The Culling (19 page)

But the moans continue.

A long sigh escapes Ophelia’s lips. “You know, this whole thing might go a little easier if you just SHUT UP!” She grabs a fistful of hair and slams the girl’s head down into a protruding leg, over and over until the cries degenerate into garbled whimpers.

Ophelia shakes her head. “Much better.” She giggles. “
Now
I can concentrate.”

A flash of green and a loud
bleep
nearly stop my heart mid-pump. I stare at the locator pulsing in my hand as if it’s some strange artifact. Then it sinks in. I
found
it. I found my beacon.

I dare to stare at the face of my lifeline to Cole and Digory, a burly, middle-aged man covered in pustules who gazes at me through yellow-tinged eyes. He’s wearing the gray uniform of a miner, with the name Martino stitched into the breast pocket.

“It’s going to be okay, Martino,” I lie to him through a forced smile.

His mouth opens. “M-my … w-wife … ”

Dark green and brownish phlegm oozes from his mouth, choking off the rest of his words. My father’s face flashes before me, but I allow that mental tunnel to collapse and seal off that painful memory.

“C’mon, I have to get you outta here!” Gripping both his arms, I heave with what little strength I have left. Inch by inch, his huge frame slides from the tangled mass until he’s free and clear.

I wipe my brow and glance up to check Ophelia’s progress. Her glee has turned to pure venom. She tugs on the girl, her teeth clenched, her face burning like a vibrant sunset. She’s trembling from the effort. One of her feet is braced against some poor soul’s face for leverage. Suddenly, the body gives and the girl slides out to her waist. Ophelia lets out a sound that’s half sob, half laughter. Then she’s pulling again.

My knees wobble as I haul the heavy man to his feet. He must outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds. Something in my lower back
pops
. “Uuuunh!” Electricity sizzles every nerve-ending. I inhale deep. Placing one of Martino’s arms around my neck, I stagger against his weight, lumbering toward the safety zone.

In the distance, I can see someone waving.

Digory?

Not that much further to go. If I can just hold it together a little longer, I’ll make it through this round and Cole and Digory will be safe.

“Don’t worry,” I rasp to the miner. “We’re almost
there
.”

He grumbles a reply that consists more of hot drool trickling onto my neck. I should be disgusted, but for some reason I’m elated. I’m going to get through this. And maybe this poor guy’ll be able to rebuild some kind of life for himself after all this is done.

Despite the aches, the hammering in my chest, my starving lungs and dry mouth, I speed up.

Digory and Cypress are waiting. It’s hard to tell, with my hair obstructing one eye and the still-throbbing blurriness in the other, but I think that’s Gideon kneeling beside several figures lying prostrate on the ground.

“See?” I huff to my silent companion. “Just … a … little …
further … ”

I get no response. For a moment I’m afraid he’s no longer with me, that I’m lugging around a mere shell of what was once a vital living being. My legs buckle from the dead weight. I stumble but somehow manage to stay on my feet, even though my pace slows to little more than a brisk walk.

Part of me is tempted to glance behind, check on Ophelia, but I don’t dare risk one more second of delay.

I’m
almost
there …

Just across the finish line, Digory’s eyes widen. I can’t tell what his finger’s pointing at.

A glint of light. I look down at a small metal disk camouflaged by weeds.

Digory’s hands cup the sides of his mouth. “Lucian! Look out for the—

BLAM!

twenty-four

Thousands of hot needles pierce my side. It’s as if a giant invisible hand has batted me aside, tossing me at least five feet backward. The miner is wrenched free from my hold, and my tailbone smacks into the dirt with a
thud
. Another jolt rips up my spine. When I try to stand, I can’t feel the difference between my right and left legs and I wobble, smacking back down on the hard earth. I try to brace myself with my right hand, but that same cross-wired sensation hits me and my left hand spasms instead. I topple over.

“Nerve scrambler!” Digory cries. “It’s jumbled your neural pathways!” His voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well. “The disorientation will pass in a few. Just breathe slowly. Focus on my voice … you can
do
this.”

My eyes feel like driftwood, bobbing further and further into an endless horizon. Maybe if I just rest for a few minutes …

“Lucian!” Digory’s voice echoes through the depths of my numbness, pulling me back up to the surface. “You
need
to hold it together. There isn’t much time.”

