The Troll

by Darr, Brian

  As The Coach and Mortician tried to make sense of what they were seeing, The Guide readied his shard of glass. He’d know the signal when it came, but he wondered what The Troll possibly could do alone on a bridge against The Pilot. Was this the signal? If so, it wasn’t what The Acrobat was making it out to be. Or maybe The Acrobat really wasn’t trying to help. Maybe this was more trickery. He started to slowly cut at his ropes.

  The Troll stood watching the stunt plane as it circled the sky twice, as if The Pilot was trying to decide if he was really standing there. What The Pilot was supposed to see was a strong confident Troll challenging him, but what he couldn’t see was how his hands were shaking, his knees were weak, and a weight in his chest made it impossible for him to swallow.

  The timing was key, and for a focused opponent like The Pilot, it would take a great distraction to cause him to falter, a great distraction to beat him. What he needed The Pilot to do was something he never did: Flinch. And if he could pull it off and if The Acrobat came through on his end, and if The Guide and Iris could free themselves and get away with Rainbow, they could all recommit to their journey—if they would have him.

  The stunt plane passed over his head and put some distance between it and the bridge before making a wide loop and positioning itself in line with the bridge. From the distance, Iris watched in fascination as The Troll was seemingly committing suicide in front of her eyes. But suicide wasn’t in his nature, and unless The Troll believed this was something he could handle, she couldn’t understand why he was even here at all. Unless she’d misjudged him and her initial opinion was right: The Troll refused to lose: Online, in person, against the odds…The Troll wanted to win. Except there was no way he could win that she could see. She wondered if he had a trick up his sleeve, or if this was just a ploy to rally her. She tugged at her ropes, but she was bound tightly and her wrists burned from having pulled at her ropes all night long. Without a miracle, this was the end, even if The Troll volunteered himself to die along with them. She watched and waited.

  The Troll readied himself as the stunt plane faced his direction, coming faster at him than he had time to react. He was ready to execute the plan, but The Pilot was flying too high. The timing was off on this round. If he was shot, it was all for nothing. He ran to the side as bullets began hitting the pavement and sending concrete in the air with poofs of smoke all around him. The engine above him roared and the plane passed overhead. He surveyed his body and found no blood.

  Round two, he thought and carried himself a few feet from where a path of bullets tore at the pavement to give The Pilot a better view. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the transmitter and touched his inner pocket to make sure his weapon was intact. He was relieved it was there and even more relieved as the sun began to rise in the sky. He had a feeling all eyes were on him and that The Moderator hadn’t executed anyone yet…as if every plan was in limbo and the clock stopped all around, waiting for his death before the world could continue to rotate again.

  The plane made a wide loop, putting more distance between it and the bridge. The Troll forced himself to breath steadily, reminding himself he was going to have one chance at this. The Pilot fired from farther away this time, at a greater speed. He flew lower but by The Troll’s calculations, it wasn’t low enough. This time, he wasn’t sure he could outrun the bullets because they constantly sent sparks and pavement flying up around him. Instead he ducked behind a metal beam, trying to get a grasp on his weapon but failing as the plane approached, gunfire spattering faster and harder all around him, blinding and deafening him as he cradled himself as close to the beam as possible until the engines passed overhead.

  That was it. He knew he wouldn’t survive a third pass and he wasn’t sure the bridge would either. His body had loosened and adrenaline pumped through him as he realized the fear of death was gone and he was in full mission mode, as focused as The Pilot—maybe more. Wasn’t that really what this was? A staring contest? A jousting competition between man and machine, or man and machine within machine? The Pilot was a more than worthy opponent, but The Troll thought back to Iris telling him that the world was taken with brains—not weapons, and it would have to be taken back the same way.

  Round three.

  The Troll spun toward where The Pilot looped his plane back and repositioned, flying lower—flying as low as The Troll needed him to fly. He reached in his inner pocket and flipped the transmitter on, where all over the world monitors flashed on and people turned to see what The Moderator was broadcasting this time. But this time, they instead saw The Troll with a determined look in his eyes, holding the transmitter at his side, not using it to send a message but instead using it as a weapon. He looked into the sky where a hundred screens displayed the ground where the transmitter’s camera was aimed.

  The plane was flying fast, but it didn’t fire. The Troll saw the guns slowly turning as if they were zoning in on his body. He was very likely seconds away from death, but everything looked as it should and he closed his eyes for a moment and whispered to himself: You can beat him.

  From his inner pocket he pulled a mirror. He held it to the camera and triangulated it with the sun. All at once, the world around him went white and sunlight bounced off every surface.

  The Pilot never knew what happened, and every instinct inside told him to keep moving in a straight line, aim the guns, eliminate the target…but none of those things were possible. He no longer could see the bridge, or The Troll, and the last thing he knew, he was flying right at it, avoidable only by pulling away. In the moments of confusion, his timing was lost and his thoughts were too prolonged to believe it possible. He jerked the handles to the side, immediately feeling the shame in losing his focus. The plane started to arc, but everywhere it turned, the blinding of sunlight bouncing from screen to screen only caused him to lose his sense of direction.

