“You’re going to set it off, Tycho,” Cypress growls through clenched teeth.
Ignoring her, he pulls the drum out and away from the other ones, turning it enough to expose a silver box attached to its side.
He’s been exerting himself way too much since we started Phase Two, especially given what almost happened to him on that raft, but I’ve learned it’s pointless to try and talk him out of anything.
“Easy … ” Gideon mutters under his breath.
Digory sets the drum back down with a low thump, which still manages to stir up a gritty shroud of dust that prickles my skin.
“Two minutes … ” Ophelia’s hands are clasped in front of her mouth and she’s bouncing on her boot heels.
“I know. I know.” Gideon’s already on his knees with the screwdriver, fiddling with the control panel. In seconds, he’s unscrewed it from its moorings and detached it from the drum. He stands, cradling the bomb’s canister like a baby.
We all back away, giving him plenty of room to maneuver.
One of his feet tangles in some cables and he lurches-
Our collective gasp drowns out the steady bleeping of the countdown clock as Gideon teeters for a few agonizing seconds-
Before Cypress reaches out to steady him.
“Don’t drop it,” she whispers.
His only response is the wisp of his breath, which fogs up the clear display of the bomb’s throbbing innards as he pries the panel open with the screwdriver, exposing several black cubes connected by red, blue, and yellow wires.
“That’s it, Warrick. You got this.” I’m already warming to the idea that we may just make it through this latest ordeal of Slade’s.
Digory and I crowd together, avoiding each other’s faces. The frigid air pumping through the overhead vents pecks at my flesh and gives me the shakes. There’s an awkward second when our shoulders graze. I steal a quick, shallow breath. Part of me wants to stare him down, ask him how he’s feeling, both physically and otherwise. But I trash the impulse and bury it deep. I can’t let him know how I really feel.
Especially since I don’t know myself.
Gideon’s eyes are bouncing from one wire to another, the wire cutters trembling in his hand.
“You’re wasting too much time. Let me do it.” Cypress reaches out for the explosive canister.
“Let him alone, Goslin.” Digory blocks her. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Ophelia tugs my arm. “Only thirty seconds to go!”
Cypress looks like she wants to strangle her. “Thanks for the update.”
My heart’s a drum roll. “Gently … Warrick … yeah … nice and slow … ”
Gideon hesitates, closes his eyes for a moment, then snips the blue wire.
Nothing happens.
Peals of nervous laughter fill the air. We’re still in this.
“Ten seconds!” Ophelia squeals.
With only two options remaining, Gideon grins and shifts the wire cutter over to the red wire-
That can’t be right. He’s supposed to cut the reactor wire before he cuts the ignition feed. I spring forward and wrench the tool from his hand.
“Spark!” he yells. “What the hell are you-?”
Snip!
I cut through the yellow wire instead-
An alarm blares through the room, cleaving my eardrums. The overhead florescent lights blink out, replaced by the swirling reds and yellows of twirling emergency beacons engulfing the chamber like wildfire.
The intercom crackles to life with a burst of static: “Detonation Activated. Mission Failure. Repeat.Mission Failure.”
But I don’t need any warning announcement to tell me how badly I screwed up. The glares in everyone’s eyes are much more potent. The wire cutters slip from my fingers and clatter to the floor, disappearing along with the steel drums when the ground beneath opens up and swallows them whole before resealing.
Wish that were me.
Gideon shakes his head at me.“What’s wrong with you? I had everything under control. All I had to do was clip that red wire … ”
A wide grin stretches across the canvas of Ophelia’s face. “So what if Spark messed up. We all know you knew what you were doing.” She moves toward Gideon with open arms, but he backs away.
“I’m real sorry.” I grab his shoulder from behind.
He whirls on me, fist raised.
Digory squeezes between us, palms thrust outward. “Whoa! Easy, Warrick.”
Gideon’s eyes are feral, the look of a cornered animal ready to fight to the death.
