Maggot Moon by Sally Gardner Page B

dream. But then Papa refused to work for the president because of the way the Motherland treats its workers.” Hector’s voice is faint and he tries to catch his breath. “They call people like my father a sleeper. We knew that one day Papa would have to be woken. They needed him.”
    I suppose getting a fake moon to look like the real thing with a spaceship that could land on it and an astronaut to walk on it might take a scientist or two.
    Hector speaks very softly. “If Papa does what they ask him I’ll get fed, my bandage will be changed. If he doesn’t, then I will lose another finger.”

The lights go on so suddenly that it feels as if someone has punched me. Hector opens his eyes. I think maybe they’ve been listening. Did I say too much? Did Hector? It’s so bright that for a moment I am blinded all over again. Hector pulls away. When he comes into focus he is looking at me as if I am some sort of apparition.
    “I hoped you were just a dream,” he says. “A good dream, come to comfort me.”
    I see Hector clearly now. He looks transparent. His bandages are grubby, new blood seeps through. He’s going to be all right, though. I know he is going to be all right. I pull him close and carry on holding him. If I don’t let go of him he will get better.
    “Did they arrest Gramps as well as you?” he asks.
    “No,” I whisper.
    “Why just you?”
    “I came by myself to take you home.”
    “You came here — what — through the tunnel?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    “Are you bonkers?”
    “Maybe.”
    He laughs. A wheezy laugh. At least I made him see the funny side.
    “Standish, what crazy, brave idea were you thinking of?”
    “A good one,” I said.
    Though I have to admit the guard was right when he said I was lucky. Finding Hector was the best bit of luck so far. Maybe it’s a sign that this might all work out. All I need is the belief it can.
    Hector says softly, “I’ve thought a lot about you.”
    “I’m taking you to the land of Croca-Colas,” I say. “Remember? We are going to drive one of those big Cadillacs.”
    “What color is it?” he asks, and this worries me. Hector should remember. We talked about it often enough.
    “Sky blue,” I say.
    He coughs. Not a good sound. Too deep, too full of coffins.
    Why is mankind so fucking cruel?
    Why?

The lights go off.
    “They do this all the time — on, off, on, off. It’s supposed to drive you mad. I feel it might be working,” says Hector.
    I don’t want him thinking gloomy thoughts. But nothing sounds that cheerful in the dark of this tin can.
    “Does it hurt?” I ask. “Your hand?”
    “Yes. No,” he says.
    He rests his head against me. He is burning up. I was going to tell him about my stone but now all I can think of is us escaping from here. We need to find Mr. Lush. Hector needs medicine.
    I wish I could see his face. All I can hear is that snake rattle in his chest.
    Words mask the noise.
    I say, “When you left, there was this huge hole. I couldn’t walk around with a hole that size in the heart of me.”
    He says nothing but I know he is listening. Words are the only medicine I have.
    “You make sense of a world that is senseless. You gave me space boots so that I could walk on other planets. Without you, I’m lost. There’s no left, no right. No tomorrow, only miles of yesterdays. It doesn’t matter what happens now because I’ve found you. That’s why I’m here. Because of you. You who I love. My best friend. My brother.”
    Hector says sleepily, “I should never have gone searching for the football.”
    There is nothing I can say to that. All I can see is the emptiness between his words.
    His voice trails off. He is asleep. The only sound is the sand grater of his rasping breath.

I wake with a start. For a moment I have no idea where I am. The lights are on again. The door is thrown open, and the guard who looks like Mr. Gunnell enters with a tray of food. He puts it down before me. This is real food — the