The Whittier Trilogy

by Michael W. Layne

  Trent could actually smell the fear from his fellow captives.

  As the group set off at a slow jog into the darkness, Trent and Zana kept their flashlights turned off. As soon as they made it a hundred yards, the bare-chested fat man and the skinny blonde were already breathing with difficulty, and it was clear to Trent that they were not going to make it far.

  Trent turned on his flashlight and motioned for everyone to come together.

  “If you pay attention to me, I might just be able to get us out of here. If you have a different plan or a better one that you want to follow, go for it, but if you want me to help, do what I tell you…”

  Zana looked up at him, smiling, relieved that he was offering to help the others.

  “They’ll be expecting us to split up,” Trent said. “Each man for himself. So I say we stick together. If that thing finds us, it has to take all of us on. Strength in numbers.”

  “Looks to me like that thing wants you more than it cares about any of us,” said the man in the Hawaiian shirt.

  “That’s true. The Troll definitely wants to get me tonight for some reason, but if any of you think that it’s going to just stop once I’m gone, you’re not facing reality.”

  “What about me and fat boy here?” the skinny blonde said. “We ain’t gonna be able to keep up with you!”

  Trent looked like he was thinking.

  “Do the best you can. We can move a little slower. The key is that we stay together.”

  With that, Trent started moving quickly along the main tunnel, but he did not run.

  “Everyone, turn your flashlight off. We’ll just use mine for now. We can take turns later. That way, we’ll have light available to us longer just in case that Hunter guy gave us old batteries.”

  With a few nods, the members of the group did as Trent said.

  Zana reached over and held Trent’s hand that wasn’t holding the flashlight.

  As they moved along, Trent looked back occasionally to make sure the fat man and the skinny blonde were keeping up. The fat man was breathing hard, but with his life on the line, he was finding endurance he had probably never before known. He was also the last in line, just as Trent had predicted.

  Zana looked up and smiled at Trent. He smiled back briefly, then looked ahead. He had a great poker face, but his heart did not enjoy deceiving her.

  It was true that their flashlights would last longer by using only one at a time, but it was also true that having stragglers at the back of the pack would help mask Trent’s scent and would provide distractions for the Troll when it finally did catch up to them. Luckily, the others didn’t know why the Troll seemed so focused on Trent—that he had just killed the creature’s offspring the day before—or they probably wouldn’t have agreed to follow him at all.

  The group soon came to a tunnel that branched off to the side. The entrance to the tunnel was set into the wall about four-feet up from the floor. From shining his light into the passageway, Trent could tell that the passageway sloped uphill, and any path that led them further from Lake Meade and closer to the city was a good thing as far as he was concerned.

  Trent hauled himself up into the elevated tunnel entrance and reached down to help Zana. As he did so, he checked his mental clock, which told him that they had probably covered a mile and a half already and been on the move for close to twenty minutes.

  Trent next helped up the woman wearing the large white T-shirt and then the skinny blonde, who was shuddering already with a dry rattle of a cough. As the man with the Hawaiian shirt took Trent’s hand and pulled himself up, one of the man’s flip flops came off. He jumped back down to get it, and Trent took this time to help the fat man in the cross trainers up into the tunnel.

  Once Trent had helped the fat man squeeze himself over the ledge, Trent looked at the man in the Hawaiian shirt holding his flip flops in one hand while reaching up to Trent with the other. Trent debated on whether or not to help him into the tunnel or to just leave him there. Any fool that was wearing flip flops down here deserved to die, but it was not yet time for the man in the Hawaiian shirt to go, so Trent reluctantly reached down and helped him up.

  Chapter 37

  THE HUNTER and his guests watched on several of the large screens as the party led by the mentalist worked its way into one of the elevated tunnels that led away from Lake Meade.

  A few of the Hunter’s clients had already lost money, having bet on the fact that Mr. Walker would have taken his woman and left the rest of the party behind from the start. They were surprised that the strongest of the prey had allowed the weaker ones to stay with him.

  The Hunter, however, was under no illusion that the mentalist was being altruistic.

  Instead, he knew that the mentalist was doing just as the Hunter would in the same situation. He was simply keeping the weaker ones close until it was their time to serve as a distraction for the Troll.

  Even though the group was moving slower than expected, they had still made considerable progress and were heading back in the general direction of the city. There was still no way they would make it far enough to escape the Troll, but the Hunter decided to change the rules up a bit anyway.

  He had promised a thirty-minute head start, but after discussing the idea with his clients, he decided to release the Troll after only twenty-five minutes.

  In a contest such as this, five minutes was a significant amount of time to both predator and the prey.

  But the Hunter felt that the Troll was owed this small bit of kindness. The creature had, after all, just lost its son and now was being given the opportunity to kill the man who was responsible.

  As the Hunter allowed himself a moment to reflect upon the recent death of his own father, he felt a rare connection with the creature throwing itself against the gates that held it captive. The bond between a father and a son was unique, and when that link was severed by the death of either, the loss was tremendous. When he had received word of his own father’s death last month, even the Hunter himself had felt an emptiness that was as powerful as it had been unexpected.