No one says a word, not even Cypress. We just stare, listening to this stranger’s panting breaths, wondering if he’ll strike.
He finally blinks. In that instant, he’s Gideon again. He lowers his fist, looking confused as to why it was in the air to begin with. His index finger nudges his glasses back up his nose.
“Forgive me.” His face is redder than the light’s glare. “I guess you just spooked me.”
Cypress snorts. “We spooked you?”
Digory lowers his own hands. “It’s all right. We’ve all been on edge. And with good reason.”
I step from behind him. “Digory’s right. You did a great job, Warrick. Sorry I screwed things up.”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. His eyes drop to his fidgeting feet. “Thanks. Any of you could have done it.”
“Agreed.” Cypress sighs.
Ophelia glares at her. “But none of us did.” Her face softens and she takes a tentative step closer to Gideon. “I think you’re the best!” She lifts her hands so he can see them, and slowly wraps them around him.
Gideon awkwardly pats her back. He doesn’t seem to know where to look and chooses the exact moment to look down at her that she looks up at him.
Their lips meet and she gives him a quick peck.
Cypress looks away, suddenly more interested in her boots than making some snide remark.
Digory erupts into whooping and laughter, relieving the tension. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe we have another explosion.”
Ophelia giggles.
I get the sense that somehow this is a real special moment for Gideon, and when I think about all the teasing he endured during our years at the Instructional Facility, I’m glad for him.
His glasses fog up. He removes them and lifts the end of his shirt to wipe the lenses. With his shirt riding up his back, I catch another glimpse of that ugly scar.
He must feel the weight of my eyes crushing him. He grabs a fistful of shirttail and tugs it down. Our eyes connect for a second, and I glimpse naked fear before he shoves his glasses back down like a barrier to his soul.
What could have hurt him like that?
I’m not sure how long I’m standing there squirming, avoiding everyone’s faces, when the sirens finally fade and the lights return to normal.
The last thing I’m expecting to hear is the sound of clapping from across the room.
Slade’s staring at us, hands now crossed behind her back.
“Congratulations.” Her face is a mask of disgust. “You are now all officially dead, thanks to the recklessness of Recruit Spark. “It appears someone hasn’t been paying attention to his instructors.” Despite Slade’s usual condescending manner, there’s something different about her today. She looks … tired. Her usually pristine uniform is kind of wrinkled, as if she slept in it. Something other than my screw-up is pissing her off.
I stand at attention and salute her. “I’m sorry, Sir. But I thought-”
“That was your first mistake, Recruit, and, given the failure of your mission, your last.” Slade’s eyes reflect the light like molten steel. “If this had been an actual Op instead of a training Sim you could have been responsible for not only the loss of countless personnel, but inflicted devastating consequences on the foundation of the Establishment itself. As such, there must be consequences.”
“Agreed, Sir.” I step forward. “The failure was all my fault and any punish
ment should be mine alone.”
This time she grins. “How noble of you, Spark. Unfortunately, you undertook this mission as a team. The failure of one is the failure of all. As of this moment, all leisure time before lights out has been cancelled for the duration of Phase Two.”
I cringe at the audible groan from the others behind me.
“Instead,” Slade continues, “you are all assigned to Fire Guard and Charge of Quarters duties when you aren’t involved in training exercises, including nightly patrol shifts, cleaning the barracks from top to bottom for my inspection-including the latrines as well as the lockers-and running personal errands for me on a twenty-four-hour on-call basis. What this pathetic platoon lacks in resourcefulness it will make up in diligence, until you are the most efficient squad in all of Infiernos.” She pauses. “Oh, and how could I forget the extra hour of morning calisthenics?”
Even I join in the moans this time.
Slade’s glee turns into a scowl. “Now get out of my sight.”
As we scramble out of her way, I’m shocked when I catch a glimpse of the last expression I’d expect to see on her face.
Fear.
