The Trap (11 page)

The chief advisor. Trying to protect me, his precious Origin, and so he sent out Epap instead. I stare into the crowd trying to locate him, but he’s merged into the dark mass of
bodies.

“It looks like he’s no longer viable, so we’re left with no choice but to send you,” the Ruler says. “A more logical choice, really, given your experience living
there. You know the metropolis; you’ve acquired all the necessary skills. My chief advisor, bless his heart, is still against it. Can you believe he even volunteered himself to go? He said he
would don all the SunCloaks necessary to traverse the sun-scorched land. I scoffed at that idea. It would be
suicide
to venture out there. He wouldn’t last ten minutes, even with the
SunCloaks.”

“When did you send out Epap?”

“It must have been about three hours ago. We gave him a bag of weapons—really cool stuff, daggers, snipers, a Moonlight Visor to hide his face, shotguns, stuff the denizens know
nothing about—along with a map of the metropolis, the location of the hospital and Convention Center circled. Then we put him on a horse. And away he went.”

“But you think him dead already?”

His eyes slid off me uneasily.

“We do. I’m sorry.”

“How do you know this.”

“We gave him one other thing. A TextTrans. It’s cutting-edge stuff, really. With it, he was to type messages to us—which we received instantly—and we, him. We were
checking in on him every hour or so, and everything was fine. For the first two hours, anyway.” He pauses. “But about an hour ago, we lost all communication with him. The last TT
message indicated that he’d just entered the metropolis limits. Then nothing.”

“I’ll go,” I say.

“You will?”

“Contingent on your meeting my demand.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t go in alone. If you want this done right, if you want the girl assassinated, I’ll need help. I need two others to come with me.”

“Two others? Who?”

“Sissy and David.”

He pauses. “No.”

“Then forget it.”

“Understand my reasoning. You’ll all three be spotted in the metropolis almost immediately. Your pictures are everywhere. It’s bad enough sending you in alone, but at least I
know you have the skills to go unnoticed. But the three of you together will simply be a screaming signboard.”

“We’ll wear MoonLight Visors. They’ll sufficiently cover our faces.”

He pauses. “We’ve packed only two Visors. So you’re short. In any case, nobody wears those Visors indoors. What happens when you need to go inside a building?”

“Leave that problem to us. But it’s
us
—all three of us—or none at all. The girl, with her combat skills, gives us a lot more kill options. And she won’t do
it unless the boy goes.”

“Like I said, no.”

“Then we can just wait for the millions to storm these walls. In about ten, twelve hours, right?”

The Ruler’s hand on the control tenses. “I’m trying to be accommodating,” he says after a while, “but I’m not a fool. If I let you three go, you’ll
simply take off and flee. I’d have lost the only leverage that ensures your commitment and cooperation. Because I know what they mean to you. My chief advisor does his homework,
see.”

“You already know it was a mistake to send in one alone,” I say, trying to sound convincing. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Because you and I know both know: this is
your last shot. You don’t get a third chance at this.”

He stares at me with dispassionate, unreadable eyes. He puckers his lips. “Very well,” he says after almost a minute. “We’ll compromise, meet you halfway. We’ll
give you one. The other we will keep as insurance.”

“As a hostage, you mean.”

“Let’s call it
incentive
—for you to return, that is—and leave it at that. We’ll let you have the boy.”

“No,” I say. “The girl comes. That’s non-negotiable.”

“I said we’ll give you the boy—”

“No deal, then.”

He glares at me, his eyes smoldering in their sockets. “Very well,” he says, his voice tinged with resentment. “You can have the girl. But we’ll keep the boy
here.”

In my peripheral vision, someone moves behind the glass. A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette—the chief advisor—is rushing to the side, where he picks up a boxy contraption
that’s attached by a curly cord to a wall panel.

“Your Rulership?” His voice booms into the room through a PA system.

“Turn down the volume before you blast out my eardrums!” the Ruler yells.

“Sorry, Your Rulership.” When the chief advisor next speaks, his voice is softer yet clipped and anxious. “We ought not send out the girl, Your Rulership. For that matter, let
me once again reiterate my advice against sending out either of them.”

