Death Trap: The Death Trap Stories, #1

By Zia Black

Don't Run. Don't Hide. Just Die...The Death Trap trilogy starts with Death Trap, a twisted European thriller with a dash of crime. Wren Ives' holiday is over. She's in a packed train 400 feet below sea level with no end in sight. A cloaked figure lurks outside, the third rail is live, and air is running low. Someone wants them dead, but why?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amaria & Sariel
• Release date: Jul 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501495540

Zia Black

As the daughter of Stephen King’s biggest fan, it felt natural when Zia Black drifted to the darkness of crime and thrillers. Since childhood, her stories have shown the world’s twisted side. Against the predictable and mundane, she loves to be shocked and be shocking. People say it’s all been done before. Zia disagrees, and she’s ready to prove it. On most days, you’ll find Zia lurking in the shadows of her mind, fighting to bring the darkness out…

Book preview

Part One

The slender blonde glanced at her watch and huffed. She paced up and down the maintenance corridor as trains whooshed by the tunnel next door. A door slammed shut behind her, so she spun round to face the visitor, a pair of blue eyes watching from the shadows.

Let me see you, she said.

A cloaked figure stepped out from the darkness, the hood pulled over his face. She directed him to the floor before her, but he stayed in the shadows, one hand under his cloak and the other behind his back.

Did you receive payment? she asked.

The man nodded.

Good. Here, take this bonus. The woman offered a cheque, but the figure shook his head. Do you want more? Name your price and it shall be done. A million? Ten million? Fifty million?

Zero, the man said softly. I do not handle payment on the job.

As you wish.

This is your last chance.

I beg your pardon? The woman backed away and slipped her hand into her pocket, the cold trigger sticking to her clammy finger.

This is your last chance to change your mind.

I won't, she said, releasing the gun. My brothers and I want this. Do it.

Have you kept up your side of the bargain?

She nodded. I told them nothing about you. They think I hired some Russian hitman. As far as I know, they aren't even aware you exist.

It will remain that way.

The woman offered her hand but the figure turned and walked towards the exit. Suddenly he faced her and asked, Do you feel any guilt?

"It was unbearable at first. Now I just log into my Caribbean bank account, see my current balance, and sleep damn well. Guilt as a rich woman is better than a clean conscience as a bankrupt...The question is, do you feel guilt? You're the one with blood on your...gloves."

It would be unprofessional to do so.

The man opened his cloak, revealing an assortment of blades and guns ranging from sawn-off shotguns to silenced pistols. He grabbed the silenced pistol and aimed it at the woman's head.

You are a brazen, she said, slowly reaching for her pocket. I sign your cheques, remember?

Not anymore.

He fired.

––––––––

The train slowly reversed into the station and stopped by the passengers waiting on the platform. When the carriages were empty, the driver stepped out and shook hands with his colleague before marching off down the platform. His replacement pulled his scruffy hat over his face and walked into the driver's carriage.

On the platform, a woman gathered her children. Her youngest son accidentally dropped his crayons on the floor and started to cry as they rolled away. Balancing the baby with one arm, his mother gathered the crayons with the other. A chubby young man rushed over and tapped her on the shoulder.

Let me help, he said.

Thank you.

The man picked up the crayons and slipped them into the boy's neon green backpack.

What's your name? the boy asked, a crumpled drawing in his grasp.

I'm Craig.

Thank you, Craig.

No problem, little guy.

The mother rushed off with her crying baby and the boy followed behind, waving from the door to the fifth carriage.

Craig sat on the bench and rubbed his baggy blue eyes. He took the ticket from his pocket and kissed it before taking a stack of postcards from his plastic bag. He placed them on the seat beside him and gazed at the bikini-clad women on the beach in the picture.

Beautiful, he whispered. I can't wait!

An Asian man appeared and towered over the bench. He removed his puffy black coat to reveal the grey vest and faded jeans underneath. A moment later, the floor trembled as three trolleys were pulled his way by three boys, chatting excitedly.

Do you mind? the man asked, pointing at the seat.

No problem. Craig pushed his postcards and ticket into his pocket.

The Asian man sat his three sons down and handed them a Japanese language guide each. The tallest boy flicked through before tossing it on the floor, which made his younger brothers giggle.

"Benjamin, I'm not amused! The father took the guide and thrust it into the boy's hands. Show your ancestry some respect!"

I don't wanna go, Benjamin said. I want to stay here with Mum.

Me too, his brother Carlson cried.

The youngest raised his hand.

Yes, Michael? the father said.

Are we gonna meet your friend again?

Yes. You'll love him.

Craig's stomach grumbled so he strolled over to the cafe close by. He waited in line behind an Asian woman in a red hijab, her hands stroking something around her neck.

Next, the server said, shoving the cash register back in.

Do you serve Halal food? the woman asked.

I don't know. I'll check.

The server disappeared round to the kitchen.

Sorry about this, the woman said.

It's all right. I'm thinking of going vegan too.

He laughed and she gave a tiny smile.

The server returned and rolled her eyes. Yep, he said the triple cheeseburger with two slices of ham and five pepperoni pieces is Halal.

...No thank you. The Muslim woman scuttled towards the train.

