The Night the Moon Turned Green

It all started on World Union Day when the bombs fell. We weren’t told who dropped them, only that they were a bioweapon sent with the intention of genocide by an enemy seeking world domination. It didn’t make sense. Ten years ago, the world had entered a new era, uniting under one flag. Humanity had just crawled from the ruins of the worst war in Earth’s history; a war that nearly wiped out all life. Many hard lessons were learned and it was decided we couldn’t afford another such war. So came the Great Decade of Peace. Referendums were held across the globe and, eager for the cessation of violence, the majority voted in agreeance of the peace and a new leadership scheme. Each nation was delegated a Pristine and a party of Overseers, collectively called Overlords. For ten years, we rejoiced in what we thought was finally World Peace. For ten years, we were lied to.

Unbeknown to us, the new Overlords had concocted a different plan. Sure, it was still a plan to safeguard against future wars… because it was a plan to render humanity powerless, incapable of fighting against the system so the Overlords could live like the gods they believed themselves to be. And so, the bombs fell with their “bioweapon” threat, and each nation’s Pristine sent out a broadcast of their “solution” to combat this new danger; a panacea, a vaccine that would protect against whatever disease had been released into our atmosphere. The masses ate it up, too terrified to realise the absurdity of the situation, how odd it was that there just happened to be a vaccine for this disease all ready to be rolled out. The Green Halo, they called it. TGH. To make it, they’d thought outside the box of modern medicine and gone back to the medicines of our ancestors. TGH was supposed to contain a high strength dose of antioxidants taken from natural sources, like berries and green leafy vegetables, mixed with various other vitamins and minerals, and a high concentration of cloves and garlic. Fast administration was vital. Luckily, announced the Pristines, TGH was capable of being administered in multiple forms; pill, injection and air. MediBirds filled the skies for the next 48 hours, droning incessantly as they flew over the nation, spraying down TGH with the World Union flag trailing brazenly behind them. But no one cared about the noise. While the skies were filled with planes, the streets were filled with revelers and ravers throwing parties. They danced wildly to the beat of drums, tossing their heads back with mouths gaping open, trying to catch the TGH on their tongue like a raindrop or snowflake.

I was one of those idiots stomping my feet, throwing my hands in the air in celebration of the illustrious Pristine – in our case Pristine Chalice Dupree – and her Overseers. I tasted The Green Halo. It was bitter and felt like chalk in my mouth. It looked like chalk, coating my skin, clothes and hair in a fine green powder. That’s what turned the moon green. That’s what stole our dreams and turned the majority of humans into zombies. We call them zombies, because though they may not eat brains, they’re nothing but mindless drones, kept alive purely to keep the System running and provide the necessities for the self-titled gods. Plus, there is a small, darkly humourous satisfaction in calling it the zombie apocalypse.

Anyway, by the time the MediBirds finished deploying TGH, most people had succumbed to the drug. As the revelers and ravers fell silent, I began to notice the blank, vacant expressions taking over the faces around me, including my best mate Gan. I remember trying everything to snap Gan out of it, fear chilling my blood when I got no response. In unison, everyone filed back into their homes, leaving the streets littered with empty bottles, coats, hats, food packets, purses and all manner of detritus. I ran home and burst through the door. My family – my mother, father, older sister and younger brother – were tearing the house apart, gathering everything of value and placing it in a pile on the dining room table. I’d tried talking to them, yelling, screaming, begging them to tell me what they were doing. My father had simply told me to go and get my own valuables to add to our family contribution. When I refused, he slapped me. My father, who had never raised a hand against me in my life. As I lay there, shocked and in denial, a heavy pounding sounded from the front door. My father went to open it and I threw myself behind a wall to hide, ear cocked towards the door where my father was talking to a soldier. The rest of my family lined up behind him and the soldier stalked in, clipboard in hand. Something in me screamed to run yet I was held in a terrified trance. Three more soldiers stormed into the house and one of them began to check my family over like a doctor checking for concussion.

“All are subdued,” they reported to the Captain.

“There should be another,” snapped the Captain, examining his clipboard. “Female, age 20. Find her!” he growled towards two of his entourage. To the last soldier he said, “You. You start getting the women in the van. I’ll collect the valuables.”

RUN! The voice bellowed in my head. So, I did. With one last agonized look at my family, I sailed out the back door and into the bush behind my house, the Captain yelling behind me, “Shit! We’ve got a Free Runner!”

I’ll come back, I silently promised as I ran. I’ll come back and rescue them.

