Susan Pfeffer - Shade of the Moon

Mom could have waited until seven o’clock to call him, when he was already on his way to White Birch.

He grinned. Mom was fine. She was at school, helping those precious students of hers. He was the one risking his life while she was safe and sound.

He thought about waiting in the apartment until Mom got home, but he knew Sarah would go crazy if he did. No, the thing to do was go to the school, see Mom, and go from there to the clinic.

Jon made sure he had the note Dr. Goldman had written claiming he’d been brought to White Birch to run errands. Of course the guards might shoot him before they saw the note. But Jon didn’t think that would happen. He’d seen only a few guards on the drive through White Birch. Things had quieted down. He’d be safe.

Still, he took care as he walked the few blocks to the elementary school. The one time he saw a guard, he stood back, hardly breathing, until the guard was a few blocks away.

Except for the guard, Jon saw no one but corpses. He wondered when the grubs would be allowed to cart the bodies off.

Bullies. That’s what Mom had called the clavers. She was right. There was no reason to leave the bodies except to rub the grubs’ noses in it. The way Coach had wanted them to do.

Sunday’s match had been canceled. It was an official day of mourning for Sexton. All the claver bodies would be buried by then. Maybe after that they’d let White Birch take care of theirs.

Jon knew roughly where the school was, but he didn’t know exactly, so he walked for a few blocks before he spotted it. Taking care there were no guards around, he approached the school.

He could never be sure just when he saw her. A block away maybe? Two blocks? How far could you be before you saw a body hanging from a tree? How near did you have to be to know the body belonged to your mother?

Jon no longer cared about guards. He ran to the schoolyard, to the tree, to Mom’s lifeless body, her feet dangling over a drying pool of blood.

She’d been shot. Jon couldn’t guess how many times, but her clothes were ripped with bullet holes, and half her face was gone.

He wanted to scream, but that might bring the guards. The same guards who had killed her. He moaned instead and took his mother’s hand, holding the cold, dead flesh for as long as he could bear. Then he stormed into the school. The grubs would know what happened. If he had to beat it out of them, he’d find out why his mother had been slaughtered.

He broke into one of the classrooms and grabbed the teacher. “I’m her son!” he screamed. “Laura Evans’s son!”

The kids in the class didn’t look much older than Gabe. They began crying. Their teacher broke away from Jon.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “So sorry. There was nothing we could do.”

“What happened?” he cried. “Why?”

The teacher shook her head. “Not here,” she said. “Go to Mrs. Brunswick’s office, by the front door. She can tell you.”

He left the classroom and ran to the office. He’d passed it when he came in, but he hadn’t realized there was someone in there.

She sat quietly behind a battered desk.

“Mrs. Brunswick?”

The woman nodded.

Jon took a deep breath. “I’m Jon Evans,” he said. “What happened to my mother?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please, sit down.”

“Mom didn’t come home last night,” Jon said. “I came here looking for her. Tell me what happened.” He was using his claver tone, he realized, and for a moment Mrs. Brunswick reacted like a grub.

But then she exhaled, and Jon saw she wasn’t a grub, any more than his mother had been.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I’d find Mom here, teaching. Please. I have to know.”

Mrs. Brunswick nodded. “Your mother was in her classroom,” she said. “A half dozen guards came in. They told me they’d come for the high school students. There’s a labor shortage, because of the riots. All the high school students had to start work immediately, the boys in the factories, the girls as domestics.”

Jon thought about Lisa trying to find domestics for all the claver homes. He knew she wouldn’t have asked for the high school students, but he also knew she wouldn’t have argued against it. A month ago he wouldn’t have, either.

“The guards went into your mother’s classroom, and Laura, well, she put up a fight,” Mrs. Brunswick continued. “She stood up to them.”

“And they shot her,” Jon said.

Mrs. Brunswick shook her head. “I wish they had,” she said. “I wish it had been that quick, that clean. Two of them grabbed her, dragged her outside. The others went to the classrooms, told everyone they had to go out. We knew they’d kill the children if we didn’t. We had no choice but to do what they said.”

“I know,” Jon said. “I know this isn’t your fault.”

“They used one of their belts for a noose,” Mrs. Brunswick said, her voice quivering. “They told Laura to say her prayers. She said… she said she’d see them in hell. They made it tighter, but she still wouldn’t beg like they wanted her to. Then they used her for target practice.”

She was sobbing by then, but Jon didn’t cry. There was no point. Dead was dead. His father had died of hunger and disease. Was that better than being hanged and shot?

“They said they’d come back for the belt,” Mrs. Brunswick added. “They said they’d kill our children if she wasn’t still there when they came back for the belt.”

“The students,” Jon said. “The high school students?” The ones Mom died for, he thought.

“They took them,” Mrs. Brunswick said. “I don’t think they hurt them. Sexton needs the workers.”

Jon stood. “I have to go,” he said. “There are people expecting me.”

Mrs. Brunswick rose. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I only met your mother after the high school burned down, but I could see what a wonderful woman she was. She was devoted to her students.”

Jon nodded.

“To her family, also,” Mrs. Brunswick said. “She was… It was an honor to know her.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Well, I have to go.”

“There’s a back door,” Mrs. Brunswick said. “Down this hallway. If you leave through that door, you won’t have to… It might be easier for you.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, but when he left the office, he went out the front door. They wanted people to see Mom. They wanted people to understand what they were capable of doing, what they enjoyed doing.

Jon stood absolutely still by his mother’s body. He wanted to take her home, back to Pennsylvania, back to life as it had been. He wanted to be twelve again, to hear Mom cheering him on as he played shortstop for his Little League team. He wanted Mom to see the sun again, to see the grandchild she’d been so eagerly awaiting. He wanted to kill.

A guard walked up to him. “You have business here?” he asked.

“I’m here to run errands for Dr. Goldman,” Jon replied. “I have a note.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the guard.

“I’ll go with you,” the guard said. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know. Some of my pals are a little trigger happy.”

“Thank you,” Jon said. “I appreciate it.” He began walking away from his mother, trying not to think that this was the last time he would see her.

“Grubs,” the guard said, shaking his head in disgust. “Animals. You should have seen the stadium on Saturday.”

“Bad?” Jon asked.

“The game was okay,” the guard replied. “Soccer’s not my game, though. I played baseball. Third base. Made it to Double A for the Red Sox.”

“I was a shortstop,” Jon said. “Little League. Phillies fan.”

“Good team,” the guard said. “Wouldn’t have minded being traded to them.”