Bunny! a little boy cried, pointing at her.

No, she said. Asma.

Sorry about that, a slender blonde said, leading the toddler away. Winnie, your bunny is home with doggy. She pinched his chubby cheeks. He giggled and ran to his sister by the train.

Where have you been? his sister asked, tickling his stomach. I missed you!

Love you, he said, hugging her leg. He let go and his eyes swelled with tears.

Aw, don't be silly, their father said. Wren'll be back soon.

Soon? His wife dabbed her blue eyes with a handkerchief. "Six months isn't soon."

Joanna, I'll be fine. Wren swung her brother around.

You never know, Joanna said. Anything could happen. Be careful.

I said I'll be fine.

Are you sure about this? Joanna asked. You can still change your mind!

No, she's going! I've spent good money on this trip! Wren's father checked his watch. Quick! If I'm late for work, Bill will kill me!

Oh, Dad! Grow some...You run the place too, remember?

John, she's right. Don't let Bill push you around, isn't Wren?

Wren turned back and gazed at the sleek white train. It blew the horn and all the doors flew open. Her eyes drifted over the ten carriages and stopped on the sixth. The family strolled over to the carriage and Wren glanced at the large digital clock hanging above the platform, rubbing her hands with glee.

Wren, do be careful, Joanna said. Sit in the middle.

I can't choose where I sit! Sixth carriage or no carriage! Wren flashed her ticket. "I'm only near the back because someone paid my fare so late."

Oh for goodness sake, I've apologised enough! Wren's father playfully punched her broad shoulders. Let it go! It's not my fault your tuition fees milked me dry.

Whatever, Wren mumbled. She checked through her blue rucksack one last time before the final whistle blew. Tucked away in the inner pocket was the picture of a black woman with bushy hair smiling for the camera. Beside her was a tanned girl with Wren's big brown eyes. If you reach her, tell Mum where I've gone.

Will do, Joanna said. Won't we, John?

I wasn't talking to you, Wren mumbled.

The other passengers began to file onto the train as the clock ticked closer to eight thirty. The ticket inspectors strode down the platform, their eyes scanning the crowd, and stopped at the first carriage. They stood and watched the passengers pass through the doors.

Bye bye, Winnie! Wren ruffled his brown curls.

Bye bye! Winnie squealed.

Time to go, Joanna said. You can't miss the train!

Wren pulled on her rucksack and briefly hugged Joanna. Then she kissed her father goodbye and stepped onto the sixth carriage.

Pushing her way down the aisle, she finally reached her seat. Her neighbour was an obese man in a dark red t-shirt and loose pants. He moved the bulky plastic bag on her seat and patted the tattered leather. She double-checked the seat number and her ticket before sitting down.

Where are you going? he asked.

Europe.

Duh! We're crossing the Channel. He smacked his thigh as he cackled. After France, where next?

The world, she said. Across Europe, Asia, Australasia, North and South America, and last, but not least, Africa. You?

Whoa...Just Paris and then Majorca. He pulled out postcards from his pocket and carefully spread them across the table. My future fiancée posted these. I've waited for five years, but she finally sent for me.

Five years, eh? I hope she's worth it! Wren looked over the glossy postcard of the Eiffel tower. What took her so long?

It's complicated. He gathered the postcards according to size, smallest to largest.

She's married.

...No.

I'm not judging you, I'm just saying. Wren handed him the last postcard of a golden Majorcan beach. Dad cheated on my mum years ago. I get it, though. They weren't in love anymore. Still, wait until everything's over, you know?

There are no children involved, he said. Just an angry ex.

They're the worst. Wren removed her coat and loosened her sky blue shirt collar. Don't worry. It won't last.

Was your mum the angry ex?

Yeah, but she's over it.

That's nice to hear. Craig slipped the postcards into a plastic sleeve.

The train whistled and the last passengers rushed on before the doors slammed shut. Officials quickly ushered them to their seats and then headed for the first class carriages ahead.

I'm glad she doesn't have kids, Craig said. They always hate the step-parents!

It took two years for Joanna and me to get along. I hated her. She hated me.

What changed?

Despite our hate, we have one thing in common.

You both love your father.

"...Okay, despite our hate, we have two things in common. Wren looked outside at her step-mother, who was sobbing into a tissue. Neither of us back down. I respect her for that."

So who caved first?

Wren waved at her father and brother as the train pulled away. "I didn't."

––––––––

Craig, did you eat my last choc?

Oh, I get it. Craig pulled in his stomach and straightened up. So because I'm the only fat person here, I must've eaten your food? Well, Wren, quite frankly I'm appalled at your blatant bias. Apologise!

Yes or no? Wren crossed her arms.

Maybe. Craig gave her some coins. Buy another one.

Wren thrust the money back into his hand and pulled her headphones over her ears. She bopped her head to rap music as the train sped towards the British coast. Soon the herds in the country fields and rainy weather were left behind as the train powered into the tunnel under the sea. The view was black but for the tunnel lights zooming past.

I should be practising my French and Spanish, Craig said. He pulled out a language dictionary and struggled to pronounce the French greetings.

Can you keep it down, please?

Wren and Craig turned to a grey-haired