Sixteen
True to her word, Slade makes the last week of Phase Two even more of a nightmare by introducing visits to the Tank. During our instructions on Bio Warfare, we’re issued protective gas masks and forced into a sealed chamber while Slade pumps it full of experimental toxins. It’s terrifying enough to be trapped in a coffin-like room, with nothing but the sound of hissing death for company, but we’re forced to take off our masks a few seconds before we’re allowed to leave the Tank, just so we can briefly experience the effects of the toxins firsthand as Slade forces us to recite our name, rank, and ID number to test how well we can focus under the drugs’ effect. Once we all figure out that wrong answers earn you another go around, we really try to focus. The last thing any of us wants is to experience more of those brain-splitting migraines and violent shakes.
In addition to our already crowded daily training and instruction, we’re also forced to tackle the Teamwork Tower protocol, a series of obstacle courses located on rotating platforms hovering hundreds of feet above the ground. We’re forced to depend on one another at these dizzying heights to navigate simulated landscapes of rocky terrain, snow-capped peaks, and desert regions, climbing rope ladders and bridges before rappelling down hundred-foot walls.
Our next FTX, however, takes place on the ground. It’s an overnighter in the Southwest Quadrant of Infiernos, away from the coast, deep in the interior of the island. In this vast, isolated area of dense undergrowth, we will fend for ourselves, building shelters and hunting for our own food.
After going the whole day of the FTX without eating, Digory, Cypress, Gideon, and I leave Ophelia behind at the camp to finish setting up the shelters while we spend the evening racing through thick brushwood in search of food. Clutching makeshift spears we whittled from branches, the four of us pursue a floppy-eared lepus. But as sunset approaches we have nothing to show for our efforts, except for the bloody signatures of thorns and branches inscribed on the exposed skin of our sweat-drenched bodies.
I collapse to the ground with the others, too hungry and tired to swat at a mosquito feasting on the back of my hand. Then a smiling Ophelia steps into the clearing-carrying the lepus in her arms!
“There, there,” she coos, stroking the creature’s head. The animal squirms, but she holds it by its hind legs and head. “You are just too cute!” She nuzzles its nose with hers. “I finished with the shelters early, so I figured I’d join the fun.”
Before any of us can say anything, her smile disappears and her eyes turn to glass. She locks her grip around the animal’s ears and tugs, snapping its head backward.
CRACK! The sound of splintered bone ricochets through the clearing.
The lepus thrashes in her grasp for a few seconds and then hangs limp.
Ophelia turns to us, beaming. “I’m so starved. Let’s eat!” She giggles.
After watching her expertly decapitate the animal, slice into its back legs, rip the skin off, plunge the blade deep into its lower abdomen, and carve up to the rib cage and pelvis with the precision of a surgeon, I’m suddenly not too hungry anymore.
Instead, I help Cypress gather a mixed bundle of grass, twigs, and bark. Digory and Gideon ignite it by using a sharp rock as a flint, until the kindle becomes a roaring blaze that we can cook the meat over.
We splay out around the campfire, and I’m just about to grab a piece of meat when a movement in the thicket catches my eye.
I freeze.
Someone’s standing no more than a couple of yards away, peering out from behind a large, dead tree. A dark silhouette but for twin pools of firelight swirling in the eyes.
My heart jams up my throat.
“What’s the matter?” Digory asks.
I jab a finger toward the tree. “There’s someone over there!”
I spring to my feet and make a run for it, but Digory races after me and grabs my arm. “Careful! Look at the pylons. We’re at the sonic fence perimeter, remember?”
He’s right.
The tree’s barren limbs continue to sway, casting shadows on the massive columns like skeletal fingers, curling and beckoning.
The figure’s gone.
“There was someone there … ” I whisper.
Digory’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re all very tired and stressed-”
I grab his hand and tear it away. “Don’t … patronize … me! ”
“Lucian-”
But I whirl before he can finish and tromp back to the campfire, kicking up flurries of earth in my wake before dropping cross-legged near Cypress. I can’t even tell the difference between the heat generated from the roaring blaze and that which boils my blood.