The urgency in his voice snaps me back. My eyes spring open. There’s only one reason his voice would be tinged with fear.

Willing my mixed-up nerves to obey, I take a deep breath and force my head to twist so I can see behind me.

Ophelia’s still a distance away. The poor survivor’s still wedged a little less than halfway into the debris. Even if she pulled the girl out right now, there’s no way Ophelia will be able to carry her and make it back before me.

But Ophelia’s given up on trying to pull the girl free. Instead, using one hand, she’s stretching out the wriggling girl’s arm, the one wearing the beacon.

In her other hand, Ophelia clutches a mangled piece of metal debris that glints in the harsh artificial light. Even from here, I can see its rusted, jagged edges.

Ophelia raises the hand that’s holding the makeshift tool high overhead—

“Help me!
Please
, help me!” the girl shrieks, over and over again until her cries are nothing but garbled noise that barely resembles anything human.

“
Don’t
stop, keep moving,” Digory urges.

But I can’t tear my eyes away.

Darkness eclipses the whites of Ophelia’s eyes. With a long, guttural wail, she plunges the makeshift blade across the girl’s forearm.

I wince.

The screams die out.

The girl’s lifeless body slumps over—all except for her right hand. Detached from the rest of her, the appendage is now a grisly stump, clutched by Ophelia and crying bloody tears onto the face of its former owner.

The blinking green of the beacon reflects off Ophelia’s eyes and teeth, the only parts of her not covered in gore.

Our eyes meet.

She glares for an instant. Then she’s dashing toward me, heading for the safety zone, waving the glistening shiv.

“C’mon, Martino! We gotta go!” Grabbing the miner, I pull us both to our feet and half-carry, half-drag him along.

“You got this, Lucian!” Digory’s voice is like a balm to my aching muscles and spirit.

Despite the hammering in my chest and the pain in my starving lungs, I lunge forward.

Digory’s holding his hand out just over the line and I reach for it—

Fire blasts into my leg. Digory’s eyes bug. Then his fingers, which were barely an inch in front of me, are suddenly moving away. A blurry wind grazes my side. Then I crash to the ground, letting go of the miner’s hands.

I feel dizzy, like I’m going to pass out. Was it another taser mine or neural scrambler, so close to the finish line?

My leg continues to burn. I have to get up before Ophelia—where is she? Is she still gaining? But there’s no one behind me.

The source of the fire is a chunk of metal lodged in my left thigh.

Ophelia gazes at me from the other side of the finish line. She’s giggling, dancing around triumphantly, taunting me with the amputated limb.

Digory shoves her aside. “
What did you do to him
?” he cries. He tries to step over the line but his locator flares bright yellow and his face contorts until he doubles over.

So they rigged the locators with pain inducers, for just such an attempt.

My heart thrashes my rib cage. I drop to my knees. I was so close.

And now Digory’s going to die because of me.

“Lucian!” he calls. But his voice sounds like it’s miles away instead of just a few feet. “How bad did she hurt you? Damn it! Answer me!”

I slump on my side. I can’t bring myself to look at him any longer, afraid I won’t be able to hold it together. Instead, I focus on my leg, watching the blood ooze from the edges of the metal but unable to feel a thing.

The thought penetrates my stupor. I grip the shank so hard it slices my fingers. Still I feel nothing. Taking a deep breath, I rip it out and fling it away. If only I could do the same to my heart.

A moan to my left. The miner. He’s still alive. Maybe I could do one good thing and get him to safety before I end Digory’s life with my choice.

I stumble toward Martino and grip his arms again. But I’m too weak. I close my eyes to get my bearings. Take your time. After all, there’s no reason to rush anymore. And the longer I take to cross this line, the longer it’ll be before I cross
that
line and give up what’s left of my humanity forever.

I drag the miner a couple of more feet and drop. My pant leg is soaked. It reminds me of the wine Cassius spilled back in the Prefect’s antechamber, back before … before I realized that the terrible infection had set into him.

My vision doubles. Two bloody legs instead of one. I try to focus. Maybe Ophelia did her job too efficiently and infection is already settling into me as well.