“We’ve already discussed this, and the matter is closed. The boy is is staying. The girl is going. Now, don’t try to dissuade me. Simply make all the necessary
preparations.”

The chief advisor’s silhouette stands very, very still. “May I suggest an action that will further incentivize them to return?”

The Ruler, his patience running out, says quickly, “What, what is it?”

“Transport the young boy into Your Rulership’s chamber. Keep him in that empty tank until they return. Only then do we release him.”

“No way—” I say.

“An excellent idea,” says the Ruler. “Make it happen.”

“This may have been presumptuous, Your Rulership, but I’ve already remotely programmed him to come. He’s on his way.” The chief advisor’s head bends down to look at
the tablet. “In fact, he’s due to arrive here in four, three, two, and one.”

And like clockwork, something starts to happen inside the empty tank. Air starts bubbling out of the submerged face mask. Then the floor disappears and a body is torpedoed into the tank from
below. The tank is momentarily filled with a surge of bubbles; only after the floor is resealed does the liquid inside calm.

David is scrambling within, his head snapping from side to side, his arms swinging, legs kicking in panic. I rush over, start slapping the outside glass. “David! The mask, put the mask
over your mouth!”

His eyes meet mine, and I see the panic and raw fear swimming in them.

“The mask, David!”

He finally understands. He grabs it, pulls the strap over his head. He sucks in huge, desperate gulps, his pale, thin chest ballooning with need and relief.

The chief advisor’s words, though whispered, blare through the room’s speakers. “The boy will remain in the tank until you return. After you
both
return.”

“After you’ve successfully killed the hunter girl, of course,” the Ruler adds.

David’s breathing steadies. But not his composure. His eyes are agog with fear. I imagine what it must be like for him: suddenly floating in a glowing liquid, confined inside a tank, a mob
of duskers gawking at him nearby, the Ruler bizarrely tied up mere meters from him. No wonder his arms begin to lash about, his legs kicking the curved glass wall around him.

“David!” I shout, not sure if he can even hear me through the glass. When he looks at me, eyes wrecked with despair, a resolve fills me like molten gold. “I’ll come back
for you, David. I won’t desert you. I. Will. Come. Back. For. You.”

Bubbles push out of his face mask as he starts hyperventilating. There’s nothing more I can do but press my hands against the tank. He places his own hands on the glass opposite mine.

The Ruler speaks from behind me. “We’re running out of time. You must depart immediately, I’m afraid. Wish we had more time to chat.”

I turn around, face him. Anger brews deep in me.

“We’ve already made the arrangements,” he continues. “You’ll be transported to the outside via your enclave. There’ll be a horse waiting for you there.
It’s been prepped for the two-hour gallop to the metropolis, and loaded with all the supplies and weaponry you could possibly need. A few bottles of water, too, because we know your needs.
Oh, one more thing. In a small pouch tied to the saddle, you’ll find a TextTrans. It’s linked up with Epap’s. Just in case.”

“And what about the girl?”

“I’ll see to it that she’s transported outside immediately. There won’t be time to prep another horse for her. The two of you will have to ride double.”

A pounding on the glass behind me. David is kicking at it, trying to get my attention. Then his eyes lock on mine with understanding. But instead of panic, a strange clarity fills them.

“Let me tell you what will happen in the event you fail your mission, or fail to return here,” the Ruler continues. “I will prolong the boy’s existence in the tank as
long as possible.”

David reaches up and pulls the face mask off. I shake my head at him, but suicide by drowning is not what he has in mind. He pushes against the glass with both arms, works his body downward
until our faces are level.

“I will take my daily sips, of course,” the Ruler says, his voice dreamy, unaware that I’m no longer paying attention. “But I will also take my daily bites, too. Using
pincers, I’ll pull off bite-size nibbles of his flesh. I’ve found that after a few days, the flesh gets very soft, simply pries off with only the gentlest of teasing.”

David’s eyes lock on to mine. They once looked at me with sweet innocence under bright blue skies, and I had seen the man this sensitive, tender boy would grow up to be. A man who would
learn to laugh with sadness, and cry with joy.

“I will initially partake of the ancillary flesh, of course, avoid the vital areas . . .” The Ruler’s voice drones on.

