The Trap (Page 21)

“Gene,” Sissy whispers. As if she has finally found what she has long been searching for.

And I lean my head forward into the jet of water. So that when I close my eyes the salt of my tears will be washed away and the evidence of my guilt will have been forever removed.

Twenty-six

AFTERWARD, CLEANED AND shaved and clipped, we sit in the living room on the threadbare carpet. The last rays of sunset slip through the opened door. We sit facing each other, so close that our legs cross over one another. Sissy runs her fingers through her damp hair.

“We can’t go to the Convention Center by horse,” I say. “People—duskers—don’t normally ride double on them. We’ll take the bus, instead.” Seeing the confusion on her face, I add, “It’s like a long carriage pulled by at least a pair of horses. Fits over a dozen passengers.”

Her frown lines deepen. “I’m not crazy about getting into an enclosed space with them.”

“If we walk, we’ll build up a sweat. And a stink.” I place my hand on her kneecap. “The bus will be okay. I used to take it all the time. Don’t get freaked out if the horses turn to sniff you. Just remember—get a window seat and open the window wide. That should help dissipate any smell. And sit in the last row so nobody will catch any odors downwind. I’ll sit close but not next to you. Better if we’re not seen side by side, it might trigger recognition.”

“How long is the ride?”

“Only about fifteen minutes. But it’ll seem like an eternity, especially if it’s crowded.”

She squirms, clearly unhappy.

“Remember. Watch your lips—don’t let them be expressive. Don’t pull the corners down. And whatever you do, never smile or grin.”

“I don’t think I’ll be finding much reason to do either.”

“And don’t speak if you can help it.”

“Okay, got it. Just be a statue.”

“That’s the right idea. Except be a low-key, invisible statue. Don’t do anything that will attract attention. Keep this Moonlight Visor on at all times,” I say, taking two pairs out of the backpack and giving her one. “Even inside the Convention Center where it’ll be dark and you’ll be tempted to take it off. Without these Visors, we run the high risk of being recognized, Sissy. Never take it off.”

“Won’t we stand out if we’re the only ones wearing them indoors?”

“We don’t really have a choice.”

She nods thoughtfully, her lips lining with determination.

“Your lips—”

She shakes her head, annoyed at herself. “Got it.”

“You can’t be so careless.”

“I know, I know. But anyway, won’t the Visor shield my face?”

“It only blurs. It doesn’t completely block your face. And besides, it only covers from your nose up. Your mouth is fully exposed. You need to remember that.”

She sighs loudly, but before I can reprimand her she says, “What about walking form? Anything special?”

“Walk with a glide, slow arm movements,” I instruct her. “Go with the flow, not too fast, not too slow. Slink into the background. Don’t speed up or slow down too quickly. Their eyes snap to irregular, inconsistent speeds.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t walk too close to anyone—”

“Gene! I got it!”

“No, you don’t, Sissy. This is going to be a huge challenge for you. We’re going to be surrounded by thousands of people on the street, tens of thousands once we’re inside the Convention Center. And you don’t realize how much you stick out. Your demeanor, even when you’re merely standing, screams different. I’m trying to help here.”

She exhales with annoyance, stands up, flustered, taking deep breaths.

I rise with her. “See this reaction you’re having? Standing up in a huff, sighing audibly? Out there, you’re dead now.”

“I’m trying to—”

“Hey, I’m not the only one who’s going to find things difficult.”

“Sissy, not to boast or anything, but I’m good at fading into a crowd. I’ve been doing this my whole life.”

“I’m not talking about blending in. I know you’ll be fine with that.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

She pauses, her face filled with regret over bringing up the topic. But when she looks at me her eyes are unwavering. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to take the shot?”

She keeps her eyes centered on mine, daring me to look away.

“You know what I mean. You get the first shot at Ashley June with the sniper. Long-range, hidden in the rafters. When you’ve got her in your crosshairs, are you going to be able to pull the trigger?”

I push out the next few words, quickly, letting them tumble out of my mouth. “Of course. Not a problem. I just put her in the hairlines, and squeeze the trigger. Done.”

Sissy shakes her head, but with sympathy, not acrimony. “Really, Gene? Because I’m not so sure. I know what she means to you. I know the special place she has in your heart. Just being here in her home, I see the effect it’s had on you.”

