Trigger Read Free

at the corner of the man’s mouth, small blisters that expanded with his breath.
    He’s still alive.
    Brutus barked, the echoes ricocheting off the water and the walls.
    â€œQuiet!” I hissed at the dog. Brutus put his ears back and paced along the water’s edge.
    My earbud comm chirped. “Micheline, are you okay?” Dad asked. Flashlights shined down the pipe, hitting me square in the face and killing my night vision. Their circumferences looked smaller than they should have, and I wondered how far the dog dragged me from the crew.
    I touched my comm. “I’m okay,” I said, embarrassed by how much my voice shook. “I’ve found another victim.”
    â€œAlive or dead?” Dad asked. “Reaper or civilian?”
    â€œCivvy,” I said. “He’s alive, barely—he’s bleeding out fast, and the wounds match Delgado’s.”
    Dad cursed. “Can you help him?”
    â€œMaybe,” I said, looking at the river of sewage running beneath him. “But I have to get him down first. He’s suspended over the water channel, hanging from the ceiling.”
    Several seconds of radio silence passed, punctuated by Brutus’s whimpery barks.
    â€œWe can’t come in after you; the pipe’s too narrow,” Dad said. Apparently, the pipe wasn’t wide enough to admit broad shoulders and reapers’ gear packs—but crazy half-wolves and teenage girls, sure. “I want you to regroup ASAP. And shut that dog up; he’s going to draw hungry mouths.”
    â€œWhat about the vic—”
    â€œHe’s as good as dead, Micheline. Grab the dog and regroup now.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œWe’ll get a med team down here. Best we can do.”
    No arguing with him. “Yes, sir,” I said, giving Brutus’s leash a sharp tug. He didn’t acknowledge me, just continued to bark at the corpse.
    â€œBrutus,” I hissed through my teeth.
    When the dog didn’t come, I disentangled my wrist from his leash and held it loosely. I jogged over to him, keeping my footfalls quiet and on toe.
    I didn’t see the snare until it closed around my right ankle, yanking my feet out from under me. The man’s body plummeted into the water with a splash. My head hit the floor, and my world tilted, then blackened for a second as the blood in my body rushed to my head.
    My gun clattered to the ground, echoing like the rat-a-tat of a snare drum. I dangled a few feet in the air, swinging like a human pendulum, blinking the darkness out of my eyes. Once the initial confusion passed, panic seized me: My breath sawed into my throat, raw and serrated. Pain stabbed into the side of my head. I scrabbled at the air, trying to reach my gun, but my fingertips cleared the floor by three feet. Above me, I could barely make out the crude shapes of pulleys and rope—a makeshift trip-wire trap.
    I should have seen this coming , I screamed at myself, swiping for the ground again. I should’ve known it the minute I saw the victim!
    â€œMicheline?” Dad asked. “What’s taking so long? What’s your status?”
    I put shaking fingers on my comm. “Upside down. The victim was a counterweight—oh, God, he’s underwater now.” No bubbles rose to the water’s surface. I’d as good as killed him with my stupidity.
    â€œYou’re in a necro trap? ” Dad’s tone could’ve scraped off skin.
    â€œTen-four.”
    â€œGoddammit, Micheline,” Dad said. Those words would’ve hurt if I weren’t frantic to get down. Then: “McCoy, what do you think you’re doing?”
    Voices floated down the pipe, too indistinct for me to pick apart their words. A flashlight’s beam shot through the darkness, and my comm crackled. “Hang tight, Micheline.”
    Ryder .
    â€œNo pun intended, right?” I asked, trembling. If roles were reversed and Ryder’s life