Luna's Arc

Chapter 23 of 29

The sun sank behind the treeline, and orange light stretched across the bus floor. Luke woke and rubbed his eyes. The kitten stretched in his lap. Around them the Ghost Kids stirred, a dozen tired faces of every age and color, coats torn, hands still dirty from the woods. The oldest boy, tall and thin, sat near the back with the youngest ones tucked against him. Luna climbed forward and knelt beside her mother's seat. She had traded her anger for questions. "You told me why you left me alone," she said. "You told me why you split me from Luke. But you never told me about Dad." Harper kept her eyes on the road. Her jaw tightened. "Where is he?" Luna asked. "He carried children too. He said the word first. The harvest. I remember his voice." She held the steel tool with her name on it. "You made this. Did he help?" Harper's mouth opened, then closed. A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it fast with the back of her hand, but another followed. She did not speak. Luke leaned close to Luna. "She does that every time," he whispered. "I asked once. She cried and drove faster." Luna watched her mother's shoulders shake. This was not a woman hiding a secret. This was a woman who could not carry one. Luna understood then. The answer was not in words. It was in the silence that broke Harper apart. "He didn't get on a bus," Luna said quietly. "Did he." Harper's hands slipped on the wheel. The bus drifted, then steadied. "He stayed," she said at last. Her voice cracked open. "Someone had to slow the herd so the buses could leave. He chose the clearing. He told me to drive and not look back." She pressed a fist to her mouth. "I looked back. There was nothing left to see." The bus went silent. Even the youngest children stopped moving. The oldest boy lowered his head. Luke's face crumpled, and he pressed it into Luna's sleeve. Luna did not cry. She sat with the truth and let it settle in her chest, heavy and cold. Her father had not abandoned her. He had died buying her these breaths, these miles, this bus full of sleeping children. Ahead, the road opened into a wide gravel lot. A huge shape rose out of the dusk. Metal siding, rust in long streaks, a curved roof against the dark sky. An old airplane hangar, its tall doors hanging open like a mouth. Harper slowed the bus and turned toward it. "He told me one more thing," she said, wiping her face. "Where to go. I didn't believe it would still be here." She drove the armored bus through the open doors and into the shadow. The engine echoed off the walls. "Your father left us a place. Now we find out what he left inside it."