The Culling ttk-1

by Steven dos Santos

  The whine of motors and grinding gears shatters that illusion into a million pieces.

  It feels like someone has poured ice down my back. Not able to stop myself, I turn in the direction of that relentless noise.

  Rising from the platform in between all of our chambers is a dark rectangular enclosure-just like the one that housed Gideon’s parents.

  My rib cage squeezes tight against my organs, crushing them.

  Is Cole in there now? Soon to be joined by Digory?

  You all did exceptionally well in a Trial designed to test your strength of character and resolve, but in the end, one of you did not prove yourself as capable as the others.

  Our glances ricochet around the ring, alternating between curiosity, nervousness, and outright fear, as if we’re caged animals. We are. And one of us is about to pay a terrible price for his or her failure.

  SLAM!

  The box-like chamber completes its ascension and locks into place with a piercing screech of metal, which may as well be the thoughts screaming inside my head.

  The lights of our paddocks dim, the contrast drawing more attention to the brightly lit rectangle, which looms like a dark crypt. I chew on my tongue, tasting blood. My fingers are a blur as they thrum the glass in front of me with the speed of a woodpecker’s bill.

  What’s taking so long? Why are they prolonging this agony?

  Digory and I lock eyes. His jaw clenches. He can’t pretend for my benefit any longer. He knows if he’s failed he’ll be forced to choose my death, destroying Cole in the process-just like my failure will mean the same for him and his husband.

  Gideon’s just standing there, eyes vacant. In his state, he must be the loser. I hate myself for the moment of relief that I feel.

  The speakers crackle with static.

  Your rankings, from best to worst, are as follows:

  My throat goes dry.

  In first place … Recruit Goslin.

  Cypress practically collapses against the glass of her pen. Her body heaves, partly with laughter, partly with a sob.

  In second place … Recruit Warrick.

  Gideon? But he’s barely responsive. How …?

  He remains motionless, without so much as a blink. Maybe his tragedy has actually made him a stronger competitor. Someone who isn’t burdened with fear or guilt.

  In third place … Recruit Spark.

  My moment of delirious relief dies a quick death. Digory’s still at risk.

  He’s facing away from me.

  My eyes flit between him and Ophelia … the sound of my breaths piston through my ears …

  The Recruit who ranked in fourth place is …

  The furious pumping of my heart makes me lightheaded-

  Digory Tycho.

  I can finally swallow. Digory’s forehead presses against the glass, and I press my own opposite him. We stare at each other, our eyes only an inch or two apart, conveying more than any words ever could.

  Recruit Juniper. You have ranked last in this Trial. You will now step forward and prepare for the Culling.

  Ophelia’s as pale as a corpse.

  Click. The lock on her chamber springs open and the doors slide apart.

  She shakes her head. “No. This must be some mistake.” Her voice quavers through the speakers. She takes a step forward, freezes, then takes a step back. For the first time in ages, she reminds me of the confused girl who could barely make her way to the dais when this ordeal first began.

  And that girl, I ache for.

  Recruit Juniper. You will approach the podium now or risk forfeiture of the Trials.

  Still shaking her head, Ophelia steps forward, and trips on her way out, landing with an audible splat.

  I spring forward, bumping against the wall of my chamber, wanting to help her despite everything but knowing I can’t. No one can.

  She scrambles to her feet, blood oozing from a cut on her forehead. She wipes at it absently and staggers past Gideon as if she’s intoxicated. She taps the glass of his enclosure, leaving bloody fingerprints. “Giddy, if only you hadn’t turned your back on me … ”

  But he remains motionless, looking right through her as if she isn’t even there. As if he isn’t there either.

  She weaves past him, stumbling by Cypress, then stops between Digory and me. She stares up at us, her face confused. “Why?” she asks us, looking like a little child.

  I shake my head, wishing I could offer some kind of answer that could make sense of this horror. But there is none, and there never will be.

  Her eyes flutter, then glaze over with frost. She frowns at us. “You two did this to me.”

