The Whittier Trilogy

by Michael W. Layne

Under Vegas, the Hunter provided these rare men with a spectacle they could not find elsewhere. He offered them the ultimate thrill—the chance to bet on human life. But simply watching someone die was not good enough. The hunt had to contain suspense, uncertainty, and above all else…hope.

  For this reason, the Hunter had high hopes that the mentalist would put on a good show later that night, providing all three of these elements as the man fought for his own life and the life of his black-haired beauty.

  Chapter 32

  TRENT AWOKE, fully dressed, in a comfortable bed, under a set of cool, crisp sheets and a light-weight blanket.

  Other than being terribly hungry, he felt almost relaxed and well-rested—until his head began to clear, the back of his neck started to throb painfully, and he realized that the bed in which he was lying was located in the middle of a jail cell enclosed by iron bars.

  He jumped out of his bed and looked around. He rubbed the back of his neck and wondered why his hand came away slightly sticky.

  He was standing in a large cage that was on the floor of a gigantic concrete chamber with ceilings reaching up to what must have been forty feet. The whole thing reminded him of a subterranean warehouse or hangar lit with giant incandescent fixtures that hung from the ceiling high above.

  Against the far wall was an immense concrete cylinder standing on-end that was twenty-feet high, with concrete stairs spiraling around the outside of its curved walls. The platform at the top of the cylinder was high enough that Trent could only see the edge of it, but he could tell that there was a low glass wall installed along the platform’s perimeter—probably put there to help ensure that nobody accidentally fell to his or her death.

  The only other thing he could make out that high up were the tops of what looked like giant television screens hung on the far wall and a mixture of colored lights.

  Back down on the floor level, Trent counted a total of six cages, including his own, positioned along one edge of the giant room. Each of the cages was each identical to the one in which he was locked, and each appeared to contain a single person.

  Farthest from Trent’s cage, a fat man in only gym shorts and cross-trainers was leaning against his bars, watching Trent closely.

  One cage down from the fat man, a man dressed in a flowered Hawaiian shirt, ratty jeans, and flip flops sat on the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands.

  Down from him, the next two cages each contained a woman. One was a heroin-skinny blonde in a tank top and shorts, and the other was short and stubby with a crew cut, dressed in loose fitting jeans and a large white T-shirt.

  And finally, in the cage closest to his, Trent could just make out the shape of someone buried under the sheets.

  Then he recognized the arm that hung out over one side of the bed.

  It was Zana.

  Trent called over to her, just loudly enough so she could hear him.

  The figure under the white sheets stirred.

  Trent exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding when he saw her head poke out from under the sheets.

  “Trent,” she said, still sounding partially asleep. “I was hoping they wouldn’t find you.”

  “They didn’t have to look very hard,” Trent said. “I’ve been down here searching for you all day. I’m just glad you’re OK and still alive. Do you have any idea what any of this is about?”

  Zana rolled slowly out of her bed and walked over to the bars of her cage. She put her hands through the bars as far as they would reach toward Trent. He reached out as well, but the cages were too far apart for the two of them to touch.

  They both dropped their hands and simply held on to the bars of their respective cages.

  “Trent, these are horrible men. They capture people who live in the tunnels and hunt them down like animals. And I heard some of them talking about gambling on the hunt.”

  “That’s crazy,” Trent said. “They could never get away with that.”

  Zana laughed softly.

  “No one cares about us, Trent. There must be over a thousand people living down here spread out across hundreds of miles of tunnels, but cops don’t come here. They don’t serve and protect us. People disappear and die in the tunnels all the time, and no one even knows.”

  Zana looked down at her feet and reached back and rubbed her neck. She turned around, and pulled up her hair so that Trent could see a fresh brand covered with some kind of shiny gel just above her shoulder blades. It was the now-familiar poker chip emblem with the Las Vegas diamond in the middle of it.

  “Do you see what they’ve already done to us?” Zana said.

  Trent reached behind his own neck and ran his hand over his raised flesh. His fingers played over the shape, and he could feel ridges that he knew must match the same shape that was on the back of Zana’s neck.

  He had been branded like a common piece of livestock.

  Trent looked back to the top of the platform. He suspected that whoever had captured them, was probably up top even now, looking down on them through one or more of the many infernal video cameras mounted on the chamber walls.

  Before Trent could ask Zana another question, a voice came over a loudspeaker.

  “Good evening, Mr. Walker” said the amplified voice. “Welcome to Las Vegas’s premiere extreme gambling sensation, The Lodge. When the thrills of upper Vegas just aren’t enough, we offer our elite clientele a chance to bet on the greatest of all sports. The human hunt. We usually are limited to the dregs of humanity that call these tunnels their homes, but tonight we are very pleased to have you as our guest of honor.”

  “You can’t just hunt people like it was some sort of game,” Trent said, through his bars to the disembodied voice.

  The voice laughed and was joined by more sounds of laughter in the background.

  “Of course I can. I do so every month, and tonight will be no exception. Now, I hope you’re not a vegetarian, because for lunch we are serving roast beef, saffron rice in a light butter sauce, fresh steamed green beans with almonds, and some wonderful homemade French bread—warm still from the oven. Eat well, because later on we will only be providing a light dinner. Think of this as a chance to fill your body with the proper fuel for tonight’s endeavor.”

