Rise of the Scorpion

by Scott McCord

  “He’s out there a ways,” Tommy comments, as Thatcher limp-sprints, dodging through Loppers as best he can. He’s about forty feet out.

  “How long can he last Outside?” Gas asks.

  “As long as he can hold his breath,” I say. “After that, he’ll drop like a rock, and somebody will have to go get him before he suffocates.”

  “Or a Lopper decides he’s food and eats his throat out,” Tommy adds.

  Thatcher continues to move away from the Edge, deeper into Outside before finally stopping. He turns. Even from here, I can see his face beginning to blue. Thatcher points to a male Lopper with dark bushy hair.

  “No! Boooo!” the men at the skirmish line shake their heads and yell.

  Thatcher takes a couple backward steps, surveying the Loppers milling around him. A big one bumps him. Thatcher stumbles, rights himself, looks around, and decides on Becky. He points to her.

  “Boooo!” the Scorpions shout less emphatically, but the protest is enough for Thatcher to change his mind.

  “What the hell?” Tommy mutters.

  “Hurry up, Thatch,” Starter shouts. “No one wants to lug your ass back in!”

  The crippled Scorpion searches the herd one more time for a suitable target before hobbling over to an ancient Lopper. Its gray hair is matted down the side of its face and tangled to its beard. The nasty composite looks more like a half-helmet than something that grew out of its head, but it makes the gray Lopper distinctive among the rest. Thatcher doesn’t look back for approval this time. His air is gone, so whatever he’s going to do, he has to do now.

  The Scorpions go quiet, watching intently as Thatcher raises his arm, giving a quick wave to indicate his choice. He drops his hand on top of the gray Lopper’s head.

  “Goose!” the men all yell at once as Thatcher starts a weak, crippled trot back to the line. His Scorpion brothers reach for him, leaning forward, stretching their arms out with upturned palms.

  “Thatch! Thatch!”

  “Here you go Thatch!”

  “Me! Me! Me!” they all scream, but it’s Knox’s hand he slaps before collapsing through the line into the Ark. The men cheer, Knox takes off, and Thatcher rolls to his back, gasping for air.

  Knox wades into the herd. Holding his breath, he sifts through the Loppers, searching for something he can’t seem to find. He’s getting frustrated as he stands on his toes, trying to get a better look over all the bobbing heads.

  “You’re about to be skunked!”

  “You got no game!”

  “Lose something out there, Knox?”

  “This ain’t hide and seek, boy!”

  The Scorpions jeer and yell as Knox grows short on air. He’s on the verge of returning, he has to be, but the prospect of coming back empty-handed keeps him out a moment more—long enough to spot the gray Lopper. Knox moves to it quickly, raises his arm for all to see, and drops his hand on the old Lopper’s head.

  “Goose!” the Scorpions scream, but Knox isn’t done. He begins tagging every Lopper he can on the head for as long as his remaining breath will allow.

  “Duck! Duck!” the men call every time Knox touches a different Lopper until he’s out of air and has to return. He slaps another man’s hand as he rolls to the ground inside the Ark.

  “There’s so many of them, I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find the stupid Goose,” he pants. “How many did I get?”

  “Twelve,” someone answers.

  “That’s terrible,” Knox gripes, rising to watch the next Scorpion search for the Goose. Apparently, players have to touch the chosen beast on the head before they can begin scoring in this perverse game of tag. The game continues and, as sorry as Knox believes his score to be, the old gray Lopper proves elusive, so twelve tags holds top spot for a good while.

  “Open your eyes!”

  “Hurry up! Hurry up!”

  The men yell at another Scorpion frantically sifting through the herd in search of the Goose. There may be seventy Loppers out there now, and it’s difficult to pick out individual beasts as they blur together through breathless eyes. He doesn’t want to be the first player skunked, but if he continues to search much longer, he won’t make it back. If he goes down out there, he’ll be hard to find under so many feet.

  The Scorpions are shoving Loppers away more often as the swelling herd drifts forward. Tommy let’s go a nervous sigh, and I move back to gain another step’s advantage before the Loppers overwhelm the Scorpion line and spill into the Ark.

