Red Moon Rising (4 page)

7

MY EYES OPEN WIDE. WHAT
woke me? Was it a dream? A sound? I put my hands to my chest. No tightness. I'm breathing easy—other than the start that woke me. I scan the room. Papa is snoring softly in his bed. Aunt Billie is a smooth mound in hers. Temple is curled in a ball at the end of her cot. The clouded plastic window offers a deep-crimson light from the Red Crescent hanging in the sky. Maybe it was Papa's snoring that woke me. My eyes are heavy again, closing against the night.

A rustle.

My eyes fly open again. What's that noise? I slide my legs over the side of my cot and go to the window. I press my face against the cloudy plastic, trying to make out any
shapes in the night. There's a figure standing next to Heetle, patting her mane.

“Heet—” I start to shout, but a hand clamps over my mouth.

“Hush!” Temple whispers. She's on her tiptoes so she can reach my mouth. “You know what he'll do if he sees us? We don't know how many of them are out there.” Her hand is sweaty against my face.

I swallow hard. Temple takes her hand away.

The dark figure grabs Heetle's bridle and leads her away. “He's taking Heetle,” I whisper. “I have to go stop him.” I throw my knee up on the jagged window ledge, my hands pushing on the plastic, but Temple yanks me back.

“You can't go out there, rockhead,” she hisses. “Rae. He'll take you, too.”

She's right. I know she's right. But my heart is seizing. Heetle is my best companion and a harder worker than I am by a hundred. I can't imagine my days without her.

The figure—and the horse—move silently out of sight, my heart still clanging in my chest. Temple swipes her long, filthy blond hair out of her eyes and says, “Just be happy he didn't try to take us, too. We got lucky tonight, Rae.” She really is too smart to have barely nine summers.

“I hope they don't eat her,” I say. “Those gum Cheese.”

“Well, you did shoot one of their dactyls,” Temple whispers.

“I know it,” I say. “But it was trying to eat Papa.”

“Not actually,” Temple says.

Heetle is gone. This is the worst thing that has ever happened, excepting Rory.

Aunt Billie walks to the window, a blanket pulled around her shoulders.

“What's the ruckus?” she asks quietly. Papa is still snoring. He could sleep through the Red Crescent cracking in two and landing in the gorge. Aunt Billie peers out the window.

“A Cheese just took Heetle,” I say around the rising lump in my throat. “Just walked right off with her.”

Aunt Billie puts a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sorry, Rae. Under the circumstances, though, I think we're very lucky this is all they took.”

“Unless they're coming back,” Temple says. Aunt Billie shoots her the stink eye and Temple shrugs.

“Back to bed, both of you,” Aunt Billie says. Her face is unmoving, un
moved
. I know she must be thinking of when the Cheese took Benny, so many summers ago. Temple was just a babe, and I was barely out of training pants. Mama sacrificed her own life to save us, but Aunt Billie ran to the hiding pit. It is a night I don't remember, but it haunts me even so.

“The morning comes early and the work goes late.” Aunt Billie pushes us gently toward our cots.

“But, Aunt Billie!” I say, turning and facing her straight on. “How will we clear the big boulders without Heetle? How will I get to the cooling flats? How will I do anything?” I run my hand through what's left of my hair and
feel the grit of the afternoon still clinging to my scalp. Thank the gods it is so short now, so much less stifling in the heat. Papa is still angry that I cut it, I'm sure, but at least now we have bigger problems to fight over.

“Get your rest, Rae,” Aunt Billie says. “Take deep breaths. We'll talk about it in the morning.”

But I don't want to rest. I don't want to talk about it in the morning. I want my gum horse back. I turn back to the window, clenching my fists at my sides. Aunt Billie sighs. I hear her tucking Temple into her cot, but I don't move. Maybe if I stand here and stare long enough, Heetle will hear my thoughts and escape.

Aunt Billie puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “I'm sorry about Heetle, Rae. But
you're
safe, and I'm not sorry for that at all.” She puts her hand on the back of my head and then I hear her walk across the room and climb back into her cot. Papa grunts and his snores start back up again. It's funny that Aunt Billie has to pat the back of my head now. She used to pat the top of it, but I guess I'm getting too tall.

The morning comes quickly even though I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, worrying about Heetle, trying to hold back the anger that bubbled up into my head, making my eyes hot and watery.

Papa says nothing at breakfast when Temple blurts out the story. He just drinks his chicory and shakes his head, staring absently out the window.

A bang on the door startles us all. Papa reaches for his handbow as Aunt Billie peers through the peephole. She drops her hand quickly, though, and I see an almost smile play at the corners of her mouth. She swings open the door and Boone is standing there, holding Heetle's armor. It's stacked so high in his arms I can't see his face. He tries to carefully set it all down just inside the doorway, but it falls into a huge pile and he grins sheepishly.

“Sorry about the mess. Mama said I'd better bring it back right away in case Raj breaks it or something since we can't afford to replace . . .” He looks from me to Temple to Papa to Aunt Billie and back to me again. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“The Cheese took Heetle in the night,” I say, staring at the scuffed metal tabletop. “Just walked away with her.” Temple nods to confirm my story.