David’s lips open and move, with emphasis. He’s mouthing words to me.

Run. Run.

I shake my head at him.

“. . . especially the earlobes, so filled with succulent fat . . .”

It’s okay.

I choke back tears as I turn away.

“. . . if you can avoid the tangy areas of the arms or the gamy texture of the biceps, I have found that . . .”

“Enough,” I say, my voice hard and gritty. “Enough.”

The Ruler’s mouth freezes mid-speech.

I walk over to the enclave, step inside.

“Transport me, already,” I say through clenched teeth.

T
HE ENCLAVE IS
transported directly to the Palace wall. A narrow slit widens and that’s all I see before I’m scorched with
piercing sunlight. I throw an arm over my eyes. There’s an electronic beep, and I hear the glass lid of the enclave sliding open. Blinded by light, but afraid the lid might close on me, I
step out.

My feet meet nothing but air and I fall a short distance, a meter or so, to the hard, baked desert ground. The fresh sting of sunlight on my skin, after so long underground, feels like life
itself.

Gradually, my eyes get used to the brightness. I see skies saturated with the purest blue, the endless stretch of the desert plains. A breeze blows past me, refreshing despite the grains of sand
picked up and thrown into my sweaty face. I’ve changed; now I crave all those things I once avoided: sunlight on my skin, open space, warm winds blowing through my hair, the feel of sweat
pouring down my back. They make me feel alive.

A horse nickers. Right up against the Palace rampart, tethered to a hitching post. I walk over, clouds of sand kicking up at my feet. The horse perks up at my approach, nervous, and I slow my
pace and move directly into its line of vision. I stroke the side of its neck, clucking softly. Next to its front hoofs are two upturned bowls of food and water. Some of the water has spilled on a
backpack.

The backpack is filled with weapons. Lots of weapons. Four handguns, a couple of daggers, Moonlight Visors, a handful of pre-loaded magazines. Several boxes of ammunition. And a small metallic
briefcase that I don’t open. Not yet. Now it suddenly feels real. These are weapons of death, of Ashley June’s death. These are the triggers I must pull; these are the cold bullets that
must pummel through her body.

I think about the deal struck with the Ruler. How forcefully I’d insisted that Sissy come with me. Of course, it had to be Sissy. I wanted to be with her. But it never occurred to
me—until now—that my choice might have been more calculated than emotional. That there might have been an ulterior motive. My lungs go cold.

The sound of screeching metal disrupts my thoughts. Next to my enclave still jutting out of the rampart, another enclave suddenly protrudes out of an opening. It’s Sissy, arms spread
against the glass walls of her enclave, trying to stabilize herself. A hiss, then the side facing the outside slides open. Her arms are thrown in front of her eyes.

“Who’s there?” she demands, her voice filled with both fear and warning. Trying to see, but blinded by the light.

“Sissy.”

Her head snaps toward me. “Gene?” She steps out of the enclave and, like me, mishandles the short drop. She falls awkwardly, sprawling on the ground.

I go to her, and the heat of her skin singes me with guilt.

She tries to open her eyes but can’t. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

“We’re outside. It’s okay.”

“What? Why did they let us go? One moment I’m in the catacombs locked in the enclave, the next moment I’m transported outside.” She slants her head to the side.
“David? Epap? Are you guys here?”

“No, Sissy, it’s just you and me.”

She grips my forearm harder. “What’s wrong, Gene?”

I shake my head.

“Tell me what’s happening! None of this makes any sense!”

I tell her. I don’t hold back—you don’t hold back from Sissy, she’ll insist everything out of you anyway—so I tell her everything, everything, the Ruler’s
Suite, the aquarium tanks, the hours passed since Epap last sent a TT message. You give her everything and more, hoping the flood of information, the deluge of words, will conceal the secret
agenda. You stand with the sun on your back and the light piercing into her eyes, hoping your face is obscured by shadow. And when she hugs you back, tightly and fiercely, and speaks words of
corded steel that the two of you together will find Epap, together kill Ashley June, and together return to save David, you return her embrace with your own, only tighter, harder, to mask the
self-hatred and self-loathing inside.