“What she meant to me.” I tug on the bill of my cap. And I return Sissy’s gaze with a conviction I know is genuine, glad that I had made the decision back in the shower. “Because that person I’m going to shoot in a couple of hours? That person may look like her, sound like her, but it’s not her. Ashley June is no longer. Ashley June is gone. I’m shooting a dusker, that’s all. It’ll be a mercy killing.”

The setting sun dips below the line of roofs across the street. The room plunges into a dark gray. Night is almost upon us.

“Back at the Mission,” Sissy says, her voice lowering, “when she attacked us. She paused, Gene. She paused. She was leaping up to attack you, but then she changed course and attacked me instead.” For a second, Sissy’s fingers instinctively move up to her neck, touching the tiny scabs where Ashley June had fanged her. “I don’t know if she’s changed completely the way you say she has. She may have retained a few things, Gene. Like her feelings for you.”

The house darkens even more. The sun a fading memory now.

Feelings of defensiveness rise up in me. “I will take the shot, Sissy.”

“Really?” She touches my hand, gently. “Because you’re also weighed down with a lot of guilt. You still feel responsible, justly or not, for what she’s become.” Sissy’s eyes penetrate the thickening darkness, piercing into me. She’s searching, probing. “Are you certain you’ll take the shot? Because if you’re not, we can change positions. Let me take the sniper.”

“No. I can do it—”

She puts her hand on my forearm. A soft grip, but tight nonetheless. “Understand why I’m saying this, Gene. If you can’t pull the trigger, I’ll be forced to take the shot. From close range. You know what that means, right? I shoot near the stage, and the crowd around me turns to me. Within seconds. I won’t be able to make a getaway in that crowd. They’ll jump me before I can even drop the gun.”

I look at the paintings, the photographs, all their lines and bright colors, disappearing into the deepening darkness. I meet Sissy’s gaze, straight on. “I can do it. Like I said, it’ll be a mercy killing. I’ll be putting her out of her misery.”

The house darkens. And then, like a mournful elegy, the neighborhood dusk siren sounds. Within a minute, shutters are raised, windows and doors opened. The metropolis is arising, and the thin, frail barriers separating us from them removed. Nothing stands between their millions of fangs and our skin.

I pick up the backpack filled with weapons, put on the Visor. “Time to do this, Sissy. Time to go.”

Twenty-seven

PEOPLE RUSH OUT of their homes within a minute of the dusk siren. Everyone is already dressed and eager as they head out, all in the same direction. Toward the Convention Center.

“Wait for more traffic,” I whisper to Sissy. “We’ll stick out less.”

Horses trundle by, all single ridden, as more pedestrians hit the sidewalk. Within minutes, it seems like the whole neighborhood has hit the pavement. A few of the wealthier families rattle past in their carriages.

“Okay,” I say in a low voice. “Now.”

We walk down the path, turn left at the sidewalk. I stay ahead of Sissy about ten paces as per our plan. We need to stay apart to lessen the chances of being jointly recognized, and she doesn’t know the way. But now I wish we’d reversed our positions—I want to keep an eye on her, monitor how she’s doing.

I move off to the side, bend down, and pretend to do my laces. She passes me a few seconds later. I stand up, and slowly—slowly—catch up with her. Nobody speaks, nobody makes small talk, nobody offers a greeting. Nothing is wrong: This is just the way they are. Bland, sullen faces, everyone donning shades or Visors at this early hour of the evening.

I can tell the silence of the crowd is unnerving Sissy. Her gait is too stiff, tight, not enough to attract attention, not yet, anyway. I walk to catch up with her. She senses me beside her, doesn’t turn her head in acknowledgment (good), but she’s breathing too fast (bad). It’s the proximity of fangs and claws, the potential for brutality to erupt in a split second, that’s unsettled her.

When we find ourselves in a slight clearing, I whisper to her, “You take the lead. The bus stop is two blocks down. Look for the yellow sign.”

She doesn’t reply, but she starts walking too quickly, her arms swinging too high.

“Slow down. Arms,” is all I’m able to murmur before the crowd fills in around us. But she gets it. She slows her pace, stabilizes the swing of her arms. I slowly drop back.

There’s already a line at the bus stop, about seven people. Standing perfectly still, their pale faces turned sideways in our direction. I’m paranoid, on edge, and for a moment I think they’re staring at us. But they’re only staring down the road, past us, looking for the long carriage of the bus.