  Digory and I exchange glances. Even though I’m burning with fever, I feel colder than ever.

  Ophelia turns and strides up to the podium.

  The lights inside the enclosure brighten.

  Inside, her mother and her sister stand with their arms shackled above their heads. Unlike Gideon’s parents, they don’t seem to be afraid. Mrs. Juniper looks uncomfortable in that position, almost bored. Madeleine, on the other hand, seems fascinated with everything around her, the type of wonder that only the very innocent can have. She smiles at all of us, but when she sees Ophelia, her eyes grow wide and sparkle like twinkling stars.

  “Mama! Maddie!” Ophelia bounces up the steps and presses her hands against the enclosure.

  Her mother and sister are separated from each other by a thick glass partition, just like the Recruits are. Except for coils of black tubing snaking into each of their sections from below, the enclosure is barren-no furniture, no instruments, nothing. My eyes fix on the ends of each tube, covered by gleaming metal flaps.

  Whatever horror the Establishment’s thought of this time, that’s where it’ll come from.

  Recruit Juniper. You have sixty seconds to make your selection.

  Madeleine beams. “Are you going to play, too, Fee-Fee?” She tugs at the shackles like it’s all a game.

  Ophelia waves to her. “Maddie, sweetie. I’m right here, honey.” She claps a hand over her mouth.

  Madeline lifts her legs and swings from her chains. “I knew you’d come!”

  Mrs. Juniper clears her throat. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon.”

  “Oh, Mama! I’m so sorry,” Ophelia wails. “I tried. I really tried, just like you taught me. I hope you’re not too disappointed in me.”

  Mrs. Juniper shakes her head. Her lips purse. “I don’t want to hear any of that sniveling, Ophelia. It’s unbecoming for a future Imposer.” Her expression softens. “And you will become an Imposer, darling. I just know it. We’ve just suffered a minor setback. Nothing you can’t course-correct.”

  Ophelia buries her face in her hands. “I can’t … I can’t do it … ”

  Madeleine stops swinging. “Why are you crying, Fee-fee?”

  “Pull yourself together, Ophelia!” Mrs. Juniper barks. “You can still triumph! You’re a good girl. I understand how hard this is, but you’ll do the right thing, I know it.”

  Ophelia looks up at her mother, her eyes puffy, tears streaking down her face. “You mean …?”

  Mrs. Juniper nods. “You’ll do exactly what we talked about. Kill your sister.”

  Ophelia clutches her head with both hands, her face a mask of anguish. “Mama … ”

  Mrs. Juniper shakes her head and tsks. “Look at her.” She nudges her head toward Maddie, who’s now humming to herself. “She’ll never even know … ”

  Then Ophelia bolts up and glares at her.“My mother !” she shrieks. “I choose her !” She bangs a fist against the glass, her eyes cold, defiant.

  A moment of shock registers on Mrs. Juniper’s face. Then she smiles. “So headstrong. I taught you too well.”

  The flap covering the tube in Mrs. Juniper’s section grinds open. There’s the sound of buzzing. A lone bee zips from the tube and circles the room until it settles on her exposed arm. She flinches.

  The tube begins to rattle. A loud vibration pierces the
sound system, creating grating feedback. Mrs. Juniper’s eyes look like they’re ready to leap from her skull.

  The shackles holding Madeleine’s arms above her head spring free, dropping her to the ground.

  Ophelia beckons her close. “Maddie, baby. We’re going to play a special game. Close your eyes and cover your ears until I say you can look, okay?”

  Madeleine giggles. “That’s funny!”

  Ophelia gets down on her knees. “Just do it for me, pretty please?”

  “Okay, Fee-fee!” Madeline squeezes her eyes shut and clamps her hands around her ears.

  A dark cloud bursts free from the tube, billowing like smoke, growing, until it practically fills Mrs. Juniper’s section. Only this cloud’s teeming with life-insects, bees, hundreds upon hundreds. The light strobes as they swarm, settling on the only other living thing, covering every inch of her flesh like a shroud.

