutch purse. I grabbed the remaining lantern and started up the ladder against the wall.

  “Amity, wait!” called a voice. Dwight came jogging up, his bruised face pale but set. “I’m coming with you.”

  I put one foot back on the ground, staring at him. “What? Why?”

  His fists were tight. “Because I’m no good in the tunnels – Ingo doesn’t need me. But maybe I can help you find Hal. I know this city inside and out.”

  Impulsively, I lunged at him and hugged him. “Thank you,” I gasped.

  Even in the faint light, I could see his blush. “Anytime, doll-face.”

  Further down the tunnel, Ingo had paused, the group going on ahead. I lifted a hand to him, and saw him lift his back.

  A moment later, his tall, thin form was gone, vanishing around the bend.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  July, 1942

  As Collis entered his office his gaze went immediately to his desk, where a large brown envelope lay. He hesitated just inside the doorway, eyeing it.

  Frowning, he lay his briefcase on a chair and crossed to a gold-edged mirror that hung on one wall. Behind him he could see the buildings of New Manhattan through the broad windows, with the giant Harmony flag that flew on top of the Majestic in the distance. The late afternoon sun angled in, turning his hair gold and his eyes very blue.

  Collis studied himself critically. He straightened his cuffs with short, sharp motions. His suit fitted him well – the Leo tiepin glittered. He looked nothing like the scruffy boy who’d grown up in poverty in Gloversdale as one of “those Reeds”. Whatever was inside the envelope couldn’t touch him.

  Even so, Collis glanced at his sideboard. Like his office back in the Zodiac, there was a collection of liquor bottles there.

  He wavered. Finally he went over and poured himself a finger of whiskey. He could have that much. Hell, it had been months since he’d finished the painkillers, and he hadn’t gotten any more. He’d barely been tempted.

  Collis sat at his desk, tensely swirling the drink as he stared down at the envelope. It had arrived that morning by special messenger and he’d been avoiding it all day.

  Suddenly angry, he knocked the drink back. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the papers inside.

  As he scanned the documents, he slumped. Oh, no. Poor Goldie. He read them again. Something in him had gone tight and hard. Why had he wanted to know this? Why hadn’t he just left sleeping dogs alone?

  At last he got up and went to the window. He looked out over New Manhattan, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets.

  All at once he was back in Gloversdale.

  Eleven years old. He’d come home from playing at Amity’s one evening and found his mother, Goldie, passed out on the sofa. His father, Hank, had been sitting drinking with Collis’s uncle Matt. Cigarette smoke choked the air.

  Collis had stopped short in the doorway, his guts tense. He hated it when his father was home. Hank glanced up; a solid, balding man who usually sported too-shiny suits. Just then he wore only trousers and an undershirt, his face gleaming in the summer heat.

  “Well, looky who’s home for a change,” he drawled. He nodded at Matt. “Collis Floyd here thinks he’s too good for us. Spends all his time with those rich Van-coors.”

  Uncle Matt – who was more stupid than mean – had chuckled. “That so, Collie-boy? Hey, that’s not so nice. C’mon and sit with us.”

  “He won’t,” said Hank flatly. “Those Van-coors are better than us, isn’t that right, son? Don’t want to taint yourself, sitting with trash like me and Matt.”

  Collis longed to hightail it back out the door and make a run for it. He would have, if Goldie hadn’t been lying in such an awkward-looking position. He swallowed, glancing at her slumbering form. “Is she okay?”

  “Go and ask her,” said Hank. He and Matt seemed to find this hilarious. Matt giggled, his large shoulders shaking.

  Collis edged into the room. He went over and tried to straighten Goldie, make her more comfortable. She moaned and batted him away. “Le’ me ’lone.”

  He jumped as his father’s hand gripped the back of his neck. Hank shook him hard. “Hey, you little stuck-up good-for-nothing. Matt asked you to join us.”

  In a panic, Collis twisted from Hank like a flopping fish. He lunged across the room, banged through the ancient screen door, cleared the steps in a flying, desperate leap.

  He ran.

  Cutting across the twilight fields, Collis was terrified his father would follow. But Hank obviously decided it was too much trouble; when Collis reached the top of the hill and looked back, panting, he saw no sign of h
im.

  Once he got to Amity’s again, Rose, her mother, was in the warm kitchen, arranging cookies on a cooling rack. She wore a flowered house dress and her face was flushed and pretty.

  “Why, Collis! I thought you’d gone home.”

  Collis shook his head. “No…my folks aren’t there, so…” He trailed off.

  “So you’ll stay for dinner,” finished Rose. She squeezed his shoulder. “Good. Now, here, try this.” She handed him one of the cookies. “I made them different this time. What do you think?”

  Amity had wandered in then, wearing cut-off coveralls and a T-shirt. Her face lit up. “Hey! I thought you left.”

  “Came back,” he said with his mouth full, smiling.

  So Amity dragged him out to the barn while Rose finished getting dinner ready, and they had a long discussion up in the hayloft about her newest passion, which was travelling through darkest Africa. She’d been reading a book about it.

  Collis couldn’t care less about darkest Africa. Darkest home was weighing too heavy on his mind, and he knew he’d never get to the stupid place anyway, so why waste time thinking about it? He wished she’d talk about airplanes, a passion they shared. Half the time Collis felt as if he and Amity were twins and the other half he wondered how one person could like so many things that he didn’t. But he wasn’t in any mood to risk quarrelling with her, so he pretended interest and they talked Africa up down and sideways until Rose called them in.

  It wasn’t much of a price to pay to be Amity’s best friend and so welcome here. In Collis’s heart, he was a Vancour…yet he knew he never could be, not really.

  Because his home was that place where his dad was waiting.

  Now, ten years later, Collis stood in his office staring blindly out at New Manhattan.

  Well, you wanted to know, and now you do, he told himself.

  The papers he’d received had been in response to a query he’d sent to the Central Records Office, asking about his parents. He had no idea why this urge had taken him. He’d lost contact with them both when he was made Discordant and sent to Harmony Three at seventeen.

  He recalled, bitterly, Hank’s anger at this – towards him, Collis, as if he’d planned it or something – and Goldie, pale and shaking from not having a drink, trying to stop the Guns from taking him and getting beaten for it. The memory was painful, confusing.