The Trinity

by Daelynn Quinn

  I backtrack, turning the corner into the first duct we traversed, until I find Evie’s room. At least I think it is Evie’s room. But she’s not here. In fact, nobody is. I peer around the room carefully making sure it really is the same room I saw her in earlier. Just underneath the pink flowered blanket peeks a glass eye and stringy red yarn hair of the rag doll she had been snuggling with.

  I try to jiggle the grate open, but it’s screwed in tight. It won’t budge. Shifting forward, I align my foot with the grate and kick it with all the strength I can muster in this tiny space. It takes six tries before it dislodges. One screw still holds tight, but I twist the grate out of the way and slip out feet first.

  Instant nausea consumes me as I land on the floor. I don’t know what it is about this room but it makes me sick. It looks like an ordinary little girl’s room. Pink painted walls with a white floral border. White dresser and nightstand topped with a pink shaded lamp. Even a cute frilly rug in the center of the room shaped like a daisy. Yet somehow this room disgusts me.

  I brush my hand over the sheets Evie just lay on, wrinkle the blanket in my hand, and smell it deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of her, mixed with that pungent odor that always lingers in hospital rooms. I sit down on the bed and pick up the doll, raking my fingers through the tangle of bright red yarn.

  I remain on the bed, weighing my options. Should I stay here and wait for Evie to come back? Should I go out and look for her and risk getting caught?

  A clicking noise disrupts my thoughts. My eyes shoot to the doorknob, which is turning slowly. I fly to the door, placing myself behind it as it opens equally as slowly. I hold my breath to try to calm my nerves, but I could swear my heart is beating as loudly as the marching steps of the Enforcers we heard upstairs.

  My sweaty hand grips the slingshot firmly while I dig into my pocket for a bullet. On the other side of the door something pokes out. A gun. They’re expecting me?

  I bring my fists together and slam them down on the Enforcer’s hand, which loosens its grip on the gun. Before he can reach it I drag it behind me with my foot and swing my leg up, kicking him in the stomach. He stumbles back, but regains his stance quickly, reaching for another pistol. I whip the gun out of my pants and shoot, sending a bullet into his knee. The Enforcer drops. I grab the gun from the floor and race out into the hallway.

  A wall of Enforcers blocks both directions. Even with two guns I haven’t a chance. They knew I was here. And they set me up.

  Chapter 35

  (Marcus)

  It smells like a mixture of incense, rubbing alcohol, and blood. Sage, Nicron, and I stand in the middle of what I can only describe as a throne room. Seriously, a throne room. These sociopaths actually consider themselves royalty. It sickens me. Across from where we stand is a dais with three intricately carved thrones cast in gleaming gold with red velvet cushions. The blood red walls stretch to a high ceiling with recessed lights in a concentric pattern. A stippling of rusty brown spots sink into the beige carpet where we stand. At first I thought it was a decorative pattern, but the longer I stand here the more it resembles dried spatters of blood.

  Behind us, eight poles jut out from the floor in an octagonal pattern at about waist height. Beyond that, a row of Enforcers forms an arch. I can feel about twenty pinpricks in my back just knowing their guns are aimed and ready to shoot at the slightest movement. My wrists are bound together tightly with a thin, but impenetrable cord. I’ve already tried chewing through it. My teeth didn’t even make a dent.

  My thoughts right now are only on Pollen and Jansen. Hopefully our absence has prompted them to flee the security room. I just want to know that Pollen is okay and that she’ll be able to get out without the rest of us. That hope is the only thing keeping me distracted from the splitting pain in my side. With every breath I can feel the agonizing scraping of my broken rib in my chest.