  Mrs. Juniper screams, but her cries are muffled by a living clump that jams into her mouth, piercing her tongue and throat with poisonous barbs until she’s choking, no longer able to get air, flailing helplessly like a fish on a hook.

  “Can I look now?” Maddie shouts over the frenzy.

  “No, Maddie!” Ophelia shrieks. “Don’t open your eyes!”

  I slump against the glass, unable to peel my eyes away from the horror, sinking to the floor.

  In a matter of minutes, it’s over.

  Swaying from the ceiling is an unrecognizable slab of meat that Ophelia once called Mama.

  Only now she’s a thing, a bloated hunk of purple flesh covered in pustules. Magnified on the speakers is the sound of a constant plop as the sickly yellow secretions seep from the wounds and douse the floor, now entirely carpeted with dead bees.

  They sacrificed their lives for the will of the Establishment, just like our loved ones.

  The lights in the enclosure dim, finally obliterating the gruesome sight.

  The locks on our paddocks click and the doors slide apart.

  This Trial has ended. Follow the markers to the next holding station.

  Collecting my things, I hobble out of my pen and collapse into Digory’s waiting arms.

  “I got something for you,” he whispers in my ear. I pull away and stare at his smiling face.

  He opens his palm. In it rests a small, familiar pouch.

  The antibiotics.

  I’m overwhelmed-with relief, gratitude … and so much more.

  My hand cups his. “But you might-”

  “You need them more than I do. Take them. Please.”

  I hug him as tight as I’m able to with my trembling arms. “Thank you.”

  Behind him, Ophelia stares at the now dark enclosure that houses her sister. “I’ll see you soon, Maddie. I promise.”

  Her eyes find mine and cut right through me. “And no one’s going to stop me.”

  thirty

  After resting several hours at the next holding station, we resume the trek to our third Trial, plodding through the winding corridors of the Skein in near silence. The quiet is broken only by the occasional grunt that barely penetrates the white noise of our wheezing breaths, which lulls me to the brink of exhaustive sleep before the panic of failure jars me back to my senses.

  Despite my fatigue, the burning in my eyes settles into a low simmer while the chill in my blood turns lukewarm. Could the medicine be working already? Or am I just so far gone that my body can’t feel anything anymore?

  The only thing that still burns is my mind, bristling with images of Ophelia’s mother, swollen beyond recognition, and the stump of Mrs. Warrick’s neck, a broken fountain jetting streams of blood. Every so often the images shimmer like waves of heat baking the horizon, and it’s not Mrs. Juniper or Mrs. Warrick I see but Cole and Digory in their places.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  I look around at Digory trudging along beside me, followed by Cypress and Gideon, with Ophelia bringing up the rear. From their vacant eyes, cradled in dark circles, and the new creases burrowing into the corners of their thin and cracking lips, I have no doubt their brains are infested with similar thoughts.

  A geyser of pain shoots up my leg on my next step. I lurch to the side. Digory is beside me in an instant, hooking my arm around his shoulder and holding me upright.

  “Gotcha,” he says.

  I pause for a moment, my hand gripping the back of my knee, riding out the pain like a receding wave. “I’ll be okay. Just took a bad step.”

  He leans in close. “Don’t push yourself.”

  Taking a deep breath, I straighten up, suddenly very conscious of how close our bodies are, how solid he feels against me, his breath hot and tingly against the hollow of my neck. A rush of energy surges through me, invigorating me more than any medicine ever could. A hot stream floods my face. For a panicked second I think I’m having a relapse, that the fever’s starting to rage again.

  Then I pull away. “I’m fine. Really.”

  He nods. “I’m here if you need me. Always.”

  I’m trapped by his gaze. “Thanks.”

  His eyes seem to want to say more, but I look away before they can drown me in their undertow.

  Slowing my pace, I let everyone pass me.

  Gideon and Cypress have fallen into step. At one point, her hand brushes against his and he clutches it, neither one looking at the other. Their steps synchronize as if their shared experiences have linked them in a tragic symbiosis, each feeding off the other’s pain like emotional scavengers.

