Black Moon

by Weatherly, L. A.

  There were seventeen of them.

  Mac watched the passing pilots in silence. Six weeks ago, with the end of the war, there’d been tickertape parades. People had hung from open windows high above the streets, blowing party horns and flinging confetti that fell like brightly-coloured snow.

  Now, as the Appalachian flag was about to be reinstated in the presence of the pilots who’d helped save it, the crowd was still. Sephy stood beside Mac holding Louise, their newborn daughter. As the baby slept, Sephy dabbed at her eyes and gave Mac a small, sad smile.

  “So few of them,” she murmured.

  Mac nodded, his own throat tight. In his heart, he added the members of the Resistance who’d fallen.

  He put his arm around Sephy. Along with others, they quietly fell into line behind the pilots.

  The World United offensive had worked, everyone said now. Yes, it was a terrible thing – unleashing such ferocious power – but perhaps nothing else would have stopped Kay Pierce. And after all, World United had destroyed the nuclear weapons factory, and gotten Wildcat to bomb the uranium mine only hours after Calgary fell.

  That was the official story. Amity had agreed not to challenge it if World United disbanded, and if the factory was destroyed and those responsible for the Calgary bombing were never allowed to hold public office again. They’d complied.

  No more nuclear weapons. No more threat to the world.

  Kay Pierce had escaped. Mac was darkly unsurprised. Kay was definitely not a woman to hang around and wait to be executed.

  He thought of Collis and sighed.

  The silent, expectant crowd streamed into Centre Park. The new mayor got up on a platform with the pilots and spoke about the brave heroes, both living and dead, who’d helped win the war.

  He mentioned many by name, including Amity, calling her, “Not only a hero, but now the head of the new Global Peace Committee, a true ‘wildcat’ who won our hearts and trust.” Mac could imagine Amity’s expression if she’d been there – she’d always disliked being singled out.

  She’d have to get used to it, he thought with a small inward smile.

  Finally the mayor took out several typewritten sheets of paper. As a warm breeze rustled through the trees, he said, “These are the pilots who fell defending our city.”

  The list of names went on for several minutes. The park went still, hats placed over hearts. Sorrow touched Mac as he heard “Vera Kelly” and “Harlan Taylor”.

  Dwight Perkins, he added mentally, his fedora clasped over his chest. Anton Bergen. Mabel and Ernest Chevalier…

  The names ended.

  The young girl with the flag stepped forward. A pair of police officers attached it to the flagpole beside the bandstand. The chain rattled, hoisting it into place: green mountains against a blue background.

  As the national anthem began again, the sombre mood faded, replaced by joyous singing. Mac and Sephy glanced at each other.

  She squeezed his hand. “’Bout time.”

  “Yeah. ’Bout time,” said Mac, staring at the flag.

  Holy hell… He’d fought ever since he was sixteen. Now, finally, the regime that had caused so much death and pain was gone. Old borders had been restored, all across what used to be Can-Amer.

  Yet now the world had to decide what next. How could so many nations coexist peaceably? The remnants of World United – those who hadn’t supported the bombing – needed an unbiased committee to chart the way forward.

  When Mac had called Amity in the hospital, he’d explained that they wanted her to be in charge of it, with some of the old Resistance team working alongside her – people who’d proven themselves ready to die for peace. Ingo. Mac himself. Sephy. Grady, and others from around the world who could be trusted.

  “A committee? I’m not a politician, Mac,” Amity had said.

  “I think that’s the whole point, kiddo,” he’d replied.

  Plans were already under way. Once Amity got out of the hospital and she and Ingo returned to New Manhattan, the real work of the Global Peace Committee would begin. They’d need to hold hearings, filter through years’ worth of corruption – learn how to prevent it from ever happening again.

  Later, a more permanent board would be formed to decide how the world should resolve conflicts. There was talk of locating it in Rome. Mac and Sephy would take on liaison roles at that point, staying in New Manhattan.

  The last notes of the national anthem faded.

