He had lost a part of himself last month and then more yesterday, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to lose any more.
Trent opened his eyes and forced himself to blink a few times. He would face those decisions when he came to them, but right now he needed to concentrate. He closed his eyes again, but this time he focused on breathing deeply from his diaphragm, listening to the air rush in and out of his lungs. Slowly, he regained control of his mental faculties, and he was able to think clearly enough to work on how to keep Zana and himself alive.
First he had to determine the most likely parameters of the hunt.
More than likely, the Hunter would set them free and force them to run or to suffer the consequences of being shot on the spot; so Zana and he would have no choice but to participate in this maniac’s hunt.
To be sporting, or at least to give the appearance of being sporting, the Hunter would have to give them a head start of some kind before releasing the Troll. If he didn’t, his little hunt would turn into just a fight, and an unfair one at that. And that wasn’t what his clients were paying to see.
More than likely, all of the captives would be released at the same time, if for no other reason, simply because there wouldn’t be enough time to stagger the hunt for each of them before the sun came up. And that meant that Trent and Zana could stay together.
But Trent had to make sure that it wasn’t just the two of them on their own. The other captives were key to his burgeoning plan, and in fact, they were the only real assets that Zana and he possessed.
As best he could tell, all the captives looked to be residents of the tunnels, which meant that they were survivors in one way or another and that they were familiar with maneuvering around in the underground labyrinth. However, from a health standpoint, he and Zana looked to be in the best shape physically, which meant that if they planned on all staying together, he and Zana would have to move slower than they otherwise would be capable of.
But their states of mind were even more important. Other than perhaps the woman in the large white T-shirt, Zana and he seemed to be coping with the situation better than the others, which meant that Trent would have to motivate the others and keep them moving until it was time for each of them to serve his or her purpose.
There were also other practical considerations to take into account for each of the captives.
The fat man wasn’t going to make it very far given his obesity. The guy in the Hawaiian shirt was stressing out pretty hard already, and if he kept it up, he’d be so worn out from adrenaline that he’d be exhausted pretty quickly once the hunt started.
The skinny blonde was a drug user, so she was probably pretty tough, but also pretty messed up both physically and mentally. And she was also a smoker, as was the stumpy woman in the white T-shirt. Other than being out of shape and also a smoker, the woman in the white T-shirt looked strong and was remaining focused and in control of herself, not counting her urination stunt earlier, of which Trent of course still approved.
Zana seemed calm, which was good for both of them. His sense was that she was trusting in his abilities to help them out of their situation, but he also was certain that once they got moving, she would hold her own and not just rely on him to save her.
Trent went over scenario after scenario in his head, but no matter which way he envisioned things happening, each situation where Zana and he survived also ended in the demise of the other captives.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
There was no avoiding the truth. The only way for Zana and him to make it to the surface would be for the others to perish, and so Trent began going through the details of how each of them could help further his and Zana’s chances of survival. He assessed each of their obvious weaknesses and even decided on the optimal order in which they should follow behind him and Zana once the hunt began.
If only he could figure a way to take out the Hunter and his men before the hunt even started. He figured there had to be a passageway to the surface somewhere up on the observation platform that he couldn’t see from the floor—a way for the Hunter’s precious clients to enter and exit easily. But if the Hunter hosted one of these hunts every month, he and his men were sure to be prepared for people making last ditch efforts to fight, and his men were likely to be well armed.
Trent craned his neck to see as much of the raised cylindrical platform as he could. Aside from the stairs spiraling up the outside of the curved wall, Trent couldn’t see any other obvious way up to the top. All he could see were two tunnels entrances in the room on the ground level—one that was located between the third and fourth cages in which the captives were locked and one that was located on the other side of the room.
But the servers had come from somewhere, and they hadn’t descended the concrete staircase, so Trent could assume that there was another entrance on this level, too—or maybe even an elevator on the other side of the platform, just beyond his field of vision.
After another hour of planning, Trent heard noises coming from above. Music that sounded like house or trance music started to fill the room, and the overhead fluorescents went out and were replaced by colored spotlights shining on each of their cages. Within only a few moments, the ambience in the room went from deranged concrete dungeon to avant-garde gambling nightclub.
Even if he had been one of the Hunter’s clients, he still would have hated such a gaudy setup.
After another fifteen minutes, Trent heard conversations wafting through the air from people milling around up top, and occasionally a body popped up to look over the low glass wall and peer down at the captives.
The sounds of giggling and the clanking of glasses filtered down to Trent, and a bright glow emanated from the top of the platform the way a giant television screen might light up a dark room.
He and Zana looked at each other. They could both feel it. The show was about to start, and they were the main attractions.
Chapter 35
TRENT LISTENED to the noises from the party going on at the top of the platform, trying unsuccessfully to discern anything that could be used to help their predicament. After half an hour, the sounds of merriment died down, and a few minutes later, Trent counted twenty-three people walking across the floor from the opposite side of the huge cylinder.
