The Trap (12 page)

And minutes later, galloping away, you are only too glad she is sitting behind you and unable to see your face. And though her arms clasp around your waist and her inner thighs press against the
outside of your legs—their intimacy a torture—you are at least relieved she does not see your face, that you do not have to look her in the eye. Because then she might see right through
you, and realize why she is with you at all. Then she might discover your hidden motive.

That you are going not to kill Ashley June.

But to save her. To re-turn her back to human.

And in order to do that, you cannot do it alone, for you are insufficient. By half.

You need someone else. You need Sis.

W
E RIDE HARD
across the desert land that is blazing copper and blasted with heat. I push the horse at full gallop for the first thirty
minutes, relishing the hard, jaunty bounce, the impossibility of coherent thought in my rattling skull. I try to ignore the feel of Sissy’s arms and legs around me, the soft press of her on
my back whenever we take a hard bounce. The wind in my ears, the harsh glare of sunlight in my eyes, it is all a welcome distraction.

When the Palace has shrunk to a distant dot behind us, we stop by a pile of large boulders. We disembark, lead the hard-breathing horse to the shade by the boulders. Its eyes are wild with
exhaustion, it muscles bunched with fatigue.

“You’re pushing the horse too hard,” Sissy says, concern on her face. “It’ll keel over and die before we reach the metropolis. Go slower, Gene.”

I don’t reply. She’s right, but I’m not in the mood to admit it.

She stares hard at me. “Something’s different about you. What’s going on?”

I ignore her, and busy myself tending to the horse. She sighs with frustration, then scrambles up one boulder, then another.

The horse side-gazes me with large, accusatory eyes as if it knows my true motives. It snorts, spraying me. I return a hard stare, then climb up the boulders to join Sissy. The granite is
blistering to the touch, almost singeing my hands. Sissy is staring into the horizon, through wavy bands of heat undulating off the boulders.

“You don’t have to worry about the Originators chasing us down,” I tell her. “The chief advisor can’t leave the Ruler’s side. Not at a time like this. And the
other Originators won’t leave without him.”

But she’s not looking in that direction. Instead, she’s staring toward the metropolis, her hands placed over her eyes like an awning.

“I can see buildings. The metropolis isn’t too far,” she says. “Maybe an hour away.”

“An hour and a half,” I say. “I’ll slow down. You’re right.”

She doesn’t reply, but her expression softens a touch. “What’s that sparkle over there?” she asks. “That glimmer in the distance.”

I follow the trajectory of her pointing arm. There. “That’s the Domain Building. The tallest skyscraper in the metropolis.”

“Where your father worked.”

I nod.

Sissy whistles. “Look at all those skyscrapers. The metropolis is so much bigger than I imagined, Gene.” She looks at me with awe. And deep pity. “How did you ever survive?
Living right in the midst of them? For all these years?”

“You just learn. Adapt. Survive.”

“It’s so massive,” Sissy says in a quieter, subdued voice. “How are we ever going to find Ashley June in there? It’ll be like searching for a needle in a
haystack.”

“We don’t have to search. We have a time and place certain where she’ll be. The Convention Center. At dusk. We go there and let her come to us. Then we take her
down.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I can see the idea taking hold. “And how do we find Epap?”

I reach into my pocket, take out the TextTrans. “We keep trying to reach out to him,” I say. I quickly explain how the TextTrans functions as I type out a brief message.

“Let him know we’re heading for the metropolis,” Sissy says. “Tell him we’ll be there in about an hour and a half.”

I pause. “I don’t know. Maybe we should leave out the details. Just in case his TextTrans has fallen into the wrong hands. It’d be better not to give away too much.”

She looks away. She knows what I’m insinuating about Epap, that he might not be alive. She gives a quick, almost imperceptible nod.

I hit SEND. “We do this every few hours,” I say. “Maybe we’ll get a reply.”

Her jawline juts out. “He’s probably dead, isn’t he?”

I don’t say anything.

“He is, isn’t he?”

“I won’t lie to you, Sissy.” My voice is softer now. “He probably is. But we can’t let that get to us. We need to think of David, okay? Even if we can’t find
Epap, we still have David to rescue. Which means we still need to get to Ashley June. For David’s sake.”

Sissy stares hard at me. A wind gusts then, blowing the hot air rising off the boulders through our hair.

“I keep thinking of David,” she says. A vertical line creases down the middle of her forehead. “That right now while we’re free under blue skies, the sun on our faces,
able to talk, able to breathe fresh air, he’s confined in a tank. He’s submerged in liquid, alone, in almost pitch-darkness.” She clamps her jaw, her teeth grinding.
“It’s more than I can bear.”

Sissy gazes back at the Palace. Muscle juts out of her arms, tinseled with sweat. “I feel like I’m deserting him. I’d do just about anything to take his place; I’d be
willing to die a thousand deaths. I should go back for him.”

“You can’t,” I say, almost too quickly.

She pulls her hair behind her ear. “You go to the metropolis, get Epap. I return to the Palace, get David.”

“No, Sissy,” I say urgently. “We stay together.” I can’t let us separate; I need her; I need her blood. How I get it—how I’ll explain why to
her—that I haven’t figured out yet. But I can’t rush things, not without a proper container to store her blood, not with so many hours for her blood to spoil in the heat. Not
while she still has a chance to walk away.

She squares her body with mine, and her look is surprisingly tender. Sweat droplets bead her forehead, dot her upper lip. She sees the desperation in my face, and something in her relents. She
presses her forehead against my collarbone. I wrap my arms around her damp back.

“We stay together, okay, Sissy?”

She nods against my chest.

I close my eyes, swallow hard. Hoping she’ll forgive me when this is all over.