  “Come on! Come on! We have time for one more!” the men yell as the blue-faced, scoreless player stumbles back, collapsing through the line, tagging Figg as he falls.

  Figg gets lucky. He collects a deep breath, steps Outside, and immediately collides with the gray Lopper. “Goose!” someone yells, and Figg starts scoring. He tags thirty-two ducks before returning.

  “That’s game,” Starter barks. “Figg gets the berries. Now let’s clean up this mess and go home.”

  The Scorpion captain strides over to stand with us. Although his eyes are on his men, he seems more interested in me and Gas as his troops pull knives and hold for orders.

  “What are they doing?” Gas mumbles.

  “You ever seen a Lopper full of good air?” Starter asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know what they are, and there’s seventy or eighty of them right there…way too close. Can you imagine what they’ll do to Community if they come in? And once we’re gone, what’s to keep them from walking right over.”

  My heart sinks to my stomach, leaving an awful hole where it used to be.

  Starter shakes his head. “They’re animals…dangerous animals, and we can’t leave them here, not right up on us like this.”

  “So now what?” I ask…but I already know the answer.

  “It’s them or us, Will, just like everything else in the world.” Starter glares at me a moment before turning his attention to the skirmish line. “Clean it up,” he shouts.

  The first Loppers to go are the ones closest to the Edge. Blades flash, throats are slit, and beasts go to their knees. They gurgle, instinctively holding their wounds, collapsing on their faces and rolling to their backs in the final painful moments of life. An occasional laugh gives away the Scorpions who are having fun, but the majority of the men go about the slaughter as if it’s any other job. They pack themselves down into a place where they cannot see or feel, only follow orders, as they destroy animals that look a lot like humans. It’s the most depraved and sickening thing I’ve ever witnessed.

  As the carnage piles at the foot of the Ark, the Loppers start to move away as some flicker of self-preservation sparks in their slow brains. But as they turn to stagger toward the trees, Scorpions suck deep gulps of air and follow. The Loppers can’t put enough ground between themselves and the Edge before they are caught by nimble men with steely blades. A faceless Scorpion with his back turned, catches Becky, grabs her by the hair, and with a quick swipe, sends her to the ground in a waterfall of red. I can’t watch anymore. I drop my eyes as groans of death and terror wash over us.

  “Why?” Gas asks.

  “Conditioning,” Tommy snarls.

  “You’re a smart guy.” Starter takes a deep breath and drifts in the exhale. “War is coming, has been for a long time, and when it does, we’ll have to kill…a lot. It falls on me to make sure my men have the stomach for it.”

  “This was never just some game of Goose, Duck, Duck,” Gas says.

  “It hasn’t been since long before me.” Starter pauses a moment and then pokes me in the shoulder. “You’ll be out there next time.” He sniffs and looks at Gas. “And you will too.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Gas shakes his head. “Ellie wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t like it at all.”

  15

  Mim

  I’m young, just a little girl playing hide-and-seek in the woods. I’m running and Rosie is running ahead, but I’m not chasing her, we’re together.

  “Let g
o, let go,” she calls over her shoulder, takes another step, and dives off into the air. But instead of tumbling to the ground, she flies, not very high, just above the brush-top. “Come on, Mim, hurry,” she giggles, “we can’t let them find us.”

  I want to, it seems wonderful, but I’m scared to fall, so I run, nearly gliding, as Rosie moves out ahead. It feels like I can go faster than anyone in the whole world. I’m free, easily keeping up without having to leave the ground and do the impossible. But the thicket grows heavy and briars snap at my ankles, making it difficult to maintain speed. The distance grows between me and Rosie until I can barely make out her heels as she flies off through the trees.

  A shadow closes in like a dark wave behind me. I feel it wanting to devour me and I’m frightened—desperate to stay in the light.

  Thorns cut my knees and I no longer have enough speed to dive off and follow Rosie. I should have flown when I had the chance, but now it’s too late, and I’m terrified the black will overtake me. Dread becomes panic. Vines claw at my feet, trying to wrap me up and hold me for what’s coming. I don’t want to be in the dark. I have a sense I’ve been there before, and I don’t want to be there again.