He feels sorry for me …
Gideon leans forward. “I’m sure you did see something, Spark. This place is crawling with Imps watching our every move, keeping tallies on our progress, making sure we don’t try and desert.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly all it was,” Ophelia squeaks, linking an arm around Gideon’s and squeezing.
Cypress clears her throat. “I think Spark saw something else.”
Of all the things I thought she’d say, that wasn’t one of them. “You do?”
Green fire dances in her eyes. “I think it was one of the Lost Recruits.”
“Excuse me?” Ophelia interrupts. “Did one of the Recruits get lost?” Her index finger bobs at each one of us in turn. “Hmmm. I counted five. I think we’re all accounted-”
“She’s referring to the Fallen Five,” Digory announces. He plunks down on the opposite side of the circle from me.
“But they’re just a myth, right?” I cast my eyes around the campfire. “I mean, they’re not real … are they?”
Cypress bites her lip. “Oh, they’re real.”
I remember hearing the story of the Fallen Five from Cassius when I wasn’t much older than Cole. He used to say that they’d come for us in the middle of the night and whisk us away from our beds if we weren’t careful. The thing is, on many of those endless nights, while my folks slaved away in the mines, I cowered in my cot, hungry and cold, and prayed that they would.
Is Cole thinking the same thing now?
Ophelia’s eyes twinkle. “Looks like I’m the only one who’s never heard of these Falling Five.”
“Fallen,” Gideon corrects her. “The Fallen Five.”
She giggles. “Sorry. So where exactly did they fall from?”
Digory tosses a twig in the flames. “The Fallen Five were a quintet of Recruits drafted on Recruitment Day, just like we were. Ten years ago.”
Ophelia bounces on the sand. “So by fallen you mean that they all fell, as in failed, during the Trials, and no one was promoted that year, is that right?”
“Partially,” Digory responds. “No one was promoted that year because no one ever made it to the Trials.”
Ophelia frowns. “I don’t understand. What happened to them?”
“They vanished,” I say. “All five of them. Without a trace. Shortly after arriving at Infiernos.”
She glances at the tree, then hugs her knees. “M-maybe they had an accident and were lost-”
“They were on an FTX just like we are now,” Digory continues. “Their packs and supplies were found. Everything was intact … except for them.”
She shakes her head. “It’s just a story meant to frighten children! That’s all!”
“It seems to be working,” Cypress mutters.
Gideon folds his arms. “You know, I just thought about something that hasn’t crossed my mind in years. When I was six, my folks and I lived next door to a family whose daughter was recruited. Tasha Gillespie, her name was. I was pretty young at the time, but I remember being scared when she just disappeared and never came home. I thought she’d done something terrible and her parents had sent her away. I couldn’t sleep for weeks, afraid the same thing was going to happen to me. That was ten years ago. Maybe she was one of the Fallen Five … ”
“I think the Establishment murdered them,” Digory says. His words are a needle that weaves an icy thread around the ring. “They probably found out one of the Establishment’s many secrets and were silenced before they could expose it, like everyone always is.”
I lean in. “Sssh! Careful, Digory,”
Cypress yawns. “I think you’re all giving the Fallen Five too much credit.” Her gaze pierces Ophelia. “They weren’t lost in some pathetic Field Training Exercise.” Next she fixes on Gideon with a glaze of contempt. “Nor was it some terrible punishment by their parents.” Finally, she turns to skewer Digory with her eyes. “And they weren’t martyrs, sacrificing their lives to the Establishment for the good of our society.”
“Then what happened to them?” I challenge her.
She turns to me and I brace for what’s coming. But instead of dripping with mockery, her eyes are pools of emerald bitterness. “They were deserters, cowards, nothing more.”
Her words stun me. I can’t conceive of the implications of what she’s saying. Any notions of fleeing I’ve ever had are quashed when I think about Cole and how he’s depending on me to come through.
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