Then Digory starts to move, and I cringe when I think of him throttling her and paying the price. But he moves past her in a flash, instead stooping beside me.
“What are you doing, Recruit Tycho? No one gave you permission-”
“He’s hurt, Sir!”
And without waiting for her to continue, he takes me in his arms and lifts me to my feet, making sure I can stand on my own before he lets go.
The loud clicks of the sentries’ weapons being locked and loaded shatters the tense quiet. In a flash, their guns are trained on us, ready to fire.
Twelve
The longest seconds of my life pass, without any blinks or breaths …
Despite my lingering nausea, I shift my stance and lock my feet firmly in place. My whole body is tense, waiting for the impact of the bullets to rip me apart. I wonder if it’ll be over quick, or if I’ll feel the burning in my guts as I’m torn inside out?
Digory moves from behind to stand beside me, one of his shoulders shielding half my body.
Finally, Slade gestures to the sentinels. “Stand down.”
The Imps lower their weapons but hold their position. Digory gives my shoulders a final squeeze, then resumes his place in the formation.
I set the breath I’ve been holding free.
Slade stares Digory down. “Thank you, Recruit Tycho. Your generous assistance has provided me and the other Recruits with much valuable insight.”
A test. It was all a test designed to expose any attachments among the Recruits, affecting everyone’s strategies and alliances in the upcoming Trials. Digory and I might as well have paraded naked for everyone to see.
Gideon shoots me a suspicious what was that all about look and turns away. Perhaps he’s already rethinking our deal. From what I can see of Cypress, her cocky expression would suggest she’s already emerged first at the Trials and is preparing her acceptance speech. As for Slade, you can see the wheels and gears turning on her face, measuring just how long it’s going to take to twist this rare glimpse of compassion to her own ends.
That settles it. I’m going to have to work doubly hard to convince everyone that Digory and I mean nothing to each other. We can’t. Not if either of us stands a chance of making it through this thing with as little scathing as possible.
Slade resumes her place front and center. “Five Recruits selected for the Trials, but only four present.” She pulls a printed form out of her jacket pocket and eyes it eagerly. “That would make our deserter-”
“Ophelia Juniper here! I mean, present!” calls a voice that seems more suited to a squealing child. She practically skips, then trots, to the spot next to Cypress. Cypress doesn’t bother to conceal a snort.
Thinking better of her decision, Ophelia dashes past Cypress to my end of the line, her hair bouncing all the way, her eyes wide. One look at Slade and I can’t help but think that Ophelia reminds me of the prospective mate of a black widow spider, trembling from excitement over the empty promise of married life.
“Ophelia Juniper reporting for duty!” she proclaims. “Oh, you already know that. I mean that my name’s Ophelia.” She giggles, her hand pressed to her chest. “I’m sooo sorry I’m late. I have this habit of getting lost all the time. I must have taken a couple of wrong turns and ended up in the mess hall. Terrible sense of direction, ever since I was five. Mother thinks it’s that bout of … ” Her hand twists one of her curls over her ear. “Well, I was ill, you see, and my inner ear … my balance was very much affected … but here I am. I made it!”
Slade lets the quiet linger like a no-longer-welcomed guest. She wants us to squirm at the oblivious Ophelia’s expense. Despite my resolve to stay strong, I can’t help but feel sorry for this innocent girl and fear for what penalty the sergeant will inflict on her.
Slade approaches Ophelia with a smile. “You did make it. How fortunate for all of us here. We were so worried about you.” She reaches out and caresses Ophelia’s curls. “You have such pretty hair. I trust the accommodations have been to your liking?”
Ophelia’s laugh is coated in nerves. “Well, my cabin on the boat we came on was a lot bigger than my room back home.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen her hold still. Her eyes go vacant for a moment, as if she’s searching for a memory to warm the emptiness, a look that’s reflected on the faces of the rest of the Recruits. If anyone ever told me I’d long for the rat-infested hovel I share with Cole, I’d have thought they’d inhaled too many toxic fumes … I guess a home isn’t really measured by the flaking plaster or invading rodents, but rather if there’s someone there who actually gives a damn if you return each day in spite of those things.