  The double doors leading into the throne room open silently, not even a creak or a rasp to announce their entry. Three well-dressed people float in just as silently and make their way to the thrones. I recognize Edgar Wisecraft, the pallid white-haired man who keeps his nose up as if he’s following the scent of freshly cooked waffles. I’d never seen the other two before, but I know them well. Frasier Trident looks like the schoolyard bully at the head of the line. His bulbous head is clean-shaven, with only a faint shadow of the dark hair that was once there. His massive eyebrows hang over his sharpened eyes in one unbroken line. His form is bulky, but rigid and strong, like a wrestler. He wears a fitted suit and even a sparkling gold watch clasped over his left wrist. Marge Rosenfritz glides in at the tail of the line, the polar opposite of Trident. Her figure is petite and frail. She looks like she took a hard hit when her private food supply dwindled. She’s bony, but has some color in her cheeks, though it may be just a heavy application of makeup concealing the truth. Her hair, a dark shade of orange tinged with streaks of blond and grey, is pulled back into a tight bun, smoothing out some of the wrinkles her face would otherwise show.

  Edgar sneers at me before he calmly brushes his hand over his suit jacket and lowers into the center throne. The regality of their demeanors makes me want to vomit. They really, truly believe they can rule the planet like this.

  “322, 198, and 473, hold your positions,” Wisecraft commands with a firm, but gentle voice. “The rest of you return to your posts.”

  The Enforcers file out of the room, making a noisy racket compared to the Trinity’s entrance. We wait until the final Enforcer leaves and shuts the door behind him. Now the silence is as piercing as a high-speed power drill as the three monsters study us.

  “What do you make of this, Frasier?” Wisecraft hisses out the corner of his lips.

  Trident shifts in his seat, crosses his legs and rubs his chin intently. “Such a small selection.” He speaks with a slight accent, a minor inflection on the vowels and hardening of the soft consonants. “General Granby must be desperate if he is willing to send his best men for the sake of saving all the worthless ones.”

  “But why send his best men and not the others?” Marge Rosenfritz’s voice is like a siren’s call, nothing like her haggard appearance would seem. “Why not launch a full attack?”

  Edgar Wisecraft narrows his eye and rests his chin against his fist as if trying to probe our minds. “They are not interested in taking down our entire society. They just want our heads—we three, that is. The question now, is what to do with these fellows.”

  “If they are Ceborec’s finest, they would make for an excellent bargaining chip,” Rosenfritz hums eagerly.

  “Yes, but we couldn’t possibly just hand them all over, just for the girl,” Trident adds.

  “Oh, we won’t be handing them all over,” Rosenfritz concurs. “We have some special plans for—”

  Suddenly the doors burst open and two Enforcers drag a flailing Pollen into the room. No. Oh, Pollen, you didn’t. Her body stills when she sees us, lined up as if for a firing squad. The terror in her eyes is palpable as they meet mine.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Wisecraft gloats. He exchanges glances with Trident like a pair of bidders knowing that they’ve already won the auction. Rosenfritz isn’t quite as pleased. In fact she looks disturbed. Wisecraft catches her drift. “Put her with the others.”

  The two Enforcers glide by me with Pollen in their arms. “I’m sorry,” she mouths. I feel a deep pain in my lower arms and realize that the cord is digging trenches into my wrists. My muscles are fully engaged and ready for a fight. I try to relax, but I just can’t. I have to find a way to get us out of here.

  “Do you want us to cuff her,” one of the Enforcers asks aloud. Wisecraft shakes his hand.

  “That’s not necessary. She won’t be going anywhere.” The sneer on his face ignites a rage in me that surpasses anything I ever felt about Glenn. Marge looks smugly pleased while Trident seems indifferent.

  “Where’s Jansen?” I ask under my breath. Pollen’s eyes are wide and reddened with
enlarged veins. She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s that?” Wisecraft interrupts. Rosenfritz leans over and whispers inaudibly into his ear. He smirks and nods.

  “Your friend has been taken to a laboratory to test our latest reboot of the DR796 inoculation,” Rosenfritz says. “He will be joining you very soon.”

  “Miss McRae, I have to say this is a very pleasant surprise indeed,” Wisecraft continues. “However, I cannot help but notice a distinct difference in you. When we last met only three months ago you were clearly pregnant. About five months along, if I am correct. May I ask what happened?”

  “You may not.” Pollen growls. Her cheeks are flushed and I know she has her own stockpile of rage streaming through her veins.

  “He was stillborn,” I pipe in, hoping to draw attention away from Pollen while saving our son. If they think he’s dead, they won’t pursue him. And in this case it’s totally conceivable.