  He tried to bring the plane below it, but there were monitors everywhere and it was unavoidable. And then, he didn’t know which direction he was flying—north, south…he had no idea. He turned to his instruments as a guide, but all he could realize was that his altitude was low and whatever direction he was moving didn’t matter, because eventually…

  And then the wing snapped off and the plane began to spin. The last thing he saw before impact was the bridge, and the plane around him shattered.

  As The Troll’s eyes went wide, surprisingly shocked by his success, he pulled the camera away and focused on the ruined plane instead. The helicopter crash was clearly covered up, but this was unavoidable. The world was undoubtedly watching, and now they truly would see that the men in Circular Prime could be beat—even the best of them. He walked toward the wreckage with a smile, but it faded quickly as a foot kicked a piece of shrapnel away and The Pilot began to roll out.

  The Troll set his weapons on the pavement and considered running, but waited instead. The Pilot had always been a pain in his ass, even without having said a word. He decided this was a fight he was going to stick around for.

  The Guide never knew what happened or why it happened, but he heard the crash and the blinding light around him was most definitely the signal The Acrobat had warned him about. He wasted no time severing the ropes once it happened, and when he fell to the water below, he looked around and saw no one was coming. No one could make out anything that was happening, but The Guide could easily find his way around the statue to where Iris was bound. Within seconds, he cut her down and found her hand. They made their way out of the fountain and started running. Their feet were still wet and cold and tingled from being bound so long. They pushed forward with little feeling and little vision, but knew they were running in the opposite direction of where they’d last seen The Coach and Mortician.

  As The Guide began to wonder how long the distraction would last, it suddenly disappeared and the world around them normalized. He turned back and saw they’d put a good distance between themselves and The Coach and Mortician and when the lights turned off, their en
emies' attention was focused toward the bridge, so they ran until they disappeared behind a building and kept going.

  “We won’t have much time,” The Guide said. “They’re going to figure out where we are.”

  “They still have Rainbow,” Iris said. “We have to get it back or they’ll destroy it.”

  “Did you see if either of them had a gun or any kind of weapon?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything. The Coach has a duffel bag which he calls “his players” but I’m not sure what that means.”

  “Are you okay?” The Guide asked, finding her eyes. She shook her head and fell into his arms as he wrapped around her in a hug. She clung to his body, digging her fingers into his shoulders from behind. “I’m going back for Rainbow,” he said over her shoulder.

  “I’m going too.”

  “No,” he said. “If we all die, there’s nothing left to stop them. The world needs someone to rally people, and you’re good at that. So is The Troll. This is what I do.”

  “But…”

  “You circle back to the bridge and see if he’s okay. If I can get Rainbow, I’ll join you on the other side. We need to eliminate some of their guys so the world knows we’re a real army. I can do that.”

  “Promise me you’ll meet us down there,” she said, finding his eyes again.

  “I'll do everything I can.”

  The Guide wanted to kiss her, but there was no time. It gave him more incentive to survive, but he wasn’t sure what he was up against. The bounty hunters supposedly all had skills. Some were known, such as The Mentalist or Chameleon, but others were tucked away. The Guide understood who The Mortician and The Coach were, but he didn’t understand what they could do, though he had the feeling he’d find out very quickly. He’d have a hard enough time fighting two against one.

  He wanted to see Iris again. He wanted to recover the Rainbow and save the world. He wanted to defeat an enemy like The Troll had. At the precinct, he’d told The Troll that he took down a helicopter and asked The Troll what he’d ever done. Supposedly, The Troll was all about one-upping, but if The Pilot was out of the picture, the game was on. Killing two more bounty hunters and hitting the road would be just the type of act that if the world saw, could create ripples.

  He watched Iris protectively as she made a wide circle toward the bridge. Before long, she would move far enough that Coach and Mortician would notice her. It was now or never. He moved fast, emerging from behind the building and running toward the fountain, tightening his body and preparing himself for the most important fight of his life. As The Coach and Mortician were closer in his sights, he could see they had realized The Guide and Iris had escaped and he could see the wreckage below. The odds were swinging back toward The Guide, but this moment would determine everything.

  The Coach was closer, and stood against the base of the fountain. He saw him look up and notice The Guide barreling toward him at full speed without enough time to react. He dived in the air and wrapped his arms around The Coach’s midsection, sending both of their bodies into the water.

  Chapter 6

  The Pilot and The Troll circled each other, both searching for an opportunity to lunge at the other. The Troll suspected he was right to believe The Pilot wasn’t really a fighter and used silence and machinery for intimidation. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, which could easily cover any fear he had and he surely must have some. Twice his aircraft had been taken down and now he was left with what amounted to a bar brawl on his hands.

  The Troll had been in a fight or two, but never by his choice. His tongue got him into trouble and sometimes fists were thrown at him, but mostly it would result in a tussle on the ground until both fighters were breathless and tired. This was different though. This would have to be to the death. On either side of the road was the edge of the bridge and The Troll knew that was his only winning scenario. He couldn’t pummel The Pilot with punches. He could only force him over the edge.