Slade’s tongues slithers across her lips. “Recruit Juniper?”
I lean toward Ophelia. “You okay?” I whisper, which has got to be the most inept question ever.
Ophelia returns from whatever refuge beckoned beyond her eyes. It’s like someone has switched on an automaton. She blinks a few times, her lips forming into a smile. “Too bad I didn’t have one of those porthole things in my cabin to see where we were going, though.” She cocks her head toward me and a conspiring hand cups the side of her mouth. “Not that I’d have any idea anyway.” Another anxious giggle. “But it was nice having some stew. I can’t remember the last time I ate something other than a ration bar. Thank you so much!”
The grin on Slade’s face stretches so wide I’m expecting her lips to tear apart. “Actually, I wanted to thank you!”
My stomach muscles clench.
Ophelia presses the tips of her fingers to her chest. “Thank me? For what?”
An invisible hand wipes away the grin on Slade’s face. “For providing a lesson on the importance of punctuality.”
The hand caressing Ophelia’s curls balls into a fist.
“Owwww!!” Ophelia’s hands reach up to grasp Slade’s, but the Imp is too strong for her. “Please, stop! You’re hurting me! Ah!”
“Am I, dear? I’ve got just the remedy to ease your pain.” Slade’s free hand digs into her tunic pocket, producing a flash of silver.
The sight of the blade glues me in place. This can’t be happening. This pathetic girl hasn’t done a thing except get lost.
Slade holds the knife directly in front of Ophelia’s horrified face, allowing her to memorize every single notch on its cutting edge. Then, dragging Ophelia by the hair, Slade dumps her at Cypress’s feet. “Will you try to prevent me from teaching this slacker a lesson, Recruit Goslin?”
Ophelia reaches out and wraps a hand around Cypress’s ankle. “Please! Don’t let her … please … help …!”
Cypress never looks at her. Instead, she just kicks Ophelia’s hand away as if she’s a pesky rat. “I will not try and help her, Sir!” Her reply is almost drowned out by Ophelia’s shrieks.
Slade smiles. “Very good, Goslin!” Then she grips Ophelia’s hair once again, yanks her to her feet, and pulls her in front of Digory. “What about you, Tycho? Are you going to try and help her?”
Digory stares straight ahead, but unlike Cypress, his face is twitching. His forehead looks slick, his eyes squeezing shut with each piercing shriek.
“I … I … ” He bows his head.
“Help … me … ” Ophelia is squealing now.
“Speak up, Tycho!” Slade hisses. “Are you going to try to stop me from meting out justice, or not?”
His looks up, taking her in.
Ophelia reaches out to him. “Please … ”
“I … I … can’t.” He turns away.
“I’ll take that as a no, Recruit.” Slade grins. “Interesting that you had no qualms about coming to Spark’s assistance.” Ignoring the bloody claw marks on her hand, Slade heaves Ophelia to Gideon’s feet.
“I won’t help her, Sir!” Gideon practically screams before Slade can even pose the question. He’s obviously trying to get this torment over with as soon as possible, not that I blame him. Except now it shifts the terrible burden onto me.
&nbs
p; Slade hauls Ophelia right in front of me. Her feet drop out from under her, but Slade still holds her aloft by the hair. “No! Please … no!” Her legs flail, her body racked by sobs. Her eyes meet mine, pleading. “Help me. Please don’t let her kill me!”
Then it’s not her face but the guy in that alley, screaming as he was being torn apart while I did nothing. Nothing except turn away and flee.
My foot inches forward.
“Are you going to help her, Recruit Spark?” Slade bellows at the top of her lungs.
Ophelia reaches out a bloodied hand. “I know you won’t let me die. You’re not like the others. You’re good … ”
“Please. Don’t say that,” I whisper, more to myself.
Slade presses the glistening blade to the girl’s throat. “Answer, Recruit Spark! Help or not?”
My eyes trace the tears streaming down Ophelia’s face. “Don’t make me do this … ”
The point of the blade pricks the girl’s skin, drawing a drop of blood that knits like a poisoned thread across her throat.
