Chapter 8: Chapter 8: The Shack

Flying at night was a whole new experience.  The fires from the street lamps below winked as brightly as the stars above.  They mirrored each other until Will flew them out of town. Chleo wished they could float, lost between them, forever. 

She felt adrift hugging his back.  She was worried.  No… worried was an understatement.  People on Luna weren’t named Melody, too afraid their kids would be confused with a relo.  There was no doubt in her mind the hooded man from the alley had been talking about her mother.  Her thoughts circled, trying to plan, trying to find reason.  They fell short.  Will was solid, level, her anchor in a roaring river helping her stay grounded.

Her arms tugged him tighter.  His hand ghosted over hers giving it a light squeeze. 

She shouldn’t panic yet.  Even if it were true and someone… took her mom, her dad would have a plan.  He would get her back.  They just needed to reach the Shack and everything would be all right.

Ol’ Man Jimmy’s orchard came into view, the rows of trees outlined by the planet’s dim glow.  The dull light helped Will follow the road, using it to guide them home. Tiny glimmers winked in the distance, the smallest hint of houses burning late night oil.

The swimming hole caught their reflection as Will abandoned the road for the star-littered river.  With more light and more space, he pushed the board faster.

A purple haze rose to their left the farther they travelled. The wind whipping against their faces lost its bite.  The tangy, charred smell of the Pits filled the air with a smokey aftertaste.

They peeled away leaving the river behind and slowed to follow the road once again.  She should have enjoyed the flight.  Her invention worked.  It could take them to town and back without stalling or overheating.  It passed her last test.  They should be celebrating.  

The board slowed.  At some point, Chleo had buried her head on the back of Will’s shoulder.  She looked up.

“I think I passed it,” Will said, an apology in his tone.  Her brow furrowed.

He flew them in a slow arc, careful not to lose sight of the road.  She strained her eyes, searching for a glimmer, a candle in the window.  It had to be there.  They always left it lit until everyone was home.

Will took them for another pass.  Nothing.

He took them down level with the road, twisting and sprinting along until they found the Shack’s walkway.  It was overgrown, just wide enough for a wagon to fit through if the owner didn’t mind branches scraping the sides.  Will kept them low and steady taking the turns from memory more than sight.  The occasional planetbeam filtered through the leaves and lit the path.

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The trees spit them into the Shack’s clearing, rustling as they passed.  Piles of machinery scattered the ground.  Half-finished and half-scavenged parts whined and clanked with the wind, the Shack standing short behind them.  Chleo’s heart sank.

The window was empty.

She didn’t remember jumping off the board or unclasping her harness.  She didn’t remember sprinting through the maze of junk that could entertain her and her dad for hours.  One second she was sitting behind Will, and the next she was there, standing in front of her broken door watching it swing on one hinge.  She took a hesitant step inside.

Disarray.  The word popped into her head uninvited.  Her father was meticulous, constantly reminding her to pick up or clean.  He always said a clean work station invited ingenuity, and a clean home was a short step behind. It was a small space so the rule was fairly easy to follow.  She’d never seen the Shack in such… disarray.

Planet light streamed into the room shrouding everything in a vague outline.  The single counter and hotplate they considered their kitchen was littered with silverware, pots and pans strewn across the small section of floor.  Splinters of wood joined them and spread out into the living area where the small coffee table once stood.  The sheets she used every night on the couch were shredded along with every cushion and pillow they owned.  Down feathers floated lazily in the air twisting and playing in the Shack’s ventilation.

There wasn’t a door or cupboard that wasn’t hanging on its hinges.  She took a few tentative steps through the wreckage.  Tools that once hung on the walls in her parents’ strange version of art were gone.  

“We don’t have much,” they would say as they hung a new piece, “so we’ll use what we have.”

The Shack’s single bedroom stood open spilling clothes and what looked like more splintered wood, some throwing a strange glint.  Chleo reached for a wall lamp. She pricked her finger on its shattered glass, but it lit well enough.  Light bathed the room.

In some ways it looked worse.  Still, she sighed when she could see clearly again.  Her dad was right, sometimes all you needed was a little light.

Chleo started toward the bedroom and felt her stomach twist.  The strange glint began to look a lot like blood.  She softened her steps, avoiding glass and other loud debris that would give her away.  It seemed whoever broke in was gone, but she didn’t want to take the chance.

Her parents’ room was empty, destroyed like the rest of the Shack, but empty.  Their small bed was thrown on its side, the mattress in the same state as the couch.  The small dresser gaped open, its drawers in pieces on the floor scattered across a spray of blood.

Where were her parents?

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