  “Come on, Mim, you can do it,” Rosie calls from somewhere ahead. “You can do it, don’t be a chucklehead.”

  Something in the way she calls me is familiar. Trust her, trust her or be consumed. I’m not moving fast enough, but I have no choice. I leap, flatten out…but instead of sprawling into the brambles, I float just above their tops. They snap at me, slicing my hands and belly. I concentrate until my temples burn, willing myself up, away from their fangs.

  “Faster, Mim, faster!” Rosie calls, and for the first time in a long time, I feel better…like I might be able to do this…like I might be able to fly.

  “Get up, Mim. Mim, it’s time to rise,” someone else says, encouraging me to gain altitude. I glance to the side where the thorns and matted briars wash up to a field of clover and grass. Tommy is standing there, juggling a dangerball with his feet. He keeps it in the air with amazing agility. “Get up, Mim,” he says, “it’s time to rise and shine.”

  “I’m trying,” I say. My head aches as I fly.

  “Your father wants you to see something.”

  That doesn’t sound like Tommy.

  “Mim, do you hear me?” Jack asks. My eyes flick open, cutting to the silhouette standing in the door. I’m no longer flying, but the feeling lingers, and I hate being pulled away from it.

  “What?” I ask, trying to hide the sleep in my voice. I’m not sure how long Jack’s been there, but I’m embarrassed I didn’t wake the moment he appeared. It’s important to be alert, even when you’re sleeping.

  “There’s a pilgrimage this morning. Your dad hasn’t finished surveying the island, but Cassandra decided to do things early…probably worried about the Scorpions you ran into yesterday.” He scratches his ear and yawns. “Breakfast will be ready soon, and Cassandra likes everyone together for a prayer before the send-off.” I’m up the moment he’s gone.

  The moon is out, and its silver luster reminds me of the night before the Grand-Championship, standing on the perimeter with Will. Strange, everything that was so certain, so absolute at that moment in time, was nothing more than a wisp…an ominous cloud that floated by without delivering a single drop of rain. It’s terrifying how uncertain the certain things really are.

  Not everyone is up, just eighteen or twenty people sitting around a low fire, twittering in whispered voices to keep from waking the others. I’m reluctant to approach their circle, but a woman I’ve seen around motions and slides over to make me a place. She is very gracious considering we’ve never spoken.

  “Hey, I’m Nancy,” she says in a hushed voice. “I’m glad you came to sit with us. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to meet you before I left.” She touches me on the knee and smiles.

  “I’m Isabel,” a woman says from across the circle. She gives a small wave so I’ll know which one she is. Isabel’s introduction opens the gates for all the others.

  “I’m Dominick.”

  “I’m Noah.”

  “I’m Tessa.”

  “I’m Greer.”

  “I’m Lucy.”

  “I’m…”

  Shadowy people with names I won’t remember continue introducing themselves until I’m the only one left. “I’m Mim,” I say.

  “We’re glad you came,” Isabel says.

  “I’m not sure what I’ve come to. Jack said everyone was supposed to be here.”

  “This is everyone,” someone else says, “at least all of the chosen. We’re waiting on Cassandra’s prayer before Jonathan leads us home.”

  “What does that mean? Are you being culled?” Muted laughter ripples around the gray circle. “Did I say something funny?”

  “No, it’s not funny at all…it’s just…we’ve already been culled.”

  “Well, technically I was kidnapped after Noah was culled, but as a twenty-three-year-old widow who never learned to spin or make rope, the lottery wasn’t going to be friendly for long. And now look at us.” Across from me, one shadow leans into another. “We’re happy, we’re free, and we’re having a little one.”

  “Does Cassandra know?” someone asks.

  “Of course, that’s why Noah and I are going early. Cassandra says the sooner we go, the less likely crossing will hurt the baby.”

  The conversation takes an intermission of whispered congratulations as everyone takes a turn shaking Noah’s hand and giving Tessa a hug. I offer my well-wishes like a polite stranger, and when everyone sits back down, I do to.