I kept running, even as bullets went whizzing past me to smack into trees; kept running until I came to the edge of a cliff and heard the unmistakable sound of feet crashing through the scrub as they followed me. Quickly, I grabbed a large stick and whirled around, ready to stab or whack whoever it was. But it wasn’t a soldier. It was a man; another Free Runner.

“Over,” he said quietly, desperately. “We have to go over.”

“What?” I started to protest but he was already climbing down the cliff face. I knew I had no choice.

Against my better judgement, I followed the stranger, climbing down as quickly and carefully as I could until I felt a hand grab my ankle. The man was squashed into a small space carved into the side of the cliff. He pulled me in and put a finger to his lips. We waited in that cramped space, hardly daring to breathe as we heard the soldiers searching above us. When it finally seemed the coast was clear, the man grinned.

“So, come here often?”

I stared in disbelief, then burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. And that was how I met Whip.

Whip isn’t his real name, just as Razor isn’t mine. We don’t use real names in TWP – The Woke Pirates. That’s the rebel alliance group Whip and I started. We’re Free Runners with a mission to reclaim our dreams. Dreams can be powerful. They can give us ideas – the potential to do and be more – and we think that’s why they were stolen. We think the Overlords were afraid of what we could do with dreams. For Free Runners, falling asleep means being hurled into a black, lifeless void, where you float somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness. For the zombies, that void is filled with regimented and scheduled messages; subliminal messages that keep them hypnotised and under control.

Naturally, we Free Runners are being hunted, our real names on a list of wanted persons to be killed on sight. We’re a threat to the finely tuned balance of the new world. It’s not easy living on the run. We’ve been doing it for almost a year now; a year without dreams. And in that time, all of us have had to face the worst. For me, that was my baby brother.

Like I’d promised, I went back a few months after it all started. I’d wanted to go sooner but Whip stopped me. Too dangerous, he’d said. I knew he was right but I couldn’t stand the waiting, the feelings of hopelessness and guilt. When I could wait no more, I decided to take myself on a reconnaissance mission, told myself I was just going to gather intel. I planned to go alone, but Whip caught me and insisted on coming.

“Fine,” I’d huffed. “But you follow my lead.”

Ever the comedian, he bowed. “After you, my liege.”

It took us all day to hike back, so we made camp in the bush a good two hours walk away. The weird, green light from the moon filtered down through the trees, a painful reminder of all we had lost.

By 8:00am, I was hidden in the trees behind my house, feeling numb. All seemed quiet, so we moved cautiously into the backyard. The grass and garden were all overgrown, providing good cover. I heard the front door bang closed and dived to the ground. A car pulled out of the driveway and I realised it was probably my dad going to work. Apparently, people still had jobs and kids were still going to school. I fought away the tears as I remembered the chaos of the morning routine. Assuming my father would have taken my brother to school, I signaled Whip and we stole up to the backdoor. Surprised to find it unlocked, I slowly pushed it open and inched my way inside. It didn’t smell like home anymore; didn’t look like home either. Everything that made a home a home had been stripped, leaving only bare essentials. There was still a television, only instead of colourful cartoons lighting up the screen, it was flicking through wanted pictures of Free Runners, Pristine Dupree’s voice narrating seriously on the threat Free Runners posed to the Great Peace. Then, her voice turned sickeningly cheerful.

“So don’t forget to play The Game and make your nation proud!”

Cut to a smiling Pristine Dupree watching on as a Free Runner is shot in the head while they try to run, a sick jingle tinkling joyfully over the sound of gunfire.

At that moment, my little brother came marching out of his room, singing the jingle. My heart stopped. He still had the same sweet little face, but was smartly dressed in a school uniform I didn’t recognize. There was no emotion in his voice as he sang and twirled a small gun on his finger. My ten-year-old brother with a gun. I couldn’t stop myself.

“Zayd,” I gasped.

He paused, turned his blank gaze on me and spoke in monotone. “You’re one of them.” He raised the gun.

“Zayd,” I pleaded. “I’m your sister. I love you.”

“You’re a threat,” he responded with surprising venom. “Threats are eliminated.

My whole world went cold. My baby brother... I’d loved him so much and he had loved me. I’d helped take care of him his whole life and now he didn’t even know me. Autopilot took over. Fight or flight? My body chose fight, reaching for my own gun, and before Zayd had even turned the safety off, I fired. The bullet hit its target and Zayd fell to the ground with a heartbreakingly small thud. I dropped to my knees and let the coldness of shock take me.

“Razor! We have to go!” Whip was grabbing me, hauling me to my feet.

I let him drag me out of my house and back into the bush, let him pull me along until the green moon shone high in the sky. I was aware of nothing. But when I slept, when I dreamt of my little brother, I knew one thing. I knew how to get our dreams back.