Black Moon

  “Amity. I’m scared every day too – don’t you know that?” Ingo’s voice was low. “Harmony Five isn’t some place you can just forget about.”

  No. It wasn’t. I saw in a sudden flash a platform with a crescent moon behind it. A terrified girl being shot for a crime I knew she didn’t commit. When her body had fallen to the ground, I’d scrambled with the others, fighting to wrest the boots from her still-warm legs.

  I felt lost in that other time, seeing it all so vividly. “You want the truth?” I said. “I don’t even know who I am any more. I’ve killed two people.”

  “You didn’t kill Melody.”

  “Please don’t split hairs.”

  “I’m not. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I stood there and watched her die, Ingo! For a pair of boots!”

  “I’d have done the same, probably,” he said. “I was in that place too, remember? I know.”

  “Yes? And what about Gunnison? I walked right up to a man and shot him, and I hardly even remember it!” I laughed shakily, shoving my hair back. “If I were captured…I don’t even know what I would do. Apparently when my back’s to the wall, I might do anything – murder, betrayal. Who knows?”

  To my surprise, Ingo gripped my hand. “All right, listen to me. I know you, even if you don’t. And I did plenty in that shithole that I’m not proud of, either. Do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do,” I whispered.

  “Fine, so trust me now. You would die before you betrayed Hal, or Sephy, or Mac, or me, or anyone else in the Resistance.” He squeezed my fingers hard, his dark eyes intent. “I’d bet my own life on it.”

  I let out a long breath, holding onto his hand. Ingo hesitated, then smoothed a strand of hair from my cheek. “It’s not actually necessary that you be superhuman, you know,” he said. “An ordinary human will do.”

  Something eased in me. I gave a small smile.

  “Please don’t bet your own life,” I said finally. “You might lose.”

  I leaned forward until my forehead touched his chest. I felt him stroke my hair. His head dropped down to mine.

  “No,” he whispered against my ear. “I don’t think I would.” He gently caressed the back of my neck.

  I closed my eyes, savouring his warmth. The moments passed in the rattle of another elevated train; his heartbeat through his thin undershirt. I shifted so that I was pressed against him, and Ingo put his other arm around me, drawing me close.

  I could stay like this with you for ever.

  The thought was so natural that at first I wasn’t aware of it. I slipped my own arms around him – explored the long line of his spine through his shirt.

  My blood quickened as I realized what I’d thought…and that I wanted to touch skin instead of cloth.

  I felt Ingo swallow. I was hyper-aware of his lips still beside my ear. His heart was pounding too. His hand slowly travelled up my arm, his palm warm against my skin.

  The air had turned electric. I wanted whatever was going to come next.

  In confusion, I pulled away.

  We stared at each other.

  I tried to speak. The words felt too tangled. No, I thought fearfully. I can’t fall in love with you.

  Ingo looked just as rocked. “Amity…” he said softly, starting to reach for me.

  I hugged my elbows and blurted, “Ingo, whatever that was…I can’t do it.”

  One of the pigeons cooed. I gazed tensely towards the hutch, seeing with sickening clarity my arrest – someone I’d loved becoming a stranger.

  “I’ll probably feel like a fool in a minute,” Ingo said in a low voice. “But why? I thought…” He stopped.

  Because I can’t lose you, too.

  “I just…need you to be my friend, all right?” I’d sounded curt. I hadn’t meant to.

  I was desperate to fill the silence that followed but didn’t trust myself to speak again. Ingo sank back. Something faded in his dark eyes as he studied me.

  He looked away and swiped roughly at his scar, as if it bothered him.

  “Friendship it is,” he said. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  September, 1942

  I managed to sleep a little. When I woke up, it was daylight but still felt early. Vera and Harlan were asleep nearby; she lay curled against his chest like a kitten.

  I sat up. Hal was gone. When I scanned the top of the stadium, I saw him crouched in position with the snipers again.

  No attack yet.