  Food was brought out. The band started up a dance tune. Mac caught sight of Hal Vancour then, on crutches, with one trouser leg pinned mid-thigh. He and his mother were talking with a few of the pilots. As Mac watched, Hal scanned the crowd, his strong-featured face drawn.

  By now, Mac and Sephy had visited Hal and Rose several times in Nova Scotia. They headed over.

  Rose looked red-eyed – Mac recalled that she’d known Harlan Taylor – but was showing a letter to one of the pilots, saying, “Amity’s at a specialist hospital in Puget – she had to have her leg reset. But Ingo’s with her, and says she’s doing well…”

  Mac glimpsed the letter: Dear Rose, it began.

  Rose and Hal saw them then and Rose exclaimed over the baby. As she and Sephy started talking, Mac held out his hand to Hal and then impulsively hugged him.

  “Hey, buddy,” he murmured.

  Leaning on a crutch, Hal clung to him for a second, suddenly seeming again like the fourteen-year-old kid with serious eyes Mac had first met.

  “When the mayor was talking about the heroes of New Manhattan, he should have mentioned Collie,” Hal said roughly.

  “I agree, pal,” said Mac.

  The rest of the world didn’t. Collis was in prison, charged with crimes against humanity and a host of other offences. If found guilty of even a few of them, he’d face the death penalty. Already, his trial was gearing up to be a circus, with invective spewed about him daily in the press.

  “Why the hell’d you let Pierce go, buddy?” Mac had said when he’d visited Collis, worry making him snap the words. That was the real sticking point, the thing he knew would cause the most difficulty at Collis’s trial.

  Collis had shrugged, looking a little sad.

  “It just seemed right,” he’d said. “Her conscience is up to her.”

  Overhearing what Mac and Hal were saying about Collis, Rose sighed, her expression pained. Then Louise woke up, and she smiled a little. “Oh, let me hold her,” she said to Sephy, stretching her arms out. “She looks just like you.”

  “Really? I think she looks like Mac,” said Sephy, handing Louise over. “She’s got his nose.”

  “Poor kid,” said Mac with a rueful smile, studying his daughter. He couldn’t describe how he felt every time he saw her.

  Rose and Sephy fell into conversation again. Hal started to say something to Mac – then glanced up and went motionless. Through the shifting crowd, a pilot with russet hair was approaching.

  Mac recognized him suddenly: the English pilot he’d spoken to the day of the surrender. The pilot’s eyes were on Hal, but when he reached them he glanced at Mac and his forehead creased. “Hello,” he said, and put his hand out. “Percy Allen. Have we met?”

  “Mac Jones. Only briefly,” said Mac as they shook. He didn’t explain, and Percy didn’t ask. He seemed to brace himself as he turned to Hal again, who’d barely moved.

  “Hello, Hal.” He kept his gaze on Hal’s eyes, not looking at his leg.

  “Hi, Percy,” said Hal, his tone stilted. “Long time, no see.”

  Percy nodded and shifted his weight. “I spotted you from the stage. I…wasn’t sure whether you’d come.”

  “Yeah, of course.” Hal’s hands on his crutches were tight. He gazed down at his one shoe and cleared his throat. “I was, um…really glad to hear that you made it.”

  “Looked pretty dicey a few times. It makes you wonder – why you, out of so many other…” Percy grimaced and pushed a hand through his hair. “Never mind. Pointless maunderings. Do you
fancy getting a coffee?” He said the last words in a rush.

  Hal glanced at his mother, still talking with Sephy. For a long moment he didn’t respond.

  “Please?” Percy added.

  Mac had eased away a few steps. Trying not to watch, he saw that Percy’s hands were tight fists in his trouser pockets.

  Finally Hal gave a ghost of a smile. “‘Some’ coffee or ‘a cup of’ coffee. Not ‘a’ coffee, you limey.”

  Percy’s answering smile was sad. “I’ve missed having you tell me these things,” he said.

  Rose looked over then. Hal said, “Ma, this is Percy Allen. The one, um…”

  “Oh!” Rose put her hand out. “Yes, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “You have?” Percy glanced at Hal as they shook. “All good, I hope.”