“Oh no!” Boone says, putting his hands up in his hair. “Did you give chase?” Then he says to himself, “No, Boone, of course they didn't. That would've been suicide.” He absently rubs the place where his ear used to be.

Papa sets down his cup of chicory and tugs his beard. “Boone, take Raj home and come back in your one-man. Think you can get it started?”

Boone looks skeptical. “Maybe, I don't know. It's been a long time since we even tried to start the gum thing up.” His eyes flash up to Aunt Billie, but she says nothing about the swearing.

“Well, see to it that you get it working. And quickly.
Then, if you please, bring your mama back here. It'll be a tight fit, but I think your one-man can handle it. Your mama and Aunt Billie will be safer together and must work the fields for the next few days. The rest of us are going to the cooling flats before any other gum thing goes wrong.”

The room goes as still as a dune before a storm.

Aunt Billie is the first to break the silence. Her voice is quiet with alarm. “The cooling flats? Now? Is it safe? The township will miss your presence.”

Papa shrugs. “At this point, nothing is safe anymore. If we go today, we can hope the Cheese are satisfied with having Heetle as recompense and they'll leave us be. We'll be able to gather what we need and get back in time to hole up in case they return and lay siege.” He sighs deeply. “At least it's early enough in the season that we'll be the first to the flats and have our pick of the minerals.”

“First of the season?” I pipe up. “It isn't even the season yet. If someone like Old Man Dan sees us out there . . .” I don't even finish because we all know what could happen. Charges filed, fines, penalties, Papa could lose his position as Sheriff Reverend . . .

Papa slams his hand on the table and we all jump. “You have put us in this situation, Rae.
You
.” He points at me in case I've forgotten who I am. “We go now while we're
maybe
safe from the Cheese—
if
they see fit not to raid us two days in a row—or we wait until the law dictates the season and lose all our ears or lives,
or
find the flats blocked
by angry Cheese who would just watch us burn to death in the high summer.” He pauses, taking several quick breaths, and stares at me, his eyes boring into mine like light arrows. “So what is my choice here, Rae?”

My throat has gone dry. He's right. This is all my fault. “We go today,” I choke out, barely above a whisper. I clear my throat, but then say nothing else. Aunt Billie looks at the tabletop. Temple is watching me with soupy, watery eyes. I don't want to see the mix of pity and terror and bravery in those blue, blue eyes. I turn to Boone, who looks like he wishes he could fall in a hole and tunnel his way back home.

“I'll . . . ,” Boone says, backing toward the door. “I'll go get the one-man. And Mama.”

Papa nods once and follows Boone to the door. He glances down at the pile of armor. “We'll take this with us and sell it in the market. No need for it now.” I want to tell him Raj could use it. I could make new buckles so it would fit better. But I don't say anything.

8

IT'S CALLED A ONE-MAN
for a reason, I think, as one of my legs hangs off the side of the seat, my skirt gathered in a lump in my lap to keep it from dragging and tangling in the scrub. It's a struggle not to be thrown to the rocks as Boone drives us quickly over the prairie.

“Just imagine a gum night beetle trying to fly a dactyl.” That's what Rory would say, and her laugh would shatter the heat. Boone would whack her in the head, or try to race her if she was driving her own one-man. That giggle of hers . . . it would carry on the wind, infecting all of us, making us smile and forget why we were out here.

Rae. Stop. No more Rory.

The awful machine belches acrid smoke all around us;
smoke that mingles with the dusty air and clings to the sweat on our skin like a gritty caul.

I should not complain. These tiny vehicles are thirty summers old and survived the crash of the
Origin
. They were not meant for long-term use; their patched and reinforced aluminum frames prove this. They have no doors, no protection from the suns, and hollow, plastic wheels. They were only meant for moving supplies around in the belly of the
Origin
. It's not their fault they had to be retrofitted with awful combustion engines. It is a wonder and a miracle that they have lasted this long.

Even so, I hate them.

Papa and Temple are just ahead. She's small enough still to sit on Papa's lap. Heetle's heat armor is tied to the top of their one-man's frame, offering them coveted shade even as it slaps up and down, fighting against the wind.

“This stink's gonna burn out my gum nose hairs,” I yell to Boone over the engine noise.

“Runs on bodily wastes, rockhead. You think it's gonna smell like cakes?”

I guess it doesn't matter if my nose hairs all burn off. After hours of traveling like this I'll be lucky if my whole nose doesn't bounce off altogether.

Papa waves his arm up and down twice, and slows, signaling us to pull up alongside him.

“Gonna stop for lunch,” he shouts over the belches and whines of both the idling engines. He points a ways into the distance at an outcropping of rock that's been carved
by the wind. Strangest-looking thing—like a horseshoe, standing on its end, sticking up out of the prairie. Might as well be waving a flag to the Cheese. “Hey there! We're eating our biscuits! Want to attack? That'd be mighty fine!”