  In the morning light, the stadium gleamed, its every inch bright and modern. You’d never have guessed the slaughter that had happened here…apart from the people. They looked like refugees. Many were still asleep on the floor; others sat in the bleachers, talking in huddled groups.

  I tried not to think about the bodies we’d left in one of the offices.

  Vera stirred then, and looked blearily around her. “I thought I’d dreamed it,” she murmured.

  “No. We’re still here,” I said.

  Soon everyone was up, eating junk food breakfasts in tense clusters. I prowled restlessly, checking often out the upper windows. As Hal said, more Guns were out there than we’d thought. I’d expect them to attack at first light, but they seemed to be waiting for something.

  The drone of sirens was continuous. Around nine o’clock we heard a faint chanting. It slowly coalesced into words: Down with Pierce! V for Victory! Down with Pierce!

  Gunshots. The chanting stopped. More sirens. Through the high-up windows, we could see that something seemed to be happening around the palace. The night before, we’d seen flames. Now plumes of smoke curled against the blue sky.

  Still no news. The woman who’d brought the transistor wireless kept trying it. Only static and dance music came from its curlicue speakers.

  Harlan and the others worked on digging out the tunnel. I went down to check several times. Each time, in the light from the flashlights, it seemed as if the pile of rocks and rubble had barely shifted.

  “Feels like it too,” grunted Harlan when I said this. He had his shirt off, trundling the full wheelbarrow across the cellar. As he tipped it out beside the coal pile, the tattoo of the scantily-clad woman on his bicep rippled. He accepted the water I handed him.

  “But what the hell – it’s better than just waiting for them to make their move,” he added. He toasted me with the water. “You throw a hell of a party, Vancour.”

  The hours dragged past. Around noon, I went and found Hal, who, after a brief nap, was taking another shift with the snipers posted around the top of the Garden. The heat was bad enough down below; up here it was choking.

  The atmosphere was grim, watchful. The Guns encircling us seemed etched on my brain: a faintly shifting line at the edge of the parking lot as a few of them milled around, talking – yet always with several dozen of them holding rifles on our doors.

  Come on, get it over with already, I thought. It felt like when I’d been Peacefighting, scanning the clouds for an opponent who refused to appear.

  I gazed beyond them towards the palace. The smoke we’d thought we’d seen earlier was gone. An eerie stillness seemed to have fallen over the city. I could hardly see any traffic.

  What the hell was happening?

  I sighed and glanced back at Hal. He swiped his wrist tiredly across his eyes. There were purplish smudges under them, and faint, boyish fuzz on his jaw.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Just dandy,” he said without looking at me. “I’m keeping an eye on a horde of attacking Guns with my sister. What could be more fun?”

  I smiled faintly at the echo of what I’d once said to him back home in Sacrament, when we’d waited for Ma and he’d asked if I was okay.

  Oh, I’m just dandy. I’m sitting on a park bench evading Guns with my brother – what could be more fun?

  Hours later, we’d put him into hiding.

  Remembering how much I’d wanted to protect him that day, I c
leared my throat. “You know…what happened to Dwight really wasn’t your fault.”

  He stiffened. “Don’t give me that.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Right, so whose fault was it?”

  “It doesn’t always work that way. It’s just…what happened.” When he didn’t respond, I gently reached for his rifle and lowered it.

  His jaw went hard, but to my surprise, he didn’t resist. He leaned against the wall with his head back, gazing at the ceiling. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said. “Can we drop it, please?”

  “All right,” I said quietly. “But I want you to have something.” I pulled the silver ring from my finger and put it onto one of his. “Dwight gave it to me just before he died. It was his mother’s.”

  It fit Hal’s right middle finger. He stared down at it and then looked quickly up at me. “Why…why would you give this to me?”

  I shrugged. “Because I think you should have it.”

