The Trinity (Fall of Venus)

by Quinn, Daelynn

  The crackling leaves and twigs beneath my legs are going to leave sharp indentations in my skin, but I try to remain still so I can listen. There’s a faint shuffling sound behind me. It could be somebody in the woods. Or it could be Timber up in the tree. I turn, but see nobody. I look upward. Is Timber coming down?

  “Timber,” I whisper, hopefully just loud enough so she can hear me. “Timber is that you?”

  The shuffling grows louder, but I still can’t place it. It’s coming closer.

  “Timber?”

  I rise and slide my body behind the tree. My eyes dart back and forth, between trees, over brush, and up at the treetops. There is nobody in sight and the drumbeat of my heart begins a terrifying crescendo.

  “Timber!” I whisper again.

  “Pollen?” Her whisper floats down the edge of the bark, still high above me.

  “Timber, I hear a noise. Is there anyone coming?”

  “Hold on, let me go higher.”

  The seconds tick by painfully along with my drumming pulse. Each one feels like an entire minute, though it only lasts about half a second.

  Suddenly, a whoosh of air pushes me into the trunk of the elm and a thump sounds in the dead leaves behind me.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just Glenn,” Timber announces happily, picking the specks of bark from her shirt. I collapse under the weight of my terror, and allow myself to breathe again. Once my heart rate returns to normal, relief devours me.

  “Pollen? You out here?” Glenn’s voice rips through the silent hum of misty rain.

  “Over here,” Timber calls out.

  I climb to my feet and brush the moist bits of leaves and dirt from my cargo shorts.

  Glenn ambles over to us, his head lowered, his footsteps clumsily smashing into the ground, his stance wobbles from side to side like a peg-legged clown on a rope. He looks like he had a holiday in hell.

  “Glenn, you should be resting,” I say as he leans into the side of the tree.

  “Damn right I should be. I feel like shit.” His single left eye is crawling with tiny red slivers and the bags under his eyes are packed and ready to go.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “You know why.”

  “As you can see I brought Timber with me. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Go home and get some rest.”

  “No offense,” Glenn says to Timber before turning back to me, “but I don’t think you’re that much safer with the little pixie.”

  “In the condition you’re in I could take you down in a heartbeat,” Timber cracks. “Wanna try me?”

  Glenn shakes his head, carefully, as not to increase the pounding that beats on his brain. “I’m just looking out for you, Polly. That’s all. Let me train with you today. Please? You guys can pelt me with paint bullets all you want.”

  I could argue with him, but it’s not worth it, especially after the scare we just had. The air just feels wrong out here. I don’t want to be alone.

  “Okay, Glenn. You can stay. But you look like you’re really hurting. Why don’t you just sit here and keep a look out for us while we train.”

  “Sounds like a party.” Glenn smirks.

  The wind picks up and the raindrops swell and spit down more forcefully as Timber and I march further into the woods. My clothes are already damp from the mist, but pretty soon they will be drenched.

  “Are you sure you still want to do this?” Timber asks warily. “We could always go back to the sparring arena.”

  My first instinct is to say no. This is want I want. To run free in the wilderness. To breathe what’s left of fresh air. To feel the wind on my skin. But now that the rain has picked up, I feel vulnerable. It feels just like the day I was attacked. The day that led to me sleeping with Glenn. The day I ruined my life.

  “Yeah, let’s go back.”

  Timber takes another step and pauses, turning her glistening rain-soaked face back toward me. Her short blond hair looks muddy and is smeared against the sides of her face. “Really? I thought you’d say no.”

  “I guess I’m not feeling quite so stubborn and reckless today.” I smile. “Let’s go back and get Glenn.”

  Almost immediately after we turn back, a soaking wet body darts out from behind a tree.

  “Respa?”

  Her onyx hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail, is dripping and her bangs plastered to her forehead, covering the top half of the infinity fly tattoo on her left temple. She’s wearing a simple black tank top and olive cargo pants, obviously not dressed for the weather. Her dark, chocolate eyes are vacant, unfeeling. I wonder what’s behind them right now.

