The Troll (15 page)

A
mile from where The Poet stood, The Coach and The Mortician emerged
from the forest, both tired from the journey and discouraged they
didn’t happen across The Troll. They contemplated in the same
way The Poet did, looking in all directions, unsure of which way to
go.

The
Coach led The Mortician, who stopped along the way to observe dead
rodents, birds, anything lifeless so he could look in their eyes and
wonder what the last thing the creature saw or thought was. The Coach
only swore up a storm, frustrated at the course of events at the
barn. Though he seemed to aggressively lead the charge, The Mortician
was the truly thoughtful one of the two.

Once
a doctor, The Mortician built his fascination on the trauma of seeing
so many die. He’d witnessed hundreds of people suffer when Psi
froze their minds, and initially he was filled with regret and shame
for what they had done. He had always been a close friend of The
Moderator and they set him up with the best trauma therapist they
could find, who changed his way of thinking. The Mortician learned to
accept death, and thereby became fascinated by it. He studied corpses
with scrutiny, but questioned what it was that really left a body to
make the difference between awareness and nothingness. Eventually,
the attitude adopted was that he wanted everyone and everything dead
so they could all be on one side together. He endorsed murder, but
because he believed it was a sympathetic act. He was out to do The
Troll a favor: To take his life.

“
Who
are you?” a small voice asked. The Coach stopped swearing and
they both turned to find a gawky teenager on a bicycle.

“
Get
out of here,” The Coach said.

The
teenager didn’t move. He couldn’t take his eyes off The
Mortician, who in turn, couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

“
Are
you wearing makeup?” the teenager asked, withholding a laugh.

“
We
all wear masks,” The Mortician said, stretching his
vowels
as he spoke slowly. “We’re all borrowing time until the
last of the
sand falls
and our hour is up.”

The
coach shook his head and turned away.

“
Dude…”
the teenager said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The
Mortician’s peaceful and slow demeanor suddenly changed and his
eyes went wide and his eyebrows fell as if he was hurt. “You
treat life as if it’s just a toy. You do not understand how
delicate we all our—a pinpoint away from our own demise at any
time.”

“
Yeah,
okay!” the teenager said, mocking him.

The
Mortician’s dark eyes burned through the teenager and as the
teenager started to say something else, he noticed The Mortician’s
eyes and quieted himself.

The
teenager was suddenly frozen with fear. He tried to say the words,
but they came out in a clutter. “You’re…from…you’re…”

The
teenager started to turn, but The Mortician's long arm shot out and
grabbed his shoulder.

The
teenager gasped as he lost the ability of his legs and they wobbled
under him before he fell to the grass. The Mortician leaned down,
keeping his hand on the teenager's shoulder. The teenagers veins
turned blue and then the skin around them as the poison spread
throughout his body.

The
Coach went back to scanning the landscape as if this was a normal
occurrence.

The
Mortician turned him so he was facing upward and looked into his
eyes, which transmitted the only sign of life left in his paralyzed
body.

“
I
know you can understand me,” The Mortician said as he
intertwined his thumbs as if forming a bird with both his hands and
wrapped them around the teenager’s neck. “What to you is
a joke is the very reason you don’t deserve this world. Your
only contribution in our paths crossing was to
belittle.
Such negativity
has no
place in this world and so I must send you on to where you can live
anew. We will meet again one day, and I do hope you have kinder
words.”

His
hands tightened and the slightest whimper escaped the teenager and
his eyes filled with tears. The Mortician leaned down and searched
the teenager’s eyes, amused as the color drained from his face.
After a moment, there was nothing. He sat there and waited until The
Coach shouted for him to follow.

Together,
they walked toward the nearest town.

“
He
was just sitting on-line when I met him,” The Chameleon said.
The Magician scratched his head and did a final once-over of the
barn.

“
Alright,
let’s call this a lucky break for our Troll for now,” he
said, his usual flare returning. “Chameleon and I are going to
hang back and watch the show. I need something from you,” he
said, turning to The Mentalist.

The
Mentalist was relaxed, leaning against the downed chopper. “I’m
not going to chase this guy across country,” The Mentalist
said. “I’ve got better uses of my time. Find me a nearby
vehicle and I'll just get ahead of him.”

“
I
agree,” The Magician said. “You’re my safety net. I
want you in Vegas. Stay as long as you want, pick up some girls, have
some fun. If The Troll gets close to his destination, you’ll be
there and so will large crowds of people. I’m sure you can make
good use of the crowd if that happens. It's doubtful he'll make it
that far, so get comfortable until we call you back.”

“
Of
course,” The Mentalist said, pleased with the direction.
“Sounds fun.” He didn’t enjoy the chase. He hated
to be out of his element—among dirt, weeds, and nature. He
wanted to use transportation and sit at a bar, talk to a woman. He
had no interest in hunting The Troll—only killing him if
he
had the chance, and even then, he’d just tap into some locals
and use them like puppets to do the deed. Sitting and waiting in
Vegas sounded just fine to him.

“
Hang
tight and we’ll get you a ride out of here,” The Magician
said. The Mentalist nodded his approval. Almost all The Magician’s
business was done. He walked a wide circle around The Pilot and
stopped in front of his face. With the shake of his
hand,
a pair of keys suddenly appeared. He jangled them in front of The
Pilot’s face. “There’s a hangar five miles south.
If we give you another ride, you think you can keep it in the air
this time?”

The
Pilot snatched the keys from The Magician’s hand and walked
past, headed in a straight line south. The Magician and The Chameleon
watched as he walked farther away and got smaller.

