The Trap Read Online Free PDF

before I tumble in. Spinning and dropping to the ground on my back,
I hurl her over me. She goes flying into the enclave with a shout of surprise. Her hand shoots out, grabs me by the wrist.
    “Get in!” she shouts.
    “No!”
I yell, trying to pull away from her. But her grip is tight as a steel trap. “Only one per enclave!”
    “Never mind!
Get in!
”
    I kick at her forearm with enough strength to break her wrist. I hear a cry of pain; then her grip loosens just enough. I fall backward with the unexpected release, and tumble across the
corridor. My back smacks against glass on the adjacent wall. I feel it grate against my back as it descends.
    I spin around. With barely a second to spare, I throw my body under the falling glass. I’m only just able to slide my body through the narrowing gap before it completely seals me in. I
roll around, expecting to feel a kick or punch. But wonder of wonders, the enclave is empty. Trapped inside now, my chest heaves up and down with exhaustion, my breath condensing on the glass. As
if with a will of their own, my arms and legs flap against the sides and back of the enclave, banging hollowly on metal, adrenaline still racing through my system. The ceiling looms right above my
head, like the lid of a coffin. Too close, too near, too suffocating.
    Across the corridor, Sissy is gazing at me, her head turned to the side, breathing hard. She lifts her arm, places her hand flat against the glass, whitening her palm. I do the same. For a
moment, our eyes lock.
We made it, we made it
.
    And then the lights go out, and everything goes dark and black.

Eight
    T HEY COME AN hour later, gray phantoms gliding in the brine of darkness. Mercuric light spills out of their flashlights, giving them optimal
vision. The dozen or so duskers stand before each enclave, shining their flashlights on the occupant before moving on.
    Turn around.
    Let us see your face.
    When they reach Sissy’s enclave and peer inside, they perk up. I see the sudden infusion of energy in their silhouettes, a perky enlivening. Even from behind the glass wall, I can hear the
cracking of their necks. Judging from their regal, highly decorated uniforms, these men must be the highest echelon of the Palace.
    Then they turn around, walk toward my enclave. Their faces are orbs of sickly paleness.
    Turn around.
    Let us see your face.
    Fingernails rap on the glass, insistently.
Tap tap tap
. I reluctantly lift my head to them.
    They stare at me without speaking, and recognition flows into their eyes. For I know what I am to them: the heper boy who lived his whole life in their midst, who pulled the wool over their eyes
by brazenly masquerading as one of them for almost two decades. The very one who then escaped from right under their noses during the Heper Hunt.
    One face floats out of the darkness until it is almost pressed up against the glass. It is the Ruler. He’s smaller and more diminutive than his carefully crafted public image. Saliva
drools from the corners of his mouth, twin lines that converge at his chin before dripping down in a glutinous ooze. His tongue snakes out, licks his thin lower lip.
    Another face emerges. A man. I’ve seen him before. Not too long ago, in fact, but I can’t quite place him. He’s burly and tall, with mountain-range shoulders, so different from
the other observers with their oversized uniforms and twig-thin arms. His eyes stare hard at me, circled by a pair of rimless round glasses.
    The Ruler whispers to his retinue. A second later, they glide away as one. They apparently have no further need to inspect other enclaves. They’ve found what they were looking for.
    I stare across the corridor, trying to locate Sissy in the darkness. I see nothing.
    “Sissy! Can you hear me?” I press my ear against the glass. I hear her muted, faraway response but can’t make out a single word. I yell back, but her reply is again muffled.
Eventually, we both give up, resigning ourselves to our