  Abruptly, his eyes were red-rimmed. “Are you crazy? Why should I have it? It’s my fault he’s dead!”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  His throat worked. “I never…ever would have gone to signal Collie, if – if I’d known…” He gave a heaving gasp and squeezed his eyes shut. He jammed his fists against them, shuddering.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Amity, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I put my arm around him, not knowing what to say. It was like holding stone. I rubbed his shoulder, my heart aching for him.

  “I know you are,” I said at last. “Dwight died to save us. If we survive this somehow, just…prove him right, okay?” I rested my head against his.

  We sat like that for several minutes. Finally Hal pulled away. His cheeks were damp. Still looking down, he touched the ring.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

  Silence curled around us. From nearby came the faint sound of the next sniper along shifting position. Hal leaned back, his face still moist. He wiped his eyes.

  “Amity…why did he do it?” he said woodenly.

  “Dwight?”

  “No. Dad.”

  I tensed and stared down at the tiny figures moving about in the arena below. “I already told you what Madeline said.”

  “She hardly said anything. Just that it was a mistake and he did it for the money. I don’t believe that. Do you?”

  I sighed. “I guess I do,” I admitted. “I don’t think there was any big reason, Hal. He was young. He wasn’t that much older than me. It just…happened.”

  Hal fell silent, rubbing his forehead. In profile, he looked more like Dad than ever.

  “I wrote to Ma a while back,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said, confused by the change of subject. Then I realized it wasn’t one. “You mean about Dad?”

  “Yeah. I just…thought she might know what really happened.”

  The stifling heat pressed down. The thought of our mother receiving such a letter felt both very distant and far too close.

  “What did you say?” My tone was stilted.

  He made a face and nudged an old candy wrapper on the floor. “That Madeline told you Dad had done it for the money, and because she asked him to. That I wanted to hear Ma’s side.”

  “Hal, it’s just…there are some things that I don’t know if Ma knew.”

  “You mean that Dad and Madeline were having an affair?”

  I looked at him in surprise. He shrugged.

  “Figured it out,” he said tiredly. He pushed his hair back and gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking when I gave Ingo that letter. I just felt…I don’t know.”

  Neither of us spoke for a few moments. What would Ma think when she got Hal’s letter? I wasn’t even sure whether she’d known about Dad’s thrown Peacefight before it came out during my trial – though she must have known something was amiss, all those years. Mustn’t she? We’d always had more money than most Peacefighting families. Dad had been so clearly riddled with guilt for almost my whole childhood.

  Hal looked down, running his thumb over the silver ring. Finally he said, “Amity, listen…I know you’ve been trying to apologize for not being there for me, or whatever, after you shot Gunnison…”

  I went still.

  He sighed. “I kind of get it now,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to keep shutting you down. It just…felt really hard for a while.”

  My throat was tight. “I know. It’s okay.” I kissed his cheek and stood up. “And, Hal, don’t worry about the letter. You had a right to ask Ma for answers.”

  But glancing down at the waiting Guns again, I doubted we’d get to hear her response.

  It grew close to evening. In the ladies’ restroom, I attempted a quick sponge bath. My clothes felt sticky on my back. I’d been wearing the same too-formal dress for days now. My face looked unfamiliar in the mirror – there was still a purpling bruise over one eye, and a cut through one of my eyebrows from the Gun’s blackjack.

  Vera joined me and washed her hands. “People are wondering if it’s even going to happen today,” she said, her voice thin. “They’re scared that Pierce is planning something really terrible for us, and that’s why the Guns are waiting.”

  “I hate how likely that sounds,” I muttered.

  I’d found some other clothes in the stadium’s lost-and-found box: a plain green dress and sandals that almost fit. I pulled them on, and saw Vera’s eyes widen at my old bullet wound.

  She started to say something else. We both looked up, startled, at the sound of shouts.

  “Listen! Everybody, listen!”

  We raced back into the main area. The woman with the transistor stood on the platform, holding it up over her head.