Papa lurches ahead in his one-man, Temple's shouting laughter at almost being tossed out carries on the thick breeze. Boone kicks our beastly machine into gear and we follow after them, arriving at the outcropping in only a few minutes. While Boone helps set out the canteens and biscuits, I check the small metal cart we've been towing. Just like everything else made on-planet, it was put together with supplies scrounged from the
Origin
.

I don't know what part of the hull the metal pieces were carved from, but I imagine our cart came from the giant exposed belly of the ship. The silvery quality of the lightweight metal is rough and scratched from years of use—but maybe also from the glances and close calls of asteroids and other space debris. It amazes me to think of it.

The jugs and boxes meant to carry back a season's worth of cooling minerals for both my family and Boone and his mama are still tightly bound to the cart, despite the bouncy journey.

“Rae! I will eat this biscuit if you do not get here in one minute!” Temple is in a jolly mood today. She always loves a trip away from the homestead. I usually do, too, but because of the circumstances, and without Heetle, this one feels . . . wrong.

I jog over to the rest of them and sit on a boulder at the foot of the horseshoe-shaped colossus.

“Seems like a funny place for lunch, Papa,” I say, squinting at him as the suns sear the sky behind his head. “Not very subtle.”

Boone shoots me a look. But I'm not baiting Papa. I'm genuinely curious.

“It's not like we're being very subtle anyway,” Papa says, gesturing at the two vehicles parked in front of us. “There's no sneaking around in a one-man.” He takes a bite of his biscuit, swiping crumbs out of his beard, but missing a few. “We will partake of what little shade we can find. And no one's out this way yet, so we should be safe.” He swallows his biscuit and rubs his forehead with his handkerchief. “Hopefully.”

I cast my eyes from one end of the horizon to the next. During the season, this part of the prairie is full of tracks from travelers going back and forth to the flats. You'd think the first homesteaders would have settled closer to the crystals, seeing as how important they are when it comes to surviving the high summer, but no. Papa says our seeds won't grow by the flats, something to do with the chemicals in the soil. I imagine the proximity to dactyl nests didn't help much, either.

Today the prairie is just dirt and scrub. No tracks. No one in sight. No Cheese, either. I want to ask Papa about the Cheese at Old Settlement—Fist. I want to know how they met, how long they've been working together. But
Papa's mood is temperamental at best and if I were to anger him he might just forbid me to come on trips like this ever again—leave me at home to do the wash with Aunt Billie.

It may be Papa's curse and Aunt Billie's fathomless sadness, but it is our greatest blessing, mine and Temple's, that there are no boys in our family. We have freedoms other girls in the township do not have. If you count memorizing poultice recipes, pushing boulders, and bouncing your nose off in a one-man to be great freedoms. Which I do.

My biscuit is gone, though my belly growls still. I pick the crumbs from the front of my blouse and lick them from my dirty fingers.

A loud caw breaks through the whistling wind and all four of our heads jerk to the sky as if some mighty hand has yanked a string. The dactyl swoops low once, twice, and then begins a high circle around us.

Boone and I jump up. Our handbows are in the one-man. But Papa holds his arm out to stop us. He holds a finger to his lips and never takes his eyes from the sky. His head is tilted so far back his hat must be staying on by sheer force of will.

The dactyl is huge, glittering in the sky. Each of its scales must be at least as large as my head. I can feel my breath coming in spikes, my chest tightening. Oh no. Not now. Easy, I think. Keep it calm, Rae. Easy now. The edges of my sight are going dark as I struggle to right my breathing. Temple takes my hands, looks into my eyes. She starts counting in a whisper.

“One. Two. Three. Four.” I count with her. We get to twenty-five before the darkness goes away. I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. I reach down for my canteen, but my shaky hand knocks it from one boulder to the next, making a clattering sound that can probably be heard on the Red Crescent itself.

The dactyl shrieks and dives and we all instinctively flatten ourselves to the scrub. The creature has gotten so close this time I can see that it has no rider. Wild dactyls aren't unheard of, but usually they fly in packs. A lone wild dactyl . . . I turn my head, the scrub scratching at my face, and look at Temple. She gives me a shaky shrug and grabs my hand.

The air-splitting screeches of the creature are fading now and I glance up into the burning pink sky to see it retreating, flying in a direction I've never been—away from both the township and the cooling flats. There must be a nest nearby. Papa will have to ask the scholars to add it to the maps.

“Where's it going?” Boone asks, sitting up and shaking dirt and scrub from his hair, which is longer than mine since I had my way with the shears.

“Away from here,” Papa says. “And that's all that matters.” He stands and helps Temple to her feet. I scramble up on my own, grabbing my canteen, which has rolled to the ground. No one makes mention of my clumsiness or breathing attack. But they don't have to. I can feel it in the silence around us. I am a liability. I will get us all killed
someday if I can't be more careful, if I can't make better decisions. The problem is, I seem to cause dire circumstances by trying to save people, by trying to drink from a canteen. I will get us all killed someday for just being Rae.

Without another word, we set off again toward the cooling flats. We'll have to camp tonight no matter what, but I know Papa wants to get as far as possible the first day. I do, too.