  The tips of Hal’s ears reddened. Before Rose could respond, he said, “We’re going to go grab some coffee, all right, Ma?”

  Rose’s attractive face creased. “Oh, Hal…is that wise? You’ve been on crutches for hours.”

  Hal shook his head, looking slightly impatient. “I’m fine. I’ll see you back home.” He and Rose had moved to New Manhattan recently, where there were better doctors for Hal’s leg. Hal said goodbye to Sephy, hugging her briefly, then glanced at Mac. “I’ll call you soon, all right?”

  Mac nodded and gripped his shoulder. “See you, pal,” he murmured. Be happy, he thought.

  As Hal and Percy set off, Mac took the warm bundle of his daughter from Rose.

  Louise peered solemnly up at him with her young-old eyes. The corner of Mac’s mouth lifted and he kissed her head. His gaze met Sephy’s. Her faintly sad smile matched what he was feeling.

  Glancing after Hal and Percy again, Mac saw that Hal’s spine looked tense even given the crutches. Percy said something Mac couldn’t catch, nodding down at them.

  Hal looked quickly at Percy, his expression hesitant. After a beat, he seemed to relax a little as he responded.

  Rose sighed, her eyes on her son too. “It’s so hard to let go.” She glanced at Mac and Sephy and gave a small smile. “You’ll find out.”

  EPILOGUE

  The lights shone brightly on my face, making the audience a dark mass. I was used to it by now. My hands on the podium stayed steady as I said, “I’d like to tell you a story. It’s a story my father used to tell me. On this opening day of the Global Peace Committee’s eighth annual session, I think it’s important.”

  I didn’t have to check my notes. Without trying, the scene came vividly back: myself in bed at age nine with my father perched beside me, his voice intent.

  “My family originally came from Oceania,” I said into the darkness. “One of my ancestors there was named Louise, and as she walked home from school one day, soldiers attacked…”

  The green, rolling land glided past below. The Dove was a MK14, and finally I could agree with Harlan that I liked a version better than the MK9. Its stick felt light under my fingers. Flying it was like strapping on wings and stepping into the sky.

  As I banked, I felt my tensions ease. The meeting in Rome that had followed my opening-day speech had been long and acrimonious at times – funny, when we were talking about peace. Yet being up here with the late afternoon sunlight so golden and slanting made all that fade into its proper place.

  It was my job. It was important. But the people I was heading home to were my life.

  “Troops swarmed through the streets. Shots echoed. People were screaming, running for cover. Louise sprinted home, but when she opened the door, everyone had been killed.

  “She saw her mother lying on the kitchen floor with her stomach sliced open. She saw her older brother’s body slumped against the wall; it ended at the bloody stump of his neck. His head lay on his lap, staring at her. Her father was simply gone. Bloody scuff marks led out the door, as if he’d been struggling when he was dragged away.

  “As you can imagine, hearing this had a great impact on me. ‘Those soldiers were evil!’ I told my father. ‘They did terrible things.’ And he said, ‘But, Amity, that’s what happens in war. Louise’s side might not have acted any better, if they’d had the chance.’

  “We know now to our sorrow that it’s true.”

  Eight years on, the world had decided on an improved system of Peacefighting. The Global Peace Committee, now made up of one representative per country, was overseeing the formation of the new Peacefighting force. I was starting to realize that getting it up and running would take years more.

  I’d be glad when I could leave it behind and just fly transport, like I’d always wanted.

  The MK14 hummed around me. Flying still made me feel close to Dad; he’d have loved the MK14. So often now, I felt only pity for him.

  But that was in the past and I didn’t live there. Mostly as I flew, I just thought of the evening ahead: talking with my husband over dinner; scooping up our son and burying my face in his curly hair; sitting out on the balcony with a glass of wine and watching the sun set over the fields.

  “The war Louise lived through led to what we once thought was the Final War. It was not. But along with many others, Louise told her story and warned: the ancients destroyed themselves. We must never do the same.

  “The International Peace Treaty was signed by every nation. It was broken, but we have now re-signed it – all too aware of how close we came to forgetting Louise’s warning.

  “Your presence here today is a bond.”