  I step forward, eager to hug my old friend, but she pounces backward and holds up a gun, aiming it in my direction.

  “Where’s Glenn?” she growls.

  “Wait, how do you remember?” I ask, wishing that my suspicion last night was wrong. “I thought you all lost your memories.”

  “I lost mine over a month ago, while I was training at Crimson. Got them back just before we came here. Where is he?”

  “Wait a minute,” I say, consumed with dread. “What about the others? Is this all a ruse to infiltrate our compound?”

  Respa eyes do a single somersault. “No. We had no idea you guys had an EM fence. They are all as dumb as they were before the virus. Now, take me to Glenn.” She raises her pistol threateningly. Her hands tremble in anticipation.

  “Respa, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

  “You wanna know why I’m doing this? Why I led an attack on Crimson? Why I’m pointing a gun at you?”

  I nod, unable to find the words.

  “I helped you, Pollen. I put myself at risk to rescue you. And what did I get in return? A dead boyfriend, that’s what.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Holster your weapon or I’ll shoot,” Respa snaps at Timber, who had been silently preparing to intervene. Timber places her gun back in her hip holster and crosses her arms, taking a step closer to me.

  “Let’s see. An Enforcer has his hand hacked off and his eye gauged out—while he’s still alive. Does that ring any bells?”

  My memories of our last escape from Crimson are distant, like gazing into the bottom of a murky lake. I remember some things and not others. One memory that stands out, though, is the ear-piercing shriek of a man in torturous pain. It’s hard to forget something like that.

  “That was . . .”

  “Quorian. He didn’t die right away. No, he suffered for days before they had put him down like a fucking dog.”

  “Respa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I don’t care. I saw the video surveillance footage. I know Glenn did it. Now he’s going to pay.”

  “Respa, wait.”

  “Where is he? I saw him come out here.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes. I do. I won’t rest until he is dead.”

  Without taking my eyes off Respa, I shout, “Glenn, run! Get out of here!” Respa’s eyes narrow at me and an unexpected look crosses her face. She smirks.

  “He won’t leave you out here all alone. If anything, you just helped me.” My insides squirm when I realize she’s right. He’ll probably be here at my side any moment.

  “Timber, get Glenn out of here. Now.”

  Timber faces me, refusing to leave. “I won’t leave you alone with her.”

  “I’ll be okay. She won’t hurt me.” Her face wrinkles with the struggle of making a decision. “Go.”

  As Timber turns to leave, Respa attempts to push past me, but I latch on to her shoulders to keep her from following. Under my arms I feel her arm rising as she takes aim to shoot. I thrust my elbow downward, but the gun fires anyway. My head snaps back up to see the backside of Timber running away, and I’m satisfied to see that the bullet came nowhere near her.

  Beneath my grip, Respa writhes and twists out of my arms, but immediately I’m back on top of her, my chest to her back. She jabs her elbow into
my cheek and a jolt of pain shoots to the back of my head. But I do not let go. I wrench her face to the side, digging my unkempt fingernails into the soft flesh of her cheek.

  Respa turns and smashes me backward into the trunk of a pine, and my head thumps sharply against it. A warm trickle glides down the back of my neck. I hold tight to the fabric of her tank top to ensure she doesn’t get away and drive my fist forward, crashing into her nose. She hunches over cupping her hand under her nose to catch the blood. All is quiet and calm for a moment.

  I rest my hand on her shoulder and plea to her one last time, “Respa, please don’t do this.”

  I know I shouldn’t let my guard down, but part of me still wants to trust her. She helped me escape. That good person must still be in her. Just as I lean forward, Respa brings her fist up an in uppercut straight to my chin. I land flat on my back. I stare up at the tops of the leafless trees, seeing stars twinkling in my vision.

  “Polly?” a deep voice calls out, not too far from here.

  Oh no. No. No. No. Glenn run away from here!

  Respa’s eyes shoot up and she stalks away from me in favor of more desirable prey. I leap to my feet just as the resounding POW declares she just pulled the trigger.