  He thought maybe The Guide would show up, but for some reason he couldn’t understand, he wanted this fight. He had a chance if he could catch The Pilot off guard though—if he could cause him to lose his focus.

  “You might as well speak at this point,” The Troll said. “You’ve exposed you’re not as cool as you try to be when you crashed your plane.”

  The Pilot’s face didn’t move. Instead, he swung an arm out, but The Troll leaned back and The Pilot only hit air.

  Wear him down, The Troll thought. I’m not a fighter but I erode people’s souls until they’re too angry, too tired, too exhausted to fight. That’s verbal, but does the same work when it’s physical?

  “Maybe we should figure this out another way,” The Troll said, backing away. “We both know your moderator isn’t going to be happy with your performance here today.”

  The Pilot swung again, and this punch connected, but when The Troll tried to dodge it, he managed to put his shoulder in front of him. The punch connected, and it stung, but The Pilot put everything he had in it and was slow to recover. Before The Troll could reposition, The Pilot started to lash out, throwing fists at him from every direction. Some missed, but most hit, and even as he felt the stinging pain hitting him over and over, he could see that The Pilot really wasn’t a fighter. He was sloppy with his swings. He would have celebrated the fact if not for the constant pain. Finally, he fell to the ground and covered himself, rolling away as quickly as he could. When he finally was a few feet away, he pushed himself to his feet and told himself that this was just a battle between two inexperienced fighters…that the least awful of them would rise above.

  He stepped forward and guarded his face, ready to fight, but mindful of the fact that The Pilot likely had less energy. He wanted to fight, but he wanted to break him down, little by little, until one good shove would send him to the water below. He needed The Pilot to throw the punches and he needed most of them to miss but all of his own to hit. This wasn’t a fight of strength. It was a mathematical game.

  “Oh my gosh Pilot. Were you hitting me or is there a draft out here?”

  The Pilot didn’t flinch, but The Troll knew he had to be angry. He was coming at him faster, with more aggression, and The Troll found it wasn’t easy to punch a person, but it was easy to dodge someone who used emotion to fight. He sidestepped as The Pilot swung hard, and paused as if catching his breath.

  “I was almost your dad you know,” The Troll said. “But the guy ahead in line had exact change.”

  The Pilot spun and backhanded The Troll. It was the best connection he made yet and the sound of flesh on flesh made a loud slap that sent The Troll backward and almost off his feet.

  “When I beat you, and people ask about you, I’m going to say you cried and begged for your life,” The Troll said. “I’m going to say you wouldn’t stop talking.”

  The Pilot came at him again, as if to tackle him. In that moment, The Troll could see his whole body weight barreling toward him. He backed up quickly and The Pilot lost his footing. He didn’t fall, but he fell forward for a moment before regaining himself.

  The Pilot tried to move closer, but The Troll blocked him with his arms, keeping him at length. Instead, The Pilot threw another punch that connected, right in the side of the head, causing a shooting pain. This time, his vision went fuzzy and he spun and stepped on a piece of the plane’s shrapnel, which slid under his feet and sent him to the ground. His ass hit the pavement hard, and he swore to himself, knowing that punch could be the one that ended the fight.

  Then, before he could recover, The Pilot came down on him with full force.

  Iris could see the fight on the bridge. It seemed strange to her that The Troll was fighting at all, but as she got closer, she could see he was losing. If he could hang on until she got there, they could team up and take The Pilot down together.

  She ran through the streets, only turning back to see that The Guide was in the fountain and had The Coach pinned under the water. He was strong, but she h
oped he’d be able to fight both. She hoped he hadn’t underestimated who he was fighting. He’d told her to help The Troll, but she felt as if she was choosing between them, and she felt that The Troll was valuable. She hated believing that, since The Guide had been loyal and had always fought for the take-down of Psi, and The Troll had only proved unreliable and untrustworthy.

  She picked up the pace and as the bridge became clearer, she could see that the plane had tore up the pavement straight down the middle in large chunks. She could see pieces were shifting all around The Troll and Pilot, but they carried on and so did she.

  As she reached the foot of the bridge, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and her breath stopped in her throat as she recognized the face of one of the men at the bounty hunter dinner.

  “Oh, endurance!” The Poet shouted with a smile. “Why is the cold wind at your back?”

  She stopped and fixated on him. He stood still, as if to let her pass, but she knew if she tried to keep moving, he would stop her. “I’m helping The Troll,” she said.

  “You might want to rethink that plan,” The Poet said. Iris turned to see he was holding Rainbow. “If you walk away from me, I will destroy this.”

  The Guide held The Coach underwater with all his force. The Coach seemed to be the stronger of the two and if he could eliminate him quickly, The Mortician would be a piece of cake. Water splashed as The Coach reached for air, thrashing in the water as he used every bit of energy from every part of his body to find air. The Guide tried to find The Mortician out of the corner of his eye, but saw no movement. Instead, he focused on using his strength to drown Coach quickly and assumed The Mortician was hanging back, too afraid to jump in.