  As soon as the faceless voice finished speaking, a group of men in white serving jackets rolled out carts filled with covered trays. It was almost too surreal for Trent to process.

  The first of the servers walked directly over to Trent’s cage. He stooped over, lifted a small door built into the bottom of the bars and slid a tray into Trent’s cell.

  As the man stood back up, Trent noted the man’s blonde hair that was so neatly parted on the side.

  Perhaps if he had not been so shocked, Trent could have reached out to grab the man, or at least made a snide comment about him trading in his expensive suit for a serving jacket.

  As it was, he simply watched the man deliver his lunch. Trent wasn’t happy about it at all, but he was starving.

  He turned back to Zana who had also just been served.

  “How long have I been here?” he asked Zana.

  “They brought you in yesterday evening, and you’ve been out cold ever since. I think it’s Thursday morning now. But I’m not sure, to be honest.”

  “They drugged me. Last thing I remember…Zana, I think I found where the Troll lives.”

  Zana laughed lightly.

  “Well, that’s one mystery solved,” she said. “I heard some of the men talking about it. It sounded just like the creature that killed Sarah.”

  Zana looked Trent directly in his eyes.

  “I heard them say that you killed…”

  Trent hung his head.

  “I killed something, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the Troll you told me about. Its face was horrific and frightening, but when it died, there was something innocent about it, too—like it was just a boy.”

  “Are you sure it was human?” Zana said.

  “I think s
o, or at least it used to be. It looked like it had spent its entire life down here. It might have suffered from gigantism but it was hard to tell. Usually people that have that disease are pretty weak, but sometimes they can also be very strong—like that wrestler, Andre the Giant, you know?”

  Zana looked at him with blank eyes.

  “From the movie, The Princess Bride?”

  Still no reaction.

  “Never mind,” Trent said, as he picked up his tray and sat down on his bed with it. “If we ever get out of here, I’ll show you who I’m talking about.”

  “How can you eat that?” Zana said, as Trent tore into the roast beef. “Did I mention I’m a vegetarian?”

  “You’re a homeless vegetarian? How do you ever find enough to eat?”

  “Do I look like I’m wasting away?” she said, slightly irritated with Trent’s questioning.

  Trent stopped and allowed himself a brief smile—the first one since the last time he had seen Zana.

  “Of course not. You look great, Zana.”

  He put his food down and walked over to the bars of his cage.

  “I want you to know that I’ve really missed you.”

  “OK, that’s enough of that,” she said with a slight smile. “Save it for when we get out of here, tough guy.”

  She leaned closer to the bars of her cage.

  “By the way, I’m assuming you have a plan to get us out of here, right? Maybe you can hypnotize some of those guys in the white coats and get them to release us.”

  “They have to want to be hypnotized,” Trent said, “or at least be open to the possibility. And just looking at them, our servers from hell all seem pretty serious about their jobs right now.”

  Zana shook her head while nibbling on her piece of French bread.

  “Wait until you meet their boss. He’s the one who just gave you the welcome speech a few minutes ago. You’re gonna love him. Calls himself the Hunter, but I just call him asshole.”

  Chapter 33

  AS IF ON CUE, a tall man with broad shoulders started to descend the concrete stairs that ran down the side of the giant cylindrical structure in the back of the chamber.

  The man had some of the features of a Native American, with high cheekbones and naturally brown skin. Just from the way he moved, Trent could also tell that he was either an athlete or had been one at some point in his life. He was in his mid-forties and wearing an Italian suit that looked like it cost more than Trent had earned cumulatively over his entire life.

  This had to be the man who called himself the Hunter.

  The man stepped down onto the floor of the great room and walked from cage to cage, as if surveying his prize livestock. When he got to Zana’s cage, he looked over to Trent.

  “Mr. Walker, it is an honor to meet you in person. I am a huge fan of your work. I’ve seen your videos on the Internet, and my men showed me some footage from your show over at that little hotel where you’ve been performing. Very impressive. I have to say that we are honored to have you as our special guest for tonight’s hunt.”

  “You know that recording my shows is illegal…” Trent said.

  The Hunter laughed.

  “Always with the humorous remark, Mr. Walker. Very good. But as with most people, your humor is merely a weak attempt at masking your fear. Since I know you have many questions, let me just sum things up for you in the hopes of saving time.”

  The man walked over and stood in front of Trent’s cage.

  “Las Vegas is a town of extremes. A town of adventure and of luck. You and your friend are the recipient of a large quantity of bad luck at this moment. The two of you decided to bring together two worlds that are meant to stay separate. The dregs of our society live down here. No one cares about them, and no one misses them, but they are meant to stay separate from the rest of us.

  “However, I have found a use for them. My clients pay to watch and to place bets as I pit my creature against a select number of these tunnel residents each month—usually. This evening, of course, I am offering them so much more. Tonight, they will get to see how an accomplished, intelligent, and, dare I say, talented man like yourself, fairs against the brutality of the Troll.