  With the memory of his father still in his mind, the Hunter pushed the button that opened the gates holding back the Troll. Before the iron door had raised more than a few feet, the creature crawled underneath and broke out in a dead run for the tunnel entrance on the opposite side of the chamber.

  The guests of The Lodge cheered and threw their chips down as they finalized their bets.

  Who would last the longest? Who would die first? How would each perish? Anything they wanted to bet on, the Hunter would allow.

  Two of the men even wagered on which of the young ladies serving them drinks would be chosen tonight by the Troll as his reward for a successful hunt. The Hunter was often asked how he controlled such a beast as the Troll. He would always laugh and then explain the basics of training any animal.

  Depending on the animal, one needed to provide food, structure, discipline, goals, and even affection—and in the case of the Troll—he needed to reward the creature when it successfully pleased its master.

  The Hunter provided the Troll with food when it could not find food on its own. He gave it a home. He provided the structure and rigor of the monthly hunt. And he generously made available a woman for the Troll every month to let it know that his master was pleased.

  As a result, the Troll tried its hardest to please the Hunter at all times.

  Their relationship was simple, yet effective, and the reason it worked so well was because it was beneficial to both parties.

  The Hunter gave the Troll a life, and in turn, the Troll repaid the Hunter by tracking down and killing the Hunter’s prey.

  Chapter 38

  WITH EVERYONE finally in the new tunnel, and another five minutes wasted, Trent caught up with the group and made his way to the front again. The angle uphill had significantly increased, and everyone other than he, Zana, and the woman in the white T-shirt looked like they were suffering greatly from the effects of gra
vity.

  As for Trent, the trek uphill didn’t seem to tire him at all. As he moved along, his blood pumped fiercely inside his veins. But even as his logical mind continually adjusted the odds of Zana and him making it out alive, he kept finding it harder and harder to concentrate on his plans.

  He did not, however, find it difficult to focus on the moment—on the hunt in which they were all involved.

  The group kept moving, and soon Trent figured that they had only about five more minutes before the Troll would be released. Even though they had covered more than two miles already, he was sure that the Troll was quick and adept enough at traversing the tunnels that it wouldn’t take the creature more than fifteen minutes to track and catch up to them. If the Troll was fast enough, there wouldn’t even be much hunting involved. Just a mass slaughter, despite what Trent had told the rest of the group about the power of staying together.

  As Trent led them around a hard bend in the tunnel, they came across another tunnel that ran perpendicular to the one they were in. Trent had no idea where the new tunnel led, but it looked like it wasn’t uphill. That would mean that it might not take them closer to the strip, but that they might be able to move a little faster.

  Trent took a right into the new tunnel.

  “Why are we turning?” the man in the Hawaiian shirt asked.

  “We could use a break from the constant uphill,” Trent said.

  “This way’s uphill because it’s leading us back into town,” the man in the Hawaiian shirt said. “Lake Meade is back the way we came from, and Vegas is the way we’re heading. I wanna get home so I can collect my million dollars!”

  Trent stopped for a second and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his maroon handkerchief before appearing to put it back in the front pocket of his suit jacket. He exhaled with seeming frustration but didn’t even try to explain to the man why staying on a relatively straight course might not be a good thing.

  “I understand, friend,” Trent said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Keep going, and may luck shine down upon you,” Trent continued, as he deftly reached his hand around the man’s back and brushed the man’s back pants pocket without him even noticing it.

  “Zana and I are heading this way,” Trent said. “Anyone who wants to join us is welcome, but we’re out of time for discussion on this topic. We have to move now.”

  Maybe it was the certainty in Trent’s voice, but even the man in the Hawaiian shirt hesitated before taking off at a dead run up the tunnel they had been following for the last several minutes. The man’s flashlight was now turned on, and its powerful beam swayed and jumped with each step he took, while the noises from his thin rubber flip flops echoed throughout the tunnels.

  Trent took Zana’s hand and pulled her along with him as they moved up the new tunnel.

  “The Troll’s on its way,” Trent said. “I can feel it.”

  Zana looked at him curiously but kept pace with Trent’s quickening footsteps. He looked behind him and saw that everyone but the man in the Hawaiian shirt had opted to follow them.

  They continued on for what must have been another half a mile. Even though they had somehow managed to keep up so far, the skinny blonde and the fat man were still having a hard time breathing, and it was getting worse.

  In another few yards, the fat man leaned up against the concrete wall, closed his eyes, and tried to catch his breath. The blonde stood with her hands on her knees, also trying to take a full breath.

  “We gotta slow down,” said the fat man. “I can’t go any damn faster than this. I gotta take a break, man, money or no money!”

  Trent took Zana’s hand again and pulled her gently along.

  “Come on everyone. This place is starting to look familiar. I’m pretty sure there’s some places up ahead where we can hide. Deal?”

  Trent heard the fat man and the blonde grunting their agreement.

