The Trap
Authors: Andrew Fukuda
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Survival Stories, #Dystopian, #Science Fiction
Praise for
THE HUNT
“In this terrifying and inventive adventure, Fukuda turns the vampire novel inside out . . . With an exciting premise fuelled by an underlying paranoia, fear of
discovery, and social claustrophobia, this thriller lives up to its potential while laying groundwork for future books.”
Publishers Weekly
“A fresh take on the vampire story . . . a cracking read, very grisly and compelling.”
The Bookseller
“Bona-fide creepy.”
Booklist
“Readers will devour this book, be greedy for more and scared to put it down. This is one for all the people who said vampire novels were overdone and unoriginal. That
may have been true, but now there is THE HUNT.”
Bookbabblers
“From page one, Fukuda draws the reader into a fast-paced, suspenseful narrative of suspicious coincidences, unanswered questions, and building action . . . In addition
to fans of vampire fiction, this book will appeal to readers who enjoy survivalist stories, action and adventure.”
Voya
“Fast-paced . . . quick and suspenseful . . . Fukuda creates a character in terrifying danger and draws his readers along for the ride.”
Bookbitz
“The sheer terror of the goings on will have you hooked to the very last page.”
Flipside
“THE HUNT was an excellent dystopian novel and a fantastic read that I Cannot. Stop. Thinking. About. I dare you to immerse yourself in the world of THE HUNT, where no
one is safe and there’s everything to play for.”
Narratively Speaking
“A really fresh take on the genre.”
Bart’s Bookshelf
“I was on tenterhooks, page after page, fearing the worst ...”
Bookzone for Boys
“The book ends with a cliffhanger that left me craving a sequel, eager to discover more about this strange and unsettling new world.”
The Irish Times
“Excellent YA dystopian of a grim future . . . great characters, great plot.”
Booksmonthly.co.uk
“THE HUNT is undeniably enjoyable, due to breathless setpieces and an intriguingly amoral tone.”
SFX
“A compelling new thriller.”
Bliss
“I was hooked from the start, and I kept reading well into the night to finish this. All the way up to the ending, this book was fast-paced and wonderfully written, and
then it went out with a bang!”
Books of Amber
“For too long vampires have been the pop stars of the literary world, bright, beautiful and desirable. With THE HUNT, Andrew Fukuda takes them back to their bloody roots
as hungry, monstrous beings.”
Teen Librarian
Also by Andrew Fukuda
The Hunt
The Prey
First published in the USA in 2013 by St Martin’s Press,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd,
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © 2013 Andrew Fukuda
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.
The right of Andrew Fukuda to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act,
1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor, 222 Gray’s Inn Road, London WC1X 8HB
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
TPB ISBN: 978-0-85707-547-5
E-BOOK ISBN: 978-0-85707-549-9
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY.
For Jim and Mike
Our torments also may, in length of time,
Become our elements, these piercing fires
As soft as now severe . . .
–John Milton,
Paradise Lost
T
HE TRAIN ARRIVES
in the dead of day.
The sun, perched high in the sky, scorches the desert a blinding white. Only the black filament of the train’s moving shadow taints this baked wasteland. The train slows, its line of cars
rattling like the links of a metal chain dragged. None of the occupants on the train—and there are many, and they are tense, and they are standing with taut backs and frightened
eyes—make a sound.
A tiny black dot circles high in the blue sky. It is a hawk, gazing curiously at the rippling shadow of the train beneath. The hawk squawks in surprise as the train suddenly dips into an opening
in the ground. Like a snake, swiftly into a hole, disappearing. Gone as if it were never even there.
About ten miles away, on the other side of a range of low-slung hills, lies a gigantic disc-shaped building spanning several city blocks. It lies silent as a tombstone, circled almost completely
by a thin rampart. A tall, slim obelisk rises from the building’s dead center. The windowed tip of this obelisk glimmers brightly under the sun like a lit candle. The obelisk is otherwise, as
with the entire building, the color of the desert. Nothing moves on, in, or around the building. Not at this time of day.
The hawk observes this building with a steely, unblinking stare. Then, with a sudden squawk, it flaps its wings and flies away.
W
E PLUNGE INTO
the tunnel. Its opening gapes wide like a diseased mouth that eagerly swallows us whole. Our world of stark white and cobalt
skies, in a sudden blink of an eye, is erased with pure black. A hot wind, dank and moist as a tongue, hurls through the bars of our caged car, gusts through our clothes and hair, our clenched
hands, our crouched, shaking bodies.