We test out the weapons. Better to practice firing the weapons here at the boulders than in the metropolis where the loud bangs would attract attention.

Sissy is a quick study when it comes to the handgun. She figures out how to load it and, after only a few minutes, is able to do so with eyes closed, her fingers snapping in cartridge after
cartridge, all in under five seconds. She picks out a rock as a target, and after only a few practice rounds she’s nailing the target each time.

My weapon of choice is the sniper rifle, which I find only after opening the silver briefcase. Also embedded in the case are two tubelike cylinders.

“Silencers,” Sissy says with awe, taking one. “I read about them in the dome.” She stares down at the handgun. “I think this silencer is compatible with both the
sniper rifle and this handgun!” she exclaims, screwing it in. “I always wanted to try one of these.” When she shoots, instead of an explosive report a whistled
zip
is all
that sounds. She nods approvingly.

“You keep that one,” I tell her.

Turns out, I’m a crackerjack at the sniper. From the moment I place my eye on the eyepiece and stare down the scope, the stock pressed snugly into my shoulder, it feels right. I’m
overeager at first, too hungry to feel the sniper’s power, and end up pulling the trigger too hastily. But after the first few shots, I steady my breathing, slow my finger on the trigger. My
shots are still a bit off, a touch to my left each time. I make some minor tweaks on the scope, and from that point on I bull’s-eye every one of my shots.

“Hotshot, you are,” Sissy says, smiling. Her face turns serious. “This is good. In terms of strategy. When we take out Ashley June, we’ll position ourselves both close
and far from her. You get the first shot, from afar. I’ll be up close with a short-range weapon, in case you miss. Two chances at the same target.”

I nod in fake agreement, glancing up at the sun. “Let’s get going,” I say. I break down the sniper and pack the parts back into the case.

“Check the TextTrans,” she says.

But there’s nothing.

Silently we slide down the boulder, untether the horse. But despite Epap’s TT silence, I can tell that Sissy’s mood has lifted. Her skin glows; her body seems more vibrant. The
weapons, the shooting, the sense of working toward a goal—these have all buoyed her spirits.

I secure the backpack to the saddle and am about to mount the horse when she puts her hand on my shoulder. “This time,” she says with a grin, “I’ll ride in front.
It’s your turn to sit behind and be the useless seat belt wrapped all around me.”

I
T IS ALREADY
late afternoon when we trot into the business sector of the metropolis. Heat lies oppressive in the empty asphalt streets.
Skyscrapers tower over us, and their slanted shadows cut diagonally across the street, offering us spurts of reprieve from the scorching sun that has unremittingly pounded us the whole journey
here. These buildings, looming tombstones of sun-blasted concrete and shuttered metal grates, are silent spectators to our slow, cautious progress.

The horse’s clip-clops echo back at us, an eerie sound. And though I used to walk these same empty daytime streets many times when I was younger, they spook me in a way they never used to.
More than once, I glance back, half-expecting to see a figure silently chasing us down, bounding on all fours.

“Turn left at the next intersection,” I tell Sissy, and she guides the horse with a gentle pull on the reins. We pull up in front of a large circular building. A wide driveway loops
up an elevated bank to the entrance. In front of the building is a deep, wide body of water larger than the municipal pool. Not that anyone would ever swim here, not with the water at a depth of
almost six meters. A dangerous depth—duskers easily drown in much shallower water—but necessary for the majestic water shows at night. I’d seen a few shows before, on school field
trips and on television. An awesome spectacle of high arching coordinated jets of water, colored lighting, sprays and splashes everywhere.

We dismount, lead the horse to the water. It sticks in its snout, drinks in messy gulps.

“Is this the hospital?”

“No. The Convention Center.”

“A little early, don’t you think?”

“The horse needs to drink. As do we.” I cup water into my hands, take in large swallows. It’s warm and metallic tasting but a salve to my thirst. I douse my head underwater,
then flick my head back up, letting the water stream down my neck and under my shirt.

Sissy’s done the same, and water drips off the tips of her bangs, dampening her shirt. She squints at the Convention Center. “Look there. At the roof. It’s shining like
glass.”

I nod. “People rave about that glass roof. On rainy nights, it sets the perfect ambience. The raindrops hitting the roof, just the right amount of filtered light. If there’s a full
moon, they’ll darken the tint of the glass. Push of the button.” I douse more water over my head.

Sissy cups another handful of water, combs her bangs to the side. “It’s hours before dawn. Find a place to hide out here?”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Then should we head to the hospital? Find Ashley June’s room, take her out there?”

I shake my head. “The hospital’s likely to be packed. With journalists. Doctors, nurses. We won’t get far before being recognized.”

“We can put on the Visors. They’ll shield our faces.”

I take another gulp of water. “Won’t work. People don’t wear them indoors. And besides, look at us. We stick out in other ways. Our hair’s disheveled, we’re caked
in sand and dirt, we’ve got streaks of dried sweat along our faces and necks. I’m badly in need of a shave—not just the facial hair, but I’ve got hair on my arms and legs,
too. And then there’s our odor. When’s the last time we bathed? Trust me, they’ll smell us a block or two away. A Visor isn’t going to conceal our smell.”

Sissy’s eyes scan over my face, my body, as if for the first time noticing the dirt and hair. “We could use a wash, I suppose. But honestly, I don’t smell any odor.”

“We’ve gotten used to each other’s smell. We reek.”

“So we wash ourselves with this water?”

I shake my head. “It’s not enough. Our odor is too deeply recessed into our pores. We need soap, scruffy pads, detergent. Paling cream for our sun-darkened skin. Whitening agents for
our teeth. And I need razors.”

“And something tells me we’re not going to be able to walk into a neighborhood store and find these things. Where do we go?”

I rub the horse’s neck. “We go back home. My home.”