“I beg you!” Ophelia’s voice quivers.
Spasms wrack my body. Could I be quick enough to knock the knife out of Slade’s hand before it finds its mark?
The blade digs in deeper …
“I don’t want to die,” Ophelia blubbers. “I want to see my mama … ”
And now it’s Cole’s face I see, reaching out to me, crying, begging me to save his life …
There’s only one thing I can do.
“No!” I shriek, drowning out Ophelia’s screams. “I won’t help you! I won’t help you!” I scream the words over and over again, my hands over my ears, my eyes closed, snuffing out any trace of this girl before she tempts me into sending my brother to his doom.
My throat starts to burn, and I think Slade’s blade has turned on me until I realize it’s just the strain I’ve inflicted on my vocal cords. I stop yelling, clearing my throat. Before I can stop myself, my eyes flicker open.
Just in time to see Slade’s hand slicing the blade-across Ophelia’s hair. She saws into the curls, pulling, ripping the hair away, hacking away at the girl’s scalp until there’s nothing left but ragged patches clumped unevenly around the skull. When she’s done with the last cluster, she throws Ophelia to the ground.
The girl’s cheek smacks the floor, her face buried in a cushion of her former curls that barely deadened the sound of the impact. She reaches out a blood-smeared hand, groping the deforestation of hair surrounding her. Grabbing a cluster, she examines it with her one visible eye, as if trying to make sense of why it’s no longer on her head. Then that eye turns to me. But it might as well be an index finger pointing right at me, rigid, unforgiving.
I try to look away but I can’t, held captive by the unspoken questions that Ophelia stares at me. There’s one that hammers into my brain, over and over again, as if her lips are pressed to my ear and she’s screaming it at the top of her lungs.
Why?
“Cole,” I whisper. I can’t tell if she hears me, but if she does, it’s an answer that doesn’t satisfy that unblinking eye. Stop staring at me. There was nothing I could do, I think at her desperately. My fists curl, but I still can’t break contact with that loathsome eye. All I want to do is gouge it out of its socket and grind it to pulp beneath my boot, anything to make it stop. Anything to smother the evidence of my cowardice.
I breathe in deep. I have to keep myself together. If this is how unraveled I’m feeling now, before the Trials have even begun, I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when we’re forced-when we have to choose which one of the people we love-
Slade stoops and pulls Ophelia to her feet, breaking the eye’s hold on me. She’s not as brutal as she was a few minutes ago, brushing some strands from Ophelia’s face and shoulders. Does the monster have an ounce of compassion? No. This must be just another one of her sick games, designed to keep us off balance.
“A valuable lesson has been learned here,” Slade says smoothly. She prods Ophelia toward the center of the line so she can get a better look at all of us. “Take a good look at these four faces, Recruit Juniper. Not one chose to come to your aid. During the Trials, remember that when the time comes-these four are all prepared to let you and your kin die.”
After how I fared under the scrutiny of the one eye, I know I’ll be completely defenseless against two. My gaze drops to the floor.
“And you four Recruits,” Slade continues. “Take a good look at Recruit Juniper. Remember that she could be any one of you.”
My eyes dart to Gideon, who meets mine for a second before he shifts his stance and looks at the dark monitor. Cypress is staring at Slade, her gaze unflinching, not caring about the rest of us. I can’t bring myself to look Digory’s way, not sure if I’m more concerned about whether or not he’s looking my way than what I’ll see there if he is.
Slade lets go of Ophelia. “Rejoin your fellow Recruits.”
Ophelia obeys without a word, moving back to her position beside me. As she passes in front of me, I no longer see fear reflected in that eye, but something even more unsettling.
Hatred.
“Now that you know what brand of loyalty you can expect of the others,” Slade continues, “I suggest you get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow morning you begin Initial Entry Training. First Call is at oh five hundred hours, followed by Physical Training at oh five hundred thirty, Breakfast at oh six hundred thirty, and your first day of Basic Pre-Trial Prep Exercises at oh eight hundred thirty.” She walks down the line again, glaring at each one of us. “You have been selected to become Imposers, the best of the best. I don’t tolerate failure. For the next ten weeks until the Trials begin, all of you belong to me. Dismissed!”