  “By the way, Mim, I know how to spin and make rope now. I’m not simple. Trades were unsupported in Group 8. The Body didn’t want us to know how to do anything but cut wood and pick seeds.”

  “You’re Group 8?” I ask.

  “I was.”

  “I’m Group 14.”

  “I know.”

  “A forward group, like you.”

  “Yes, I know who you are, Mim. I saw you play the Group 8 team in the last dangerball tournament. It wasn’t much of a match.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” I’m suddenly very interested in Tessa. “So if you saw me play, you haven’t been a Slitter…I mean you haven’t been here very long.”

  “I’m the last one before you…came the day after I saw you play.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I was chopping grass on the perimeter when Jack took me. I didn’t fight. I wasn’t even that scared…I was relieved.”

  “Why?”

  “I lost Noah to a culling post a couple migrations ago, not when the Utugi barricade saved Community, but the one before that. Without Noah, I was just another pair of hands to pick seeds and cut hay. Friends said I had a bright future, but there was nothing for me. Community is…gray. Did you ever notice that? I didn’t until I left. Even when you’re happy, you’re not really happy. I hate imposts, I hate the Culling, and I hate the Pairing, but I didn’t know just how much until I came here. Of course, it didn’t hurt when Jack told me Noah was safe and waiting on me.” She pats her pair on the knee and he puts his arm around her. “Sorry for talking so much, I don’t usually do that,” she says.

  “So tell us, Mim, now you’ve been here a while, are Slitters what you expected?” someone asks.

  “I thought there were more of you.”

  “There are…many, many more. They’re just no longer bound by the Ark,” Cassandra says. I didn’t notice her standing behind Isabel until she spoke. The silhouettes of those sitting across from me look around at the sound of her voice.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It means they are part of the healing Earth. It means they are the seed of humanity. It means they are the prophecy of The Body fulfilled.” Cassandra’s response sends a chill down my spine.

  “Amen,” say the people.

  “Amen,” says Johnathan.

  I swallow hard.

  Last
night, Cassandra said she was sending people Outside to live, to colonize the earth, but that can’t be true. The old woman’s little speech about prophecy and the healing earth, sounds a lot like the priests of The Body. Something is off.

  A boy pushes in beside me and promptly drops his head into my lap. It’s Jeremy. Ben squeezes in on the other side and leans into my shoulder.

  “Good morning, Mim,” he whispers. “I dreamed about Scorpions last night.”

  I pat him on the leg and wiggle my arms free to drape them around the boys. “What’s happening,” I ask Nancy.

  “We’ve been chosen for Pilgrimage. It’s not that big of a deal, everyone is eventually. Still, it’s very exciting when your turn comes up.”

  “What do you have to do?”

  “Go to New Hope.”

  “Outside?”

  She nods.

  “Cassandra makes you?”

  “She says it’s our destiny.”

  And finally I understand. Community has it’s Culling and Slitters have their Pilgrimage. Two groups cut from the same grim cloth. I’m not stupid, I see what’s going on. Slitters redeem or kidnap laborers from Community, use them, and put them out of the Ark before their numbers grow too large to hide…before they have babies that can give away their position…before they’re too big to conceal and the militia comes to wipe them out.

  Cassandra, Johnathan, and the whole Slitter lot are nothing but parasites feeding off the final breath of Community outcasts, keeping free of the system by using up leftover people and then snuffing them out. I guess no matter what name it goes by, culling is a fact of life as sure as the sunset or the moonrise, but at least there is no pretense about the killing in Community. Here, victims are duped. Here, Cassandra and Jonathan are liars. I’m immediately cold to the people around me…except for the boys underneath my arms…I’m cold.

  “Good luck.” I rise to my feet and walk to my tent to lie down. I don’t want any part of this.

  The ceremony outside grows larger with the nearing dawn, and the smell of breakfast seeps in to hang over my bedroll. Muted laughter and applause erupt occasionally, giving way to faint sobs and quiet teardrops. I roll over. I’ll leave tomorrow, find Will, and we’ll run away like we should have long ago.