  Kay Pierce’s voice blared tinnily, trembling with emotion: “…V for Victory? Well, I say V for Villainy! V for Violence! Vancour’s a dangerous criminal, New Manhattan, but she’s too craven to hold out for long. Don’t worry, this unrest will soon be over! I’ve left the city and am speaking to you from somewhere in Connecticut, where I’m…I’m currently on a prearranged tour. But as soon—”

  Sudden cheers drowned out the rest. Unexpectedly, my spirits soared. As the room erupted I gave a wild, whooping laugh, cheering as loud as anyone. Vera grabbed me and we jumped up and down together.

  “Prearranged my ass!” shouted a man.

  “Wildcat! Wildcat!” someone started chanting. Others took it up, punching the air in unison.

  I grinned, for once not even hating the nickname. Just then it didn’t matter that if Kay Pierce was gone, New Manhattan couldn’t reach her. She was on the run.

  People quietened, shushing each other, as she kept talking: “…as soon as the tour is over, when I’ll be joined by my new husband, Collis Reed, who’s currently away on business. Mr Reed will, of course, have a vital role in my regime, and I know that Can-Amer wishes us all happiness. Goodnight.”

  Static. I stood stunned, wondering if I’d heard right. Collie had married her?

  The mood in the Garden hadn’t been dampened. “So Reed actually married the witch,” laughed someone. “Poor slob.”

  “Ah, he’s as bad as she is,” said someone else.

  Hardly anyone knew about my history with Collie. Hal had just come down from taking a shift with the snipers. We stared at each other. My brother snorted, looking bitter.

  “Still think he didn’t betray us?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I said finally.

  After the first surprise, I felt oddly detached at the news of Collie marrying someone else – and Kay Pierce, of all people. The sudden flash of memory – Collie whispering, “Hey, if you ever marry anyone, it’s going to be me” – brought only a distant sadness, as if hearing about someone I’d once known. It was Hal I felt worried about.

  For myself, all I thought was, Collie, I hope to hell you know what you’re doing.

  We started picking up underground broadcasts soon after that, as if people felt emboldened by Pierc
e fleeing the city.

  A jubilant male voice floated from the speakers: “…and people near the Garden report that the stand-off continues. Vancour’s still in there now, with a group of armed rebels! The executions have stopped!”

  Excited murmurs. People sat hugging their knees, listening avidly.

  “There’s been no further announcement from Pierce,” the voice went on. “In Aquarius sector, Guns have been thin on the ground – we’ve only had three arrests today, even though astrology shops have been destroyed up and down my street. The V sign is everywhere.”

  A shaky, exuberant laugh. “We’ve been hearing lots of sirens, though. Smoke was seen over by the palace earlier – it seems pretty clear why Pierce went on a ‘tour’. And people here in Aquarius have been burning their ID cards. I saw a Gun strike a man for doing it, but he didn’t arrest him – and there were at least ten other people doing the same thing in plain view!”

  I stood greedily drinking in the first news we’d had in over a day. Exultation and apprehension beat through me. New Manhattan sounded on the verge of exploding.

  But Pierce wasn’t even here.

  The voice was still speaking a quarter of an hour later – far longer than Mac and I had ever dared. The Guns obviously weren’t bothering to police illegal broadcasts – or other things either, if the announcer was right.

  What did that mean? They were being kept too busy elsewhere in the city? Or that, like the Gun here had told me, Pierce had lost support with her mass executions?

  If I were her, I’d bring in outside forces, I thought.

  My arms prickled at the memory of her troops and tanks on the streets of the Western Seaboard. If I’d thought of it, surely the nimble-brained Pierce had.

  Unfortunately, the Guns outside the Garden were loyal enough. Every time I’d seen them today, they’d looked purposeful, alert. The sight was nerve-wracking – they still didn’t seem to be gearing up for an attack.

  And then my chill deepened as it hit me. She’s too craven to hold out for long, Pierce had said.

  “Hold out.” She knew we were armed, short of food. Why allow me to get taken in a heroic battle that the public might get wind of, when she could just let us rot in here?