  I brought the Dove in lower, its shadow swelling and shrinking over the hills. A rambling farmhouse below always reminded me of my childhood home, and I smiled. I’d heard from Hal the day before. He’d decided against becoming a pilot and had recently entered med school.

  He and Ma kept in touch with Collie – I knew he’d always be a son, a brother, to them. In the end, helped by testimony from those of us who knew Collie had been with the Resistance; he’d been convicted of only one charge: being an accomplice in the murder of Lester Henley in Harmony Three. On the stand – which he’d insisted on taking – he’d admitted to everything he’d done, both good and bad.

  He’d served seven years. When he’d gotten out, Mac had offered him a job with the Committee’s liaison branch. Collie turned him down, saying he needed to make his own way. Though to the world he’d probably always be Mr Kay Pierce, Mac said he didn’t seem bitter.

  Kay Pierce had never been found. I didn’t let myself lose sleep over it.

  “When I was first asked eight years ago to lead the Global Peace Committee, I felt wary. Surely we’ve had enough of alliances that claim to be for peace? Yet if the ones we’ve had so far have failed, it’s not for the lack of good people trying their best.

  “If we’re ever to truly have peace, we must keep on trying.

  “My middle name is Louise, and I’m proud of it. Thank you for listening. Let’s begin.”

  I flew over the final hill, and there was home, with the runway stretching out in the fields behind it. The house’s worn, gentle stones glowed golden in the late afternoon light.

  I came in over the lush vineyards and saw them: a tall man with a scarred face and a little boy. The man was crouched beside the boy, one arm around his shoulders, pointing at me up in the sky. The little boy was jumping up and down.

  My heart was the sun. As I passed overhead, I grinned and waggled my wings.

  I brought the Dove in for a landing.

  THE BROKEN TRILOGY:

  COLLECT EVERY EXHILARATING EPIC

  Welcome to a “PERFECT” world.

  Where war is ILLEGAL; where HARMONY rules.

  And where your date of birth marks your DESTINY.

  But nothing is PERFECT.

  And in a world this BROKEN, who can Amity TRUST?

  Set in a daring and distorted echo of 1940s America, L. A. Weatherly’s BROKEN trilogy is a compelling journey of deception, drama and rebellion.

  “Action, romance, heartbreak, betrayal, agonizing guilt and heart-stopping tension… And TWI
STS; dear Lord, the twists.”

  AWFULLY BIG REVIEWS

  Broken Sky

  Darkness Follows

  Black Moon

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The Broken series has been exhilarating, challenging and ultimately my most fulfilling writing journey yet. After more than three years, it’ll feel very strange not to have this world and these characters in my head.

  Black Moon is already pretty flipping long, so I’ll keep this brief (for me!). Thank you so, so much to everyone who helped me along the way with this book and this series. Particularly the team at Usborne – Stephanie King, editor extraordinaire; Anne Finnis, Rebecca Hill, Sarah Stewart and Becky Walker – you’re all stars and your feedback has been invaluable. Thank you for believing in this impossible-to-encapsulate-in-an-elevator-pitch series, and in me. I’ve got the best publishers in the world.

  Thanks to Stevie Hopwood and Amy Dobson in Publicity – you’re both awesome, and joys to work with.

  Thanks to Katharine Millichope for the stunning front covers. Each one has been more amazing than the last. Thanks to Sarah Cronin, for doing such a stellar job setting out the text, not just in this book, but all my Usborne books.

  Thanks to my lovely agent Jenny Savill – looking forward to Whatever Next with you!

  Thanks to my wonderful friends, who’ve read drafts, offered feedback, and helped keep me sane (I always say this, because it’s always true). I won’t name names because I’m sure to inadvertently leave someone out. Instead I’ll just say thank you SO MUCH to all of you – you know who you are – and especially the Charlotte Street Gang. You all rock and I love you.

  A huge thank you to my readers. All of them. Yes, you, reading this right now. It seems magical to me that these words are bridging time and space to reach you. I’m waving, can you see? I’m thrilled that you came along for the ride that was the Broken series. I hope you enjoyed it.