As the crowd gathered around the cage that held the shirtless fat man, its members looked more like they were attending a gala ball than a human hunt.
The women were model-quality attractive, and wore sheer, sparkly, tight dresses. Trent guessed that they were most likely very expensive female escorts. The men were dressed formally in one way or another—most wearing tuxedos, smoking cigars, and sipping from crystal tumblers. One of the men wore a designer suit with a bolo tie and sported a large white cowboy hat.
These were the whales who would be betting on the hunt—those gamblers who had more money than they knew what to do with and who were highly sought after and catered to by any and all of the hotels and casinos in Las Vegas. Like any group of high rollers worth their salt, they were assessing the odds before placing their bets.
And finally, the man who called himself the Hunter was clad in a tailored black tuxedo with a hand-knotted, black silk tie.
Trent noted, however, that the man’s shiny black dress shoes had soft rubber soles and were meant to be as functional as they were meant to look refined. This was a man who was always prepared to get dirty and to move into action.
Trent watched as the crowd meandered from cage to cage, with the Hunter saying a few words about each of his captives at each stop. Trent heard something about how the woman in the white T-shirt used to be a competitive gymnast, and how the skinny blonde had been a dancer. The Hunter typified each of them as being a denizen of the tunnels who knew his or her way around as he explained how each of them would be worthy prey in the evening’s hunt.
When the crowd arrived outside of Zana’s cage, the Hunter motioned to Trent as well.
“As you can see
just from looking at these two,” the Hunter said, “they are the odds-on favorite for lasting the longest this evening. Both are healthy, and quite resilient. It took two of my strongest men to bring her in, and this one…this one was considerably more trouble.”
The crowd laughed, and the Hunter turned to Trent.
“He calls himself a mentalist. And to be fair, he is a man of many talents and skills that should serve him well tonight. A master manipulator. A trickster and charlatan, but also intelligent with a decent mind for planning and strategy.”
The Hunter leaned into the crowd.
“My money is on him, to be honest with you,” the Hunter said. “I suspect that he and the woman will stay together as long as possible, but in the end, you will find that the man in the black suit will choose his life over that of his mate. As much as he may hate to admit it, I believe that he will have a difficult time not following his instinct for self preservation.”
“Trust me, you and your sick friends don’t know a thing about my instincts,” Trent said.
The crowd laughed again, as if they had just seen a monkey in a zoo perform some trick that made it appear to be almost human.
“Very well!” the Hunter said with a smile as he motioned for his guests to head back to the platform, “You have seen tonight’s offerings. Let us return to the comfort of The Lodge and…place…your…bets, shall we?”
Zana looked over to Trent. Her eyes were moist and her hands were white from gripping the bars of her cell.
“Trent…” she said.
“Just stick with me and do exactly what I say,” he said, “and we’ll get out of this. I promise. The most important things we have to do once he lets us go is to stick together and to determine our location as soon as possible.”
“They blindfolded me when they brought me here. All I know is that we walked downhill almost the entire way,” she said.
“That makes sense. Your trail was leading toward Lake Meade before they captured me. I’m guessing we’re closer to the lake than we are to the city, but I can’t tell without a landmark of some kind. Once I can figure out where we are, I can get us to the surface.”
“How are we going to escape the Troll?” she said. “Especially with the Hunter tracking us with his video cameras.”
Trent watched as the Hunter and his clients disappeared behind the far side of the platform.
“Ever hear that joke about the guy who’s being chased by a bear in the woods? When his friend asks him why he’s not running faster, he tells his friend that he doesn’t have to outrun the bear—he just has to outrun his friend. Well, we just need to stay ahead of the rest of the group long enough to figure out where we are and then to find a way to the surface.”
“Trent, that’s horrible!”
“If it’s the difference between them or us, it has to be them.”
“They’re in the same situation as we are, and without your help, they won’t stand a chance. I know you want to save me no matter what the cost, but some things are more important than just survival.”
“My mind agrees with you, Zana, but every other piece of me just wants us to get out of here as fast as we can, and I don’t want to be slowed down by anything or anyone. I don’t want anyone to die tonight either, but most of all, I don’t want us to die. Understand?”
Zana nodded slowly, then looked away. Trent knew that she could see the bigger picture. She was just being more human about things than he was.
Music once again blared from the top of the platform, as the party got underway again. But after another half of an hour, the music lowered, and the Hunter’s voice came over the loudspeaker.
“Good evening my guests of honor!” the Hunter said. “I am sure that none of you are feeling very lucky at the moment, but trust me, you are. Tonight, you will be given a chance to right your lives—to win the lottery of life that has eluded you for so long. All you have to do is make it out of the tunnels to the surface by sunrise—that’s approximately six hours from now—and if you do, each of you who escapes will be given one million dollars in cold cash. Still feeling unlucky? I didn’t think so.”