Under us, sparks of light shoot out from the shrieking, braking wheels of the train. As one, we’re flung forward onto the metal mesh floor. Fear hums off our piled bodies in droves. A
small hand, clammy with fear, clutches mine. “Not the Palace, not the Palace, not the . . .” she murmurs. One of the younger girls.
Yesterday, after Sissy and I recovered from the turning (the hellish fever broken, our discombobulated bodies knit back together), we told the girls what we suspected about our destination. Not
the Civilization, the idyllic city they’d been told by the Mission elders was filled with millions of
humans
populating its streets and filling its stadiums and theaters and parks
and restaurants and cafés and schools and amusement parks.
But the Palace. Where the Ruler reigns. Where, it is said, the only humans are those imprisoned in the catacombs like cattle in pens. Their individual fates hostage to the whims of the
Ruler’s voracious appetite.
For a few minutes, the train drifts along the tunnel before lurching to a stop. Nobody moves, as if motion alone will cause the next unwanted chain of events to begin.
“Everyone stay still,” Sissy whispers next to me. “Stay very, very still.” For three days and nights on the rattling train, exposed to wind and sunlight, motion has been
our constant companion. This stillness, this blackness, it is a world too suddenly and starkly reversed.
A loud metallic click rings from the train car door. And for the first time in days, the door begins to slide open. The girls nearest to it, screaming, recoil from the opening.
But I leap toward the door, grab hold of one of the bars. I lean back, digging in my heels, and attempt to halt its progress. I sense somebody else next to me, also pulling back on the door.
It’s Sissy. For days, we’ve tried, futilely, to pry it open. But now, in this dark tunnel that can only portend one thing, we’re trying to close it. But again our efforts are
futile. Even as we grunt, our feet scrabbling for position, the door slides open, clicks into place. In the darkness, I hear similar clicks clacking along the length of the train. The doors of each
train car are now opened and locked into place.
A wave of cold fear washes over us. Nobody moves.
“What now?” a trembling voice asks from the darkness.
“Nobody move!” Sissy shouts, loud enough to be heard down the length of the train. “Everyone stay where you are!” I feel the strands of her hair brushing against my arm.
She’s swiveling her head, trying to get a visual on something, anything. But we see nothing. We might as well be hanging suspended in a black void. And that’s why Sissy warned us not to
disembark. We might be stepping off into a steep slope or even a sheer drop.
A loud hiss suddenly explodes from the front car, jolting all of us. A pungent odor of steam and smoke spreads down the tunnel, drifting through the bars of the cars like sodden ash.
And then, only silence.
We huddle closer together, anticipating the sound none of us want to hear.
“David,” Sissy says. “Toss out one of the cans of food.” He does. In the darkness, we hear the can land with a metallic rattle against a floor of some kind. It bounces
twice before rolling to a stop.
“Everyone stay on the train!” Sissy shouts. “Gene and I are going out to investigate.” Then she drops through the opening and onto the dark floor of the tunnel. I follow
her. The ground is pebbly, it rattles under our feet. My eyes are getting used to the darkness, and when I look back at the train I can see the girls. The whites of their eyes gleaming slightly,
hoping for assurance. But we have none to give them.
“Do you see anything?” Epap whispers. “Sissy?”
“Hold on.”
But he doesn’t. He drops out of the train car, clattering pebbles as he lands. He approaches us, arms spread in front. “Only one thing to do, Sissy. Head back the way we came. All of
us, we follow the train tracks back outside.”
But Sissy shakes her head. “The entrance to the tunnel must have closed after us. Otherwise light would be pouring in; we’d be able to see more in here.” She’s right.
There’s not even a distant dot of light behind us.
Epap speaks, his voice fraught with fear. “Doesn’t matter. We need to start moving. Any moment now, duskers might—”
A loud metallic clang suddenly crashes overhead. Everyone jolts. A few girls scream out.
And then there is light.
T
HE LIGHT STREAMS
out from a large glass shaft that rises from floor to ceiling near the last train car. I take a closer look: the soft light
emanates not so much from the shaft itself as from a glass elevator now descending inside the shaft. Like a falling curtain of light, the elevator illuminates the craggy walls of the tight tunnel.
The single elevated platform, seemingly hewn out of the same rock, stretches along only one side of the train, and it is up onto this platform that Sissy, Epap, and I now hoist ourselves. We pause,
then turn to the sound of footsteps running toward us. It’s David, and his hand slides into Sissy’s.
The glass elevator reaches the bottom. For a brief moment, its internal light flickers. Then the doors slide open.
Nobody moves. A crackling sound suddenly fills the air, like static over the school PA system.
“Attention. Any passenger on the train must enter the elevator. You have one
minute.”
The earsplittingly loud voice—electronic and robotic—blares through the tunnel, its words echoing down its length.