The Trap by Andrew Fukuda Read Free Book Online Page B

curtain in another area also sectioned off by curtains. It took me some time, but I was able to swing-push it over. Inch by
inch.” Sweat beads dot her wan face. She looks exhausted.
    “They’re draining you of your blood. We’ve got to get these tubes off.”
    She shakes her head. “I tried earlier. It sets off an alarm. They came storming in within minutes. Don’t do it. Not yet. We need to talk.”
    “Are you okay?”
    Her fingers clasp mine tighter. “I think so. Do you think David and Epap are okay?”
    “They’re fine,” I say, even though I don’t really know. I try to raise my head, but it feels bloated and heavy. “Who were those men?”
    “They’re human. That much is obvious. Else we’d be eaten by now.” A bead of sweat glides down her face. She wants to wipe at it but can’t; her cuffs clang loudly
against the railing. “They know everything about us, Gene. They know we’re the Origin. And they’re going to keep drawing our blood for who knows how long.”
    “How many of them are there?”
    “I think there’s only four of them. They call themselves the Originators. They’ve been working undercover here for years. One of them, the leader, is pretty high ranking, I
think.”
    “We need to reason with them, Sissy. If they’re really one of us, we need to tell them we can escape from here. Us, the kids in the catacombs, and them, the Originators. We can take
the train back to the Mission, then head east from there.”
    She shakes her head. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for hours? But they wouldn’t listen.”
    “Why not? Did you tell them—”
    “I told them
everything,
Gene. Detail by detail. I left out nothing. I spoke of your father, his instructions, the hang gliders, the Nede River, everything. They just nodded and
stared blankly at me. And continued to draw blood. When I raised my voice and got combative, they . . . shot me with another injection.”
    I pull on the restraints, but they feel, in my vanquished state, even sturdier than before.
    “You need to know something, Gene.” She turns to me. “When I was telling them everything about the past, the history of the duskers, there were a few things that didn’t
add up.”
    “Like what?”
    Her jaw clenches in frustration. “I don’t know. If I wasn’t so exhausted and hungry all the time, if I wasn’t thrown into weirder and weirder environments before I can
gather myself, maybe I could put my finger on it. But my head’s spinning, Gene. I can’t collect my thoughts for even a minute.”
    Sissy’s suspicion echoes my own. Even back on the train when we were fleeing the Mission, similar questions had troubled me. “What do you think is going on here?”
    She pauses. “I don’t know.” Her eyes focus on mine. “But I’m not about to simply lie here while David and Epap are still in the catacombs.” She curls to her
side and with her teeth rips out the tube from one arm, then the other.
    Two Originators charge in less than a minute later. They rush to Sissy’s side without speaking, attempt to reattach the needles into her arms.
    “Stop moving your arms,” one says in a stern, clinical voice. They try to pin her arms down, but, even restrained, she’s able to break out of the grip of their spindly
arms.
    The men stare blankly at her. One of them goes to a phone on the wall. “We need you,” he says. Then he hangs up.
    He rejoins the other. They stand solemnly at the feet of our beds, waiting in silence.
    A minute later, we hear the door open, then locked. I instantly recognize the broad-shouldered man as he pushes through a part in the curtains. He does not look particularly upset or in a rush.
More bemused, almost apologetic. He’s since put on a velvet frock coat decorated with Palace regalia. Judging from the number of crests and badges, Sissy’s right. He’s highly
ranked.
    “What’s the matter?” he begins to ask, then sees the ripped-out transfusion cords. “Oh. Oh, I