  “Is that right?” Wisecraft muses and looks at Rosenfritz.

  “Pollen when into early labor only a few weeks after you saw her. She lost the baby.” I glance over to see her reaction. She just stares at the floor.

  “That’s a shame,” says Rosenfritz with little emotion. “I suppose we’ll just have to make do with the girl. She’ll serve as suitable backup if anything should happen to little Evie.”

  “Where is she?” Pollen shouts.

  “In an undisclosed location,” Wisecraft answers. “Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. We obviously cannot let you all go, but we wish to release one on good measure. To send Granby and the others a message. But which should we send?”

  “Not him,” Trident points to Sage. “He’s too valuable. We can use him on our side.” Sage’s clenched jaw quivers and the veins in his neck protrude unnaturally. He’s showing incredible restraint.

  “What of the other two?” Wisecraft asks.

  “Dogfight,” Trident suggests.

  “Ahh, a dogfight. Perfect.”

  Nicron nudges me uncomfortably. I turn to find his eyes widened and filled with terror.

  “Assemble the ring,” Wisecraft announces. Two of the Enforcers circle the poles behind us, pulling out ropes from the tops and hooking them to the neighboring poles, until a round ten-foot-wide ring forms. Now I feel like I’m in a fight club.

  “Gentlemen, you will be quite literally fighting for your freedom. In the ring there are no limits, no rules. Whoever survives the longest will be granted a reprieve and set loose to go back to Ceborec. There are no white flags in this competition. In order to win, you must take the life of the loser.”

  These people really are insane. Take the life of my best friend for my own selfish vanity? I wouldn’t. And neither would Nicron. We’re above that.

  “Put the two men in the ring,” Wisecraft beckons.

  “No!” Pollen shouts and begins to thrash around, still held tight by the Enforcers. They subdue her, but her shoulders quake as if she’s ready to erupt any second now.

  “349, go get the bindings for her wrists,” Wisecraft instructs. The Enforcer nods. “Actually, get some for her ankles, too. Don’t want to risk her running. I hear she’s quite the track star.” One Enforcer grips Pollen tightly behind her neck while the other steps out of the room.

  “Pollen, it’s okay,” I tell her, my feet planted on the floor. One Enforcer pulls back a rope while another tries to prod Nicron and me into the ring. We both stand steadfast and firm. The Enforcer pushes me, but I push back. Nicron jumps in and we both hammer our bound fists on the Enforcer until he raises his gun at us. I lower my hands, but remain still. I will not be forced to kill my friend.

  “So, you two do not agree to our terms?” Wisecraft asks, honestly intrigued. “Do you not value your own life?”

  “I joined the army to serve and protect my own people,” Nicron declares. “Not kill them. I would gladly take a bullet for Marcus any day. Nothing you do or say would change that.”

  “We won’t fight,” I add. Just outside my vision I can see Pollen relax.

  “Very well,” Wisecraft grumbles. “Marge?”

  Marge Rosenfritz holds her wrist up to her lips, speaking into a device that looks like a normal watch. “Send in the test subject.”

  We all look toward the doors as they open and watch Jansen being escorted in by a single Enforcer. His eyes are distant, glassy. They remind me of Evie’s old rag doll. They look empty of life. Jansen is not bound like Nicron and me. In fact, he’s carrying a gun. What is going on?

  The Enforcer escorts him to stand just below Marge. He faces us, his face vacant. What could they have possible done to him in such a short period of time to turn him into a zombie?

  “The DR796 drug has been injected directly into his frontal lobe. In doing so, we have abolished all inhibitions, judgments, and decision-making. Essentially, we have erased his free will. He will do whatever I say. Would you like to see?”

  Silence buzzes in my ears.

  “Well, I certainly would, Marge,” Wisecraft pipes in enthusiastically. “This fellow here, said he would gladly take a bullet for his people, right?” She smiles at him, and then presses a button on the band that braces her wrist.

  “Shoot the one on the right,” she commands.

  What? No!

  Before I can even react, Jansen raises his gun and shoots three bullets into Nicron’s chest. No hesitation. No questions asked. Nicron’s body slumps to the floor, where he remains motionless. Even his chest is perfectly still. Jansen just killed the man he loved. And there is no emotion in his face. Now I understand why Pollen had to kill Drake. Pollen’s screams bounce off the crimson walls hitting us all about a dozen times before they fade.