“
What
do you think?” Chameleon said. “Are you bored with this
yet?”

“
This
is the most fun I’ve ever had,” The Magician said. “The
Moderator made a mistake though. I’ll tell you that.”

“
Troll
won’t get to Vegas,” she said with some reassurance in
her
tone.

“
I
know he won’t. He won’t be hard to kill at all. What I’m
worried about is how all this will be perceived. The barn…the
downed chopper. That’s not what we’re about. This
shouldn't even appear this hard to the world.”

“
They
don’t have to see it,” Chameleon said.

The
Magician turned to her, only to find she’d practically
disappeared in front of his eyes. The grass in the field and the
sunlight shined off her body, creating a blend of greens and blues on
her surface.

“
The
longer he’s alive and it takes for us to broadcast and tell
people he’s dead, the more people begin to wonder if we have
control. The Moderator isn’t very happy right now, and when
he’s not happy, he’ll demonstrate what he’s
capable
of. He shouldn’t have let our Troll do this.”

“
Then
let’s end it,” she said, stepping toward him, only her
eyes visible, looking deep into his own. He stepped toward her and
they met with a kiss. In moments, their hands were wrapped around
each other and they were on the ground and their clothes were on the
field.

Chapter
7

The
Guide sat in Falconedge County Jail and sat where the sheriff had
once conducted his business. There no longer existed any kind of
police force, and the prisoners had died long ago, forgotten in their
cells as the world around them adapted to a new way of life. The
Guide stared at the skeletons of these men, ghosts of convicts that
once sat behind bars.

He’d
been waiting for almost a day and was about to give up on Iris and
The Troll. He wished he hadn’t left her behind. The mission had
always been everything to The Guide, but in the short time he knew
Iris, he grew fond of her. He hated that she might have been caught
by the bounty hunters—that she might be with The Troll.

He’d
scavenged the precinct, tinkering with all things pre-psi. It was a
building abandoned and forgotten, like so many others. After
memorizing every picture on the wall, every cell and long dead
prisoner within, he’d finally made up his mind to go back. He
needed to backtrack and find Iris and hopefully Rainbow. The optimism
that he felt after the trial of Surfer hadn’t been very long
lasting. The Troll turned out to be a joke. They were attacked too
quickly and Rainbow was lost in the shuffle. The whole game had just
been more false hope for him. When it was over, his friends would be
executed.

He
fell into the sheriff’s seat and let his hands run over the
wood, wiping dust with the movement. He wrote his old name, Joey,
with his index finger and stared at it for a long moment.

Suddenly,
the sound of voices and shuffling of feet as The Troll and Iris
entered with The Acrobat between them, barely able to walk. At once,
hope was restored and instead of asking a dozen questions at once, he
was left breathless as Iris smiled at him with relief and wrapped her
arms around him.

From
behind, The Troll watched, annoyed by the sight. When Iris hugged
him, he thought it was special. He reminded himself that she handed
out hugs freely. So much for the thought of chemistry between them.

“
There’s
something you should know,” Iris said, finding The Guide’s
eyes. “You’re not going to like it.”

The
Guide listened intently, and before Iris could spill the beans, The
Troll did for her. “Moderator’s her papa,” he said,
shaking a vending machine with a few scattered snacks inside. To his
frustration, they didn’t budge, and he wandered off in search
of something he could use to break the glass.

As
Iris relayed her story, they locked The Acrobat in a cell. He entered
willingly, without any fight. His leg was useless and he was
exhausted. It wouldn’t be long before the group got themselves
killed, so he waited patiently.

She
told him the same thing she’d told The Troll on their journey
into town: The Moderator was a horrible father. He was abusive,
power-hungry, self-centered, and bitter toward society. He was that
way before Psi, and the monster inside was only fed when the bigwigs
at Circular Prime tried to fire him. The Guide felt sorry for her. He
wanted to protect her and restore happiness in her life.

The
group spent the night at the precinct, allowing themselves to recover
from the long walk. Iris and The Guide shared a cell and The Troll
fell asleep on the desk. The Acrobat barely slept. He sat in his cell
with his legs sprawled out, staring at the ceiling.

The
next morning, The Troll awoke and heard chatter outside. The Guide
and Iris stood in the entry, observing the town and brainstorming
their next move. If not for Rainbow in The Troll’s pocket, he
wasn’t sure they wouldn’t have been gone.
I’m no
longer needed
, he thought, but could he blame them? He wasn’t
exactly as gun-ho or passionate about their ploy, though he wanted to
be. He liked them, and just as he’d thought of Wigeon so many
times in the past and wished she was just a girl who was part of his
world, he found himself wondering what life would be like if The
Guide and Iris were able to live with Psi and be content. Of course,
they probably felt the same way about him, but The Troll was the
pragmatic one. Why fight and die rather than find a way to be happy
within the world you resided?

He
attempted to wedge himself into the conversation, but they were
seemingly private. He pulled Rainbow from his pocket and for a
moment, thought about just giving it to them and going into hiding,
maybe transmitting and begging to go back to his life. He wanted to
be on the boards, posting, antagonizing, interacting safely in a
place where he could forget his role—forget The Surfer, The
Guide, Iris, The damned Pilot and his damned icy gaze behind those
damned sunglasses.

He
quickly stuffed Rainbow back in his pocket as The Guide and Iris
entered the room and shut the door behind them. The Acrobat shifted
in his cell and pushed himself from the ground, awake and alert.
Everyone was refreshed, ready to move, but first they needed a plan.