Chapter 33
Luna watchedBeckett being led down the dock to the boat. “Where are you taking him?”
“Jail. First, we whooped his ass, now we’re taking him to jail.”
The other officer laughed, “Did you see that gush of blood? That was an epic ass beating.” Luna struggled to get free and the officer yanked her to a standstill. “Don’t ask for trouble, Nomad, because your ass isn’t worth it.”
They all laughed.
Dan interrupted, his jaw clenched, “May I speak to the Nomad for a moment?”
An officer sized him up. “Yeah, whatever.” He gripped her bound arms tighter.
“I never asked, but um,” Dan felt his pockets, and found them empty. “I need your surname, so we can find you in the camps.”
Luna said, her voice panicked, “Is he going to be okay? Dan, what’s happening — is Beckett okay?”
Dan glanced down the dock toward the police boat as Beckett was shoved on board. “I don’t know Luna, but he’ll be worse if he can’t find you.” The officer holding her arms grumbled and yanked her arms. Dan said, “I need your full name.”
“Um, Luna Saturniidae.”
Dan kept patting around his pockets, he called up to the boat. “Sarah, write down—”
The officer growled, “We don’t have time for this.” He forced Luna down the dock.
Dan hurried to keep up. “I’m worried about the spelling, use Stanford, okay? Beckett’s last name, Luna Stanford. That way—”
Over her shoulder she said, “Yes, yes. Luna Stanford. Dan, you’ll find him, please find him?
The policeman gruffly said. “That’s enough.”
Dan said, “It’s not enough, I need her details, so I can—”
“She’s Nomad, what do you care? And you better shut up unless you want to go to jail with your deserter friend.”
Dan called after her. “When’s your birthday?”
Luna craned her neck to look back. “I think it was two-and-a-half weeks ago?”
“So, the fifteenth?”
The policeman to Luna’s left shoved her and caused her to stumble. He said, “You know, I’m getting tired of this.”
Dan ignored him. “August 15th?”
“Yes,” Luna said, “And I’m 19 years old.”
Dan called after Luna, “Okay, Luna Stanford, born nineteen years ago on August 15.”
She was long down the dock now, calling back over her shoulder. “Do you know where they’re taking me?”
“Nope, but it’s okay, we’re coming to get you.”
_________________
The police pushed her onto the deck of a boat. Beckett was sitting there, on a bench, leaned forward, hands cuffed behind his back, blood on his face. She asked, “Beckett, where are they taking—”
An officer shoved her down steep steps. Beckett yelled, “Luna!” as she disappeared into the lower interior deck of the boat.
It was windowless and dark. An officer shoved her into a seat, didn’t turn on the lights, growled, “Stay here,” and slammed the door. The room was thrown into pitch blackness. A clicking noise told her the door had been locked. And then nothing. Complete nothingness.
It was so black that her breathing echoed in her ears, so loud that she started to panic. Where was she? Where was she going? Was Beckett okay? She dropped her forehead to the table and wrapped her arms around her head, the cuffs binding her wrists were tight, sharp, cutting.
Faint voices came from above, barely distinguishable. She desperately tried to Go Bird.
