The Trap (The Hunt 3)

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.

Twenty

WE 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.

It’s Gene and Sissy. Where are you?

“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.