  “Normally, I would never have ventured outside of the homeless population, but you were in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong woman. Perhaps if you had resisted temptation and not sullied yourself with her, you would not find yourself in your current predicament. But that is neither here nor there at this point. I wonder if you would do it all again if you had the chance?”

  Trent looked at the Hunter dead in his eyes.

  He debated on whether he should try engaging the man in a conversation to try to manipulate him, or whether he should just tell him to fuck off. But making him angry wouldn’t do any good, and Trent could tell that the man was too focused to fall victim to simple persuasion. From the look on his face, he was almost daring Trent to try something. This wacko had seen Trent’s stage act and knew what to expect, so Trent did the one thing the man could not have anticipated.

  He did absolutely nothing.

  Trent could feel the Hunter’s eyes on him, waiting for a reply of some kind, as he went back to eating his meal in silence.

  “I see,” said the man, sounding slightly disappointed. “Then I will let you get on with your meal. I suggest you both rest up. The hunt will start at 10 p.m. sharp, and I expect you both to be ready. You will be joined, of course, by the rest of your colleagues, but between you and me, I have no doubt that the two of you will be the stars of the show.”

  And with that, the Hunter walked over to the concrete stairs and ascended them easily as he climbed to the top of the cylindrical platform.

  Trent wolfed down the rest of his food, then turned to look at Zana again who had taken a seat on her bed and was nibbling on the rice and green beans.

  She looked stressed, but there were no tears coming from her eyes. That was one of the many things he liked about her. Even in the face of potential death, she kept her wits about her and remained calm.

  “I told you that you’d like him. Sorry if I sullied you, by the way,” Zana said.

  Before Trent could respond, the man in the Hawaiian shirt spoke up from a few cages over.

  “Hey, what’d that guy say to you two?” the man shouted.

  Trent didn’t answer.

  The man yelled again.

  “What’d that guy say?”

  “Nothing really,” Trent responded, projecting his voice to make sure the man could hear him. “Just that we were all going to die tonight.”

  “Jesus, Trent,” she said. “Do you have to scare the shit out of the poor guy?”

  Trent looked over at her.

  “He should be scared,” Trent said.

  Zana looked away and down at the floor.

  “Hey,” Trent said, holding up Zana’s silver Ankh necklace. “I brought something for you. That asshole emptied my suit—even took my fucking protein bar—but he missed this.”

  Zana looked up and saw her necklace.

  “Trent…” she said.

  He tossed it gently through his bars and into Zana’s cage, where she bent over and picked it off of the floor. She reached back and snapped it on behind her neck.

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me,” she said.

  “Anything for you, Zana,” Trent said. “And don’t worry about sullying me. I’d do it again anytime.”

  “I hope you get a chance to,” Zana said, forcing a smile. “Speaking of which, we were talking about your plan before we were interrupted.”

  Trent tried to grin, but he was afraid it came across as more sinister than anything else.

  “I wouldn’t say I have a plan as much as I have an approach. But I’m working on it. I just need a little time to put it all together.”

  Chapter 34

  THE MAN IN THE Hawaiian shirt looked shocked and offended by what Trent had said, but he didn’t respond.

  Instead, he just
stepped back from his bars and lay down on his bed.

  The woman in the large white T-shirt cursed out loud and lit a cigarette. So did the heroin blonde.

  Their host must have decided it was best to let his captives indulge in some of their safer vices before they were released into the concrete wilds for the hunt.

  As the time passed, none of Trent’s fellow captives made a sound, other than the occasional curse word or exclamatory.

  Even Trent and Zana didn’t talk much.

  Trent was too busy working his way through the map in his head of the tunnels he had traversed. Without knowing exactly where he was, however, his mental map was essentially useless. For all he knew, they were all the way down by Lake Meade, outside the city as far east as the tunnels ran, or they could have been anywhere in between.

  Eventually, Trent started to get hungry again, and almost on cue, the mysterious men in white serving jackets showed up, this time with lighter fare as promised—grilled chicken and more French bread. They also delivered a bottle of water and a bottle of an electrolyte sports drink to each of the captives.

  Trent and Zana accepted their meals calmly. As they were taking their trays to their beds, the woman in the large T-shirt asked her server about using the bathroom. He answered that once she was released into the tunnels, she would be allowed to go wherever she chose.

  The woman spat at the man, dropped her pants, and peed on the concrete floor in one corner of her cell.

  Trent laughed, impressed by the woman’s spirit. Most people let society’s norms dictate their behavior, even during extreme circumstances like these. At least this woman did what she wanted and could take some joy knowing that her captor would probably have to clean up her mess later on.

  After Trent finished his meal, he tried to lie down to think.

  But when he closed his eyes, instead of logical, ordered thoughts, he saw only images—memories from a month ago of him taking his fate into his own hands and doing what was necessary to survive. He knew that in just a short while he would be forced into a similar situation, where survival would be paramount once again. He wondered if he could, once again, do anything that it took to survive—or if he even wanted to. He knew he was capable of being ruthless and even killing when his life was on the line, but he didn’t know if he was physically ready to go to the necessary extremes to do so again.