  “Now the other one.”

  Before Jansen turns the gun toward me, I hear a thump from where Pollen is. The Enforcer huddles on the ground as Pollen retracts her elbow from his stomach. She swipes the slingshot from her thigh, something—bullets—from her boot and prepares to aim. She releases the sling, just as Jansen fires his first shot. He drops the gun and clutches his wrist, grimacing. An explosion of pain grabs my chest and I stumble backward.

  From behind I can feel the wind from the Enforcer heading to subdue Pollen. I turn and launch myself at him, wrapping my bound wrists around his neck and yank back with my right elbow. After a muffled snap the Enforcer drops to the floor.

  I grab his gun and turn to the other Enforcer in the room, who is clawing at his face. A bullet rolls away from him on the floor. Blood trickles from his eye. I hear the echo of shots fired and turn to find Sage down. My survival instincts kick in and I put a bullet in each of the Enforcers, keeping them out of our way. Up on the dais, Marge Rosenfritz cries out like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. Another bullet bounces down the steps. Marge clutches her left eye and blood drips down her cheek.

  Wisecraft and Trident are both on their feet now. I aim my gun at Wisecraft.

  “Finish him!” Wisecraft shouts at Jansen, who is now picking up his gun and aiming it at me.

  “No!” Pollen shrieks. She jumps in front of me. I push her away, but it’s too late. Blood seeps out of her ribcage. The sight of blood stirs something inside me, a rush of adrenaline, and I don’t even feel pain anymore. I point the gun at Jansen, at my friend and comrade, and with only a second of hesitation I pull the trigger. The thump of his body hitting the floor makes me expel the contents of my stomach.

  Wisecraft and Rosenfritz have already disappeared beyond the doors and Trident is right behind them.

  “Stop!” I shout holding my gun on Trident. He turns around and sneers at me. He raises his wrist, as if to show me something. A sleek metal device is implanted on the inside of his wrist.

  “You don’t want to do that. You see this? This device is linked to my pulse. It is also linked to the most reactive nuclear bomb my company has developed. The most unstable explosion this world has ever imagined. If my life ends, the bomb detonates. Go ahead and shoot me if you like.” Trident smirks as he rais
es his thick eyebrow. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

  Pollen is kneeling over Sage, who was apparently hit with a bullet, but there’s no blood anywhere.

  “Sage!” she cries out. He shakes his head slightly and clutches his chest. I lean over and rip his shirt away, revealing nothing more than a nasty bruise over his left breast. He reaches into his shirt pocket, producing the folding frame that carries the picture of his wife and daughter. There is a massive indentation in the center of it.

  “Go get them. I’ll catch up,” he murmurs.

  “We can’t let them get away!” Pollen says as she unties the cord from my wrist. “Let’s go!”

  Chapter 36

  (Pollen)

  “Let’s go!” We can’t give up now. Not when we’ve come this far and come so close. They killed my parents, my brother, Glenn, and now Jansen and Nicron. I will destroy the Trinity even if it kills me.

  My side feels like I’ve been seared with a hot poker. Luckily, the bullet just grazed me. Marcus on the other hand, looks like he’s in some serious pain.

  We both gaze down ruefully at the bodies of Nicron and Jansen, regretting that we don’t have time to mourn them or gather their bodies to take back to Ceborec.

  Marcus takes my hand and we pursue the Trinity out the doors. His hand feels so warm and comforting, like a fuzzy blanket on a cool night.

  We don’t have far to run until we find them at the end of the corridor, entering the code for entrance to the Web. Marcus starts to race towards them and I follow, but I know we won’t make it in time.

  The door opens and Edgar and Marge scurry through. Frasier Trident looks back with his menacing grin and holds up his wrist again.

  Thinking quick, I take off my engagement ring. The ring that Marcus gave me. The ring that belonged to his mother. I tie to it the cord I’m still holding from Marcus’s wrists and load it into my sling. Trident swings the door behind him and I launch the ring. The door shuts.