Unbelievably, Trent’s fellow captives seemed more alert and in a better mood upon hearing the Hunter’s announcement.
They actually looked excited about the prospect of winning the prize money. Such was the folly of humans, especially in Las Vegas, Trent thought—to allow greed to masquerade as hope, even under the most dire of circumstances.
“But,” the Hunter continued, “winning your prize will not be easy. After all, you will be pursued…by someone you have all heard of, but whom you have never seen nor met.”
Even as the Hunter spoke, Trent heard a guttural growl from across the room that was similar to the one he had heard the day before in the tunnels.
“Prepare yourselves,” the Hunter said, “for tonight, you will be hunted by none other than the infamous Troll.”
Chapter 36
BEFORE THE ECHO of the Hunter’s words had died, a large creature erupted from the darkness of the tunnel entrance across the room, swinging a large metal club, and bounding straight for Trent’s cage.
The thing that rushed directly at Trent looked like a larger, stronger version of the creature Trent had killed the day before, with long, scraggly black hair and wearing a ragged cloth around its midsection, but otherwise naked. Trent instinctively stepped back from his bars as the nine-foot tall creature slammed into his cage, sliding it roughly along the concrete floor a few feet until it collided with the back wall of the room.
The creature shoved its arms through Trent’s cage, desperately trying to grab him. Trent stood just beyond reach and looked into the Troll’s face that was planted hard against the bars of his cage, madly sniffing Trent’s scent as if to confirm that he was indeed the man the creature was looking for.
Seeing the mixture of pain and anger in the creature’s face, Trent was now certain that the life he had taken the day before had indeed belonged to this creature’s son.
The faces of the two were almost identical, but the Troll’s brow jutted heavily outward, and unlike those of his son, the father’s eyes were a deep black. This monstrosity had seen the light of day before and had not lived its entire life underground.
And in those black eyes, Trent could see nothing but pure hatred for the man who had killed his offspring.
Despite his circumstances, Trent felt a wave of sorrow flow through him. This creature was being used, just like Trent and the rest of the captives were. The true villain in the room was the asshole calling himself the Hunter and the soulless people betting on the taking of human lives.
He wanted to say something to the aberration that loomed in front of him, but he knew that words would do no good. He couldn’t bring the creature’s son back. The best he could do would be to escape with Zana and to figure out a way to bring the Hunter to justice.
The Hunter’s voice piped over the intercom again, his voice sounding authoritative and domineering in a tone used by humans when giving commands to a dog.
“Back to your hole. Now!” the Hunter said. “You will have your chance with him soon enough.”
The creature looked up at the top of the platform and growled. Deep, guttural noises came from its throat like it was trying to talk, but unable to pronounce the syllables that were stuck on its tongue.
“To your tunnel,” the Hunter said.
Slowly, the Troll stepped away from Trent’s cage and lumbered over to the tunnel from which it had just sprung. It ducked its head and moved inside with surprising agility and ease.
As soon as the creature was inside, a heavy grate slammed into place from above, and it too was caged. The Troll grabbed the bars of the gate with its hands and glared at Trent. Waiting.
As soon as the beast was secure, the Hunter and his servers in their white coats entered the room again, but this time, the men were armed with submachine guns on shoulder straps.
Each server took his place outside
one of the cages, as the barred doors clicked open simultaneously.
The six captives were herded as a single group to the main tunnel entrance near their cages.
“Before you leave, a few more things,” the Hunter said, his voice still amplified throughout the room. “The hunt will continue until each of you is dead or has escaped the tunnels. And, despite the standing promise of reward, I am obliged to tell you that no one has ever escaped before.
“So, why even try? Why run? I think it is also only fair to tell you that there is a shortcut to the surface. There is only one, and it leads to freedom. Find that, and you don’t even have to make it until sunrise. You will be safe as well as one million dollars richer. I have copies of your IDs, and for those of you with no identification, I have blood samples and photographs of your faces. Rest assured, I will make sure you get your money, but if you do win, I suggest you leave this town quickly and get as far away as possible, as I do not take to losing very well.
“And finally, the Troll is a very determined hunter. However, to give you a sporting chance, he shall be held here in check for thirty minutes exactly before being released. Make good use of your time. Now, good luck to you all. Let the clock, and the hunt, begin!”
The announcement was followed by a loud set of cheers from above. Trent moved along with the rest of the crowd, holding Zana’s hand and allowing himself to indulge in the fantasy of attacking the Hunter right then and there and tearing into him with wild abandon. As he moved into the tunnel entrance, Trent told himself that if he made it out of the tunnels alive tonight, the Hunter would pay in more than just cash and hotel chips.
One of the armed men moved forward and set a bag of flashlights on the floor. Each of the captives bent down and picked one up, before the waiters forced the group of six farther into the tunnels.
The Whittier Trilogy Page 25