  “No!” I scream.

  Without hesitation I yank out my pistol and fire. One shot would have been plenty to disable her. I don’t know why I kept pulling the trigger. Was it intentional, or just a reflex? Three shots strike Respa’s back.

  The first two splattered red. The third splattered blue. I forgot to switch back the bullets.

  Chapter 21

  That moment.

  In that moment, the bricks that had so carefully and solidly erected themselves, forming an emotional barrier within my soul, began to crumble. The numbness began to recede. That moment the gun slipped from my fingers, landing on the bed of leaves with a quiet plop, so uncharacteristic of a weapon built for death and destruction. That moment, when I realized I just killed my friend.

  I had forgotten to take the real bullets out of the gun when we discovered it was Glenn who had followed us out here. Had I chosen to continue training here in the arena instead of turning back toward the armory, it could have been Timber’s lifeless body slumped on the glistening pillow of dried leaves and mud. I hadn’t meant to kill Respa. I just meant to unarm her or knock her down with the blow of a paint bullet. Anything I could do to keep her from shooting Glenn. Glenn!

  Glenn leans against a tree, a deep maroon patch flowering at the left shoulder of his sage shirt. He smiles and waves at me with his other arm, indicating he is okay. I wish I could return the smile.

  Timber hovers over Respa, her gun drawn and aimed, and kicks her over so that she’s lying on her back. Respa’s eyelids hang, halfway covering her open eyes. Her lips are cracked open, drops of rain dribbling their way inside her mouth while a drop of blood trickles out the other side and smears down her jaw line. Timber squats down and palpates Respa’s neck, feeling for a pulse. I can’t move. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. My emotional apathy has given way to physical paralysis. I wait for a response from Timber, as if it could possibly be hopeful. She turns the body back over, examining the violet wound where blue paint mixed with blood.

  “You really have been practicing,” Timber murmurs. “Right through the heart.”

  As she says it, my own heart begins to rip and the pain sends shockwaves through every pore in my body. My limbs begin to shake. My throat clenches. My cheeks swell up and I can feel a rush of liquid emotion making its way to my eyes. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to move. I have to get away from here. I have to run.

  I can hear Glenn call out behind me. I don’t turn back. He can’t follow me either. Or, he won’t—not with his new injury. There’s no way he could keep up with me at my current speed. And I’m sure Timber won’t let him. My legs carry me through the flats of Arenas Seven and Eight, under the thick pine canopy of Arena One, and over the rough, rocky terrain of Arena Two, where a stream winds to a delta of the nearby Umbric River. I could be flying for all I know. My body still feels numb. It’s like one of those dreams where you run and run and your legs never get tired, you never run short of breath, you just keep going. Running is all I can do to keep my emotions at bay. I can’t fall apart now. Too much is at stake.

  As I sprint along the peaceful stream with nothing more than raindrops rippling its surface, my foot catches a patch of slippery moss and I plunge face first into the muddy embankment. I sit up in defeat for a minute or two, inflating my lungs, allowing the tears to stream down my face and wiping the dribble from under my nose. The murky, muddy water envelops my hips and legs, which I might find incredibly soothing if my body wasn’t so numb.

  I remember the day I met Marcus in the woods after the Trinity stole my memories. He too, slipped on a patch of moss and was swept away by the rushing rapids of an angry river. For this one moment I allow all the despair, the hopelessness I’ve kept bottled up for these past few weeks to swallow me whole. Why couldn’t it be me? Why couldn’t this kitten of a stream be a raging river that would carry me to my death? I would welcome it with open arms now. Because Evie needs you, a quiet voice whispers inside my head.

  With that I rise to me feet, examine the brown stains that plaster my clothes to my body and cake my skin, and take off running again.

  I keep running until I arrive back at the site where Glenn is waiting for me. Timber is conspicuously missing, but the body of my dead friend remains. I ran the entire perimeter, which we always do in our daily training—only this time I didn’t pace myself. I sprinted. Again, just as it happened at the stream, all my emotions come flinging back to me along with the physical manifestations. The sadness, the despair, the aching muscles in my legs, the stabbing in my lungs each time I inhale. I collapse into Glenn’s good arm, despite his injury. I should be the one holding him, not the other way around.