As we scramble out of the briefing hall, I can’t help but think the next two and a half months are going to be the worst of my entire life.
Thirteen
The first night in the barracks seems endless.
All of us Recruits are crammed into the same small quarters, barely large enough to fit five beds. Cypress and Ophelia’s cots are on the opposite wall from mine, which is sandwiched between Digory’s and Gideon’s. Through the gloom, I can make out the peaceful expression on Digory’s sleeping face, hear the gentle purr of his breath escaping his slightly parted lips in time with the rise and fall of his chiseled bare chest.
Can I really trust him?
I force myself to turn my back on him.
Despite surrendering to exhaustion, I end up tossing and turning for hours, waking up several times bathed in sweat, my mind filled with nightmare images that haunt long after I’ve opened my eyes.
The Culling. Before I was recruited, the phrase had little meaning-two words shrouded in vague foreboding, like a half-remembered dream. Now, the term’s sharp as crystal, stabbing me deep, shocking each nerve ending as I fight to control the spasms. What horrible trials can they have in store for us, worthy of such an unthinkable decision? And how will I be able to pass them all? We were told there are at least six rounds … SIX whole rounds to make it through. Just one mistake and Cole … Mrs. Bledsoe … My eyes squeeze shut, but the what ifs just batter through my brain, pounding against my skull … screaming … crushing …
Moaning from the other side of the barracks.
I snap back to the now.
Gideon writhes, half out of his cot. Like me, he’s covered in sweat. It seems I’m not the only one who can’t get any shut-eye. I slip out of my own bed and kneel down beside his, grateful to focus on someone else’s tortured mind.
During his thrashing, I catch flashes of something snaking up his bare back-a thick band of knotted flesh.
Scar tissue?
Then he rolls over and it’s gone.
I reach out and tap his shoulder. “Gideon, it’s just a bad dream,” I say softly.
He’s mumbling something. I lean in closer so I can hear.
“I didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. “Please don’t … I promise … I’ll be good �
�� ”
I slump on my haunches.
His thrashing ebbs and dies. I pull the threadbare blanket over his still form. I’m not sure how long I stay there, but I watch him, listening until his breathing becomes a light snore.
Eventually, the door to the barracks bursts open and the lights flare on in a blinding burst.
“Rise and shine, maggots!” Slade’s blurry silhouette calls from the doorway. “Time to get your lazy asses out of bed.”
Ophelia moans. “Five more minutes, please.”
Slade rips the blanket off her. “Move it!”
The five of us practically fall all over each other, scrambling to hit the communal showers in the adjacent building. Ophelia, especially, makes sure to give Slade a wide berth.
Digory catches my eye as he jogs alongside me.“Mornin’.”
I nod and pull ahead of him into the showers, picking a spot at the opposite end.
If Slade’s gentle wake-up call didn’t do the trick, the ice-cold water jetting from the spigots sure does.
“Holy crap!” Gideon wails from under his showerhead. He’s trying to keep his back to the wall so no one will see what I saw last night. “This is colder than the water back home.”
Cypress snorts. “You don’t know what cold is.”
Fortunately, the shower’s mercifully short. In a matter of minutes, we’re dressed in our uniforms and lined up in the Company area, a paved rotunda just outside the barracks.
Slade’s waiting for us with a reptilian grin. “Welcome to your first day at Infiernos.”
“Doesn’t that mean hell ?” Gideon mutters under his breath.
Cypress smirks. “You got that right.”
Ophelia raises her hand. “Excuse me, but what time do we eat breakfast, again?”
Slade’s grin widens. “Why, right now.” Her eyes ignite with fury. “Drop and eat the pavement. All of you. Twenty push-ups. Now.”
The next hour is a grueling workout, starting with an upper body warm-up consisting of push-ups and jumping jacks. This is followed by a lower-body regimen of squats, and then an upper and lower body cardio-combo featuring pull-ups, squats, lunges, crunches, and running, with barely any resting time in between.
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