Free The Trap by Andrew Fukuda Page B

David is plummeting off a cliff. Sweat is pouring out of his pores, his temperature is dropping precipitously, and he’s shaking so hard, his fevered face is a hazy, vibrating
blur.
    “Twenty seconds before he turns,” the chief advisor intones, gazing at his watch.
    Sissy screams, leaps to her feet. She pounces toward the chief advisor, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch when she snatches the dagger from his hand.
    She slices the palm of her hand true and deep. Blood floods into her cupped hand.
    The chief advisor scratches his wrist.
    And then she’s kneeling beside David, tilting his head back, and pouring the blood into his parted mouth. She tosses the dagger at me, and I snatch it out of the air. In less than a
second, I’ve sliced my own hand and I’m pushing Sissy’s hand aside, letting David drink my blood. Over the next minute, we take turns hand-pouring blood into his mouth. David
stops shaking, collapses into a rest. But his body yet rages hot, sweat drenching his shirt. It will be hours before he’s completely healed.
    The chief advisor, exuding silent elation, nods to one of the men. The man switches his dart gun for another—one of the Origin dart guns. He aims, pulls the trigger. The dart pierces into
David’s thigh.
    “This will speed things up,” the man says.
    In seconds, David stills. His breathing slows, deepens. His skin already cooling.
    “As you can see,” the chief advisor whispers, “we can be . . .
ruthless
. We know about David. We know about Epap. We know—”
    “Shut up,” Sissy says. “Just shut up, already.”
    The chief advisor stops, stunned. Then, with a glimmer in his eyes, he curls the corners of his lips, widens his mouth, shows teeth. He’s mimicking a smile. It’s a grotesque
contortion clearly meant to taunt Sissy.
    She snaps her eyes away, burns holes into the floor with her gaze. She’s saving her fight for another day.
    The chief advisor’s tablet starts to flash and beep. He flicks his eyes down, reads quickly. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me.” He sighs dramatically. “His Highness
needs me. Some kind of emergency, apparently.”
    He walks toward the door, programming the tablet. “You’ll both be returned to the catacombs now. But just for tonight, remember? We’ll see you back here tomorrow.” He
pauses at the door, glancing at the room. He pastes another crude smile on his face, then gives off an eerie trill of fake laughter. “Welcome to your brand-new home.”

Fifteen
    A BURROWED DARKNESS , a heavy sleep.
    I break out of it slowly, merging from sleep sludge. I touch the sides of the enclave—they’re damp with condensation. I’m still locked in. Hours ago, after the chief advisor
transported me back to the catacombs, the glass wall had remained shut. Such was my blood-drawn fatigue that despite everything, I drifted into a deep slumber.
    A grayness surrounds me now. I can just make out the rows of enclaves across the corridor, the frames of each unit glowing dimly. Everyone is still locked in. Quite a lot of time has passed; how
much I’m not sure. But judging from my deep-seated grogginess, I’m guessing it’s been at least three, four hours since Sissy and I were transported back here.
    Sissy—where is she?
    I look directly across to the enclave facing mine, but it is occupied by a boy. As is every other enclave I peer into. No sign of Epap, or David, either. The boys in their enclaves across from
me stare at me with wariness. They’re wondering if I’m the cause for the irregular alarm, curious as to why I’m being shuttled back and forth. Wondering why they’re still
locked in their enclave after so many hours have passed.
    They’re about to get even more curious.
    Because my enclave starts to hum. Then vibrate. All their eyes snap to my enclave, some eyes widening in surprise, most eyes narrowing with suspicion.
    I’m being taken back to the room with the Originators,
I think. But a part of me knows that