  My face is buried in his chest, hiding from the truth of my actions. My tears flow freely into his already drenched shirt. I want to pound my fist into him to release the tension, but I know I can’t. He holds me tighter and I scream into his chest.

  When I finally release myself from his grip and turn around, the body is gone. How long have we been standing here?

  Glenn and I begin our slow tread back to Ceborec’s medical clinic in silence. And I realize once again that I need Glenn. Maybe not the same way he thinks he needs me. But there’s a part of us that will always be connected. A part of us that can never be severed. He’s my family.

  ***

  The chime sounds and the doors to the glass elevator open up to the lobby of the medical clinic. Timber is talking quietly to General Granby, who looks as though he’s received a long desired gift when he sees Glenn and me. Or me, rather.

  Timber rushes forward and takes Glenn by the arm, escorting him through the double doors and down the empty corridor. Before I can protest, Granby pulls me aside.

  “Miss McRae. I heard what happened this morning. I am very sorry.” His look is of genuine concern, but there’s something else behind his eyes. A sense of urgency.

  “I thought we were done with this ‘Miss McRae’ stuff. It’s Pollen, remember?” He hands me a handkerchief and I blot away some residual tears.

  “I’m sorry, Pollen.”

  “Respa was my friend. She helped me escape Crimson. I can’t believe I just killed her.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” Granby whispers. “But you did the right thing.” Part of me wants to slap him for having the nerve to say that. The other part wants to grab him tight and never let go.

  “Pollen, I’m here to take you to the conference room. I’ve called a committee meeting.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you are involved. Come with me. You’ll understand soon enough.”

  Granby allows me to stop and get cleaned up before heading to the meeting. We travel to the main floor in piercing silence; an unspoken understanding between
us that no words need be exchanged through the veil of tension surrounding us.

  In the conference room, all the committee members are present: Myra, Marley, Sage, Curtis, Kenneth, Byron, Valeria, Harper, Xavier, Lexi, and now Granby. Then there’s me. My presence here feels much more welcome than the first time I saw this room. It was about seven months ago when I burst into their meeting demanding to see Glenn after they wrongly arrested him for treason. The last time I was here was only a few days ago, when we voted to allow the Crimson refugees to stay. Even then there was an awkward tensity that made me feel like the minnow in a sea of sharks. Now, although their faces are still grim, there’s sympathy behind them.

  “Take a seat,” Granby says, directing me to his empty chair next to Sage. He paces up to the head of the boardroom where a large, flat monitor hangs against the wall.

  “We’ve received another message from the Trinity.” My audible gasp causes some heads to turn. Apparently I’m the only one in this room surprised to hear the news. Wait, another message?

  Granby picks up a small flat object from the table and dances his fingertips across it. The lights dim, and the screen behind him flickers on. Granby removes himself to the back of the room where he stands rigidly with his feet shoulder-width apart, hands crossed behind his back.

  I gasp again at the sight of the Trinity on the screen, though not a single person takes his or her eyes off the monitor. The three monsters are together this time, sitting in what I could only describe as modern thrones. They all look healthier than they did at our last confrontation, albeit only slightly. Edgar Wisecraft, in the center has regained some color in his cheeks. Marge Rosenfritz, who flanks his left, looks less skeletal in the face. On the right, Frasier Trident looks alert and evil as ever under his monobrow. Obviously, they’ve designed their cure for the virus and replenished their personal food supply.

  “Greetings,” Wisecraft starts with that sadistic smile that would cause the walking dead to return to their graves. “Since you’ve ignored our previous attempts to negotiate, we found it necessary to send a few of our Enforcers to give you a message. It is our understanding that the invasion ended rather peacefully. Rest assured this will be our final amicable attempt at communication. The next attack will ensure a considerable number of casualties if our request is not granted.