  “Look! Up ahead!” Digory’s shout shatters the quiet. “We’re here!”

  Despite my weariness, I jog to catch up to the others.

  Looming ahead is a stone wall about twenty feet high, extending in both directions as far as the eye can see. Embedded in its center is a thick iron gate with a large number emblazoned above it, flashing like a beating heart: III.

  My pulse accelerates. My eyelids stretch so wide I can almost feel the skin tearing at the corners of my eyes. This is it. The Third Trial. Is this where the ironies of my nickname will finally catch up with me?

  We crowd next to each other, Cypress on one side of me, Digory on the other, with Gideon and Ophelia next to him. This time I’m in no hurry to move away from Digory. Instead, I find myself leaning into him, trying to siphon his strength into my veins. What if I can’t pull through this time?

  A burst of static.

  Greetings, Recruits. Unlike with your previous Trial, the order in which you placed will have no bearing on this specific task.

  At Slade’s words, Cypress’s shoulders slump. I understand exactly how she feels. She came in first in the labyrinth, and I was hoping my third-place finish would give me some kind of advantage for this Trial.

  I glance at Digory, who’s nodding. At least he’ll get the chance to pull away from a low-ranking position. I breathe a little easier.

  Understandably, Ophelia’s eyes spark, faint embers turning into a steady glow. Now she has the chance to overcome her last-place slump and ensure her sister makes it through this round.

  But Gideon, who came in second and should be crushed at the news, remains unfazed, his eyes fixed ahead, the blinking numbers reflecting through his glasses onto unblinking eyes.

  When the gate opens, you will all commence at the exact same moment. This particular Trial will test strength, endurance, and speed. Once the Trial is underway, you will be required to overcome several obstacles by working together as a deployment team, set down in enemy territory.

  I survey my fellow Recruits. After a near-catatonic Gideon came in second place during that last Trial, I can’t afford to underestimate anybody. A false sense of confidence can turn out to be any of our undoing.

  Be warned. Although you will need to cooperate to make it through the obstacles, in the end it will come down to a race to cross back into ally territory. The last one to arrive will be the one to participate in the Culling.

  I try to swallow but my mouth’s dry.

 
Good luck, Recruits.

  CLANG!

  The gate rumbles open with a grinding of gears, and I bolt through it.

  thirty-one

  The first thing that surprises me as I dash through the gateway is the fact that we’re on a hill. High above, on the ceiling of this artificial landscape, there’s a circular opening-a patch of night sky in the form of hundreds of twinkling stars shining down upon the sloping field. After being entombed in the Skein for what seems like a lifetime, I’d lost track of whether it was morning or evening. The sight fills me with dread.

  Another solid wall looms in the valley below, its smooth surface brushed with moonlight. The only pathway to it is a thin slice of terrain with a sheer drop into darkness on either side. It looks to be barely wide enough for six people to fit across standing elbow to elbow.

  I sprint down the hill, jostling against the others as we reach the strip of narrow grass. They’re nothing but a blur in my peripheral vision. My breaths clog in my throat-it’s like the darkness is folding in on itself, suffocating me in a claustrophobic haze. Fueled by pure adrenaline, I pull ahead of them, needing to break free … to breathe …

  SPROING!

  A cylindrical object sprouts from the ground just to my left, startling me.

  WHIRRR!

  A gun turret swivels in my direction. I lose my footing and stumble, just as the weapon begins to fire.

  RATATATATATAT!

  Screams fill the air. I can’t tell whose.

  “Everyone stay low to the ground!” Digory cries, somewhere to my right.

  I roll farther down the slope as bullets whiz past my cheeks. One nicks the tip of my right ear. Digory crashes into me, smothering my body with his weight. All around us the sod explodes, spraying through the air like gritty rain.

  “You hit?” Digory yells.

  I squirm out from underneath him. “Just a nick.”

  Ophelia rolls past us without a word.

  SPROING!