  Trent set a faster pace than he had been keeping so far. They weren’t yet running, but they were coming pretty close to it.

  “You think the Troll got the guy in the flip flops yet?” said the woman in the oversized white T-shirt.

  “No way he makes it,” said the skinny blonde. “I bet he falls flat on his face before he gets even a quarter of a mile.”

  Trent didn’t say a thing. He silently replayed in his mind when he had said goodbye to the man in the Hawaiian shirt. He had successfully placed his maroon handkerchief into the man’s back pocket after wiping the sweat from his own forehead with it.

  He hoped that the decoy scent, along with the man’s own natural fear pheromones, would draw the Troll away from the larger group. Even the ten minutes it would take to track and kill the man in the Hawaiian shirt could turn into twenty minutes more that he and Zana would have to figure a way out of the underground maze and back to the surface.

  Focusing his mind on the task at hand, Trent examined the tunnel walls as he went along. He remembered Zana’s friend, Bozo, telling him about the hidey holes that were sprinkled throughout the tunnels, but he hadn’t seen any since they had started the hunt.

  After turning another bend, Trent was relieved to see a small alcove partially hidden behind the left tunnel wall. The entrance to the alcove was narrow, but behind the wall, the space looked like it opened up enough for a man to hide from a pursuer.

  In his own mind, it made no sense to do such a thing, but the fat man wouldn’t stop complaining, and he wasn’t going to make it much farther anyway. At least this way, he would serve a higher purpose for the rest of the group.

  When the fat man saw the alcove, he smiled, happy at the prospect of rest. Without waiting for a word from Trent, he stepped into the alcove, forcing his legs and then his flabby torso into the cramped area.

  When he pressed himself to the back of the hiding place, he was almost entirely engulfed in darkness, and there was a small chance that a regular person might indeed have passed him by. Although, since Trent could smell the man from the main tunnel, he had little doubt that the Troll would be able to detect his odor as well.

  As soon as the fat man was stuffed into his hiding place, Trent motioned for everyone to follow him.

  “Where ya going?” the fat man said. “I thought we were gonna rest here and see if the Troll just passes us by.”

  Trent just shook his head and started walking away. He wondered what part of the obese man’s brain thought that taking a rest while someone was trying to kill him was an acceptable survival approach.

  “Hey, hold on a minute! I’m coming with you,” the fat man said.

  Trent pulled Zana along and started to jog.

  “Trent, we can’t just leave him back there…” Zana said.

  “He’s probably stuck in there anyway, and unless you have some lard, we don’t have the time to pry him loose. He’s done for, Zana, and we have to move faster anyway. His best bet now really is to take his chances, stay hidden, and hope the Troll just passes him by or maybe waits until later to come back for him.”

  Zana planted her feet and stopped Trent in mid-step.

  She looked up at him, and Trent prepared himself for a lecture about how important it was to save the others.

  “I know I’m the one who wanted you to take these people along, but I’ve been thinking about something.”

  “Can we talk while we keep moving?” Trent said, as he broke into a slow run again.

  Zana huffed, but kept up with him.

  “We still need to get everyone to safety, Trent,” she said, “but we also need a plan to deal with the Troll, and I don’t mean just escaping from it.”

  “How about we save our asses first, and then we can think about that,” Trent said, urging her to keep moving.

  “I need you to decide now,” she said. “If we have the opportunity, we take out the Troll tonight. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Fine,” Trent said. “If we have the opportunity. Now can we please keep getting the fuck out of here?”


  Zana nodded as the two of them increased their pace, with the woman in the white T-shirt and the skinny blonde desperately trying to keep up.

  In the distance, they heard the fading echoes of the fat man’s curses.

  About five minutes later, all was silent in the tunnels for everyone but Trent. He could still hear the fat man cursing, and although he was sure there was no way the others couldn’t make out the sound at this distance, somehow he was sure that he also heard the short-lived screams of the man in the Hawaiian shirt coming from a tunnel that was miles away.

  The hunt was truly underway, and the Troll had just taken its first casualty.

  Chapter 39

  TRENT KNEW THAT the fat man would be the next to die, but he hoped to be as far away from him as possible when it happened. At best, the man’s death would be a distraction, hopefully giving Trent and Zana a few more precious moments in which to escape.

  With that thought in mind, Trent pulled Zana along as he ran even faster through the tunnels. In his mind, he kept a running tally of all the turns they had taken so far, always watching either for a stretch of tunnel that he recognized from his previous ventures below or for signs that they had somehow doubled back on themselves.

  Each time they came to a new intersection, he quickly decided on which direction to take—never knowing whether it was the correct choice or not, but trusting in his instincts.

  Farther behind him now, the skinny blonde complained as she struggled to keep Trent, Zana, and the woman in the white T-shirt in sight.

  The blonde would be the next one to go after the fat man.

  But the woman in the white T-shirt was impressing Trent. She had stopped talking, not wasting any of her precious energy on useless words. She was totally committed to survival, which made it all the more difficult for Trent to think about her inevitable fate.