I don’t think I can go on. They’ll have to carry me across. I chuckle. Hope they don’t mind me making my choice from a stretcher. My eyes feel weighted down. Maybe I’ll feel better if I can just sleep for a few …

A shadow falls over me.

I look up. A dark shape is holding out a hand to me. Digory? How did he get past the pain sensors?

I open my eyes wider and let them adjust.

It’s not Digory. It’s Gideon.

How’s that possible? Did I pass out without realizing it and wake up on the other side of the barrier? I look past him. Digory, Cypress, and Ophelia are still standing across the finish line with their rescued survivors lying behind them. But then that would mean—

I bolt up and allow Gideon to pull me to my feet. “You haven’t gone across yet?” I ask.

He half smiles. “No. Not yet.” He nods toward an old woman who’s slumped a foot away from the line, her tracker blinking in harmony to his. “After
you
.”

Adrenaline surges through me. I grab the miner once again and start for the finish line. I can still
do
this. I freeze in my tracks and whirl to face Gideon. “
Why
?”

His pulls off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

As heartsick as I feel, I heave the miner across the line with me and he drops to the ground.

The audio system crackles to life with Slade’s voice.

Gideon Warrick. You are the last Recruit to complete this Trial. Enter the safety zone and prepare for the Culling.

twenty-five

Gideon crosses the finish line, carrying the old woman in his arms. He sets her down gently, his face a mask of eerie tenderness. “Sorry I took so long.”

Her trembling finger traces his cheek. “Thank you, young man.”

Ophelia glares at me and then at Gideon. “You could have
beat
him, Giddy. I expected more from you. I thought we understood each other. You really let me down.”

He reaches out for her. “Ophelia—”

But she brushes his hand off and moves away to sulk.

“Lucian!” Digory has run over and gathered me into his arms. “Your leg.” He turns. “Cypress! Gimme a hand!”

Cypress joins us. “Got ’im.”

The two of them set me down. Cypress clears the tattered fabric from the wounded area on my leg while Digory fixes a strip of cloth he’s torn from his own sleeve over it. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to be okay.”

I smile. “Without a disinfectant or any meds I’m not so sure.”

The lights in the battle zone dim.

Initiating whitewash procedure.

At Slade’s command, a panel opens in the simulated sky. Hundreds of small, steam-powered spherical drones, no more than two feet in diameter, swoosh through the opening like angry hornets. They swarm across the battle zone over the remaining survivors, spewing them with a substance from stinger-like cylinders that jut from their surfaces.

Only their venom isn’t some poisonous toxin. Whatever the substance makes contact with begins to sizzle and melt away.

Acid
.

The entire chamber fills with the screams of people being melted alive.

Just over the line, a young woman holds out a hand, screaming for her life. A drone flies over and sprays her. She continues to shriek, even as her skin curls and peels and her face and body liquefy into bloody goo that congeals into a puddle and dissolves into nothingness. The lights in that sector go out completely.

There are a few stray screams, then nothing but deafening silence.

A new horror fills my thoughts. I scramble to my feet. “Slade!” I point to the huddle of suffering humanity we’ve rescued. “These people need medical attention right away!”

BLAM! BLAM! Ratatatatatatatatatatatat!

Instead of more acid, the drones spit gunfire all around us.

“Take cover!” Digory pushes Cypress and me to the ground and shields us with his body.

I can’t breathe. The air’s filled with thick acrid smoke and the cloying stench of spent weapon casings.

Sterilization is complete.

None of them ever had a chance. Despite the burning in my leg, I crawl out from under Digory. Where the survivors once squirmed, there’s nothing left but a pool of crimson soup. Chunks of body parts riddled with ragged punctures bob on the liquid surface. Smoky tendrils of scorched flesh and fresh blood waft into my nostrils, violating them. I choke on the stink.

“Is anyone wounded?” Digory cries behind me.

“We’re still in one piece,” Gideon answers in a voice that’s quiet, hollow. He tries to help Ophelia to her feet but she pushes him away, leaving him standing there with his eyes glued to the red spattered spot that a moment ago was the old woman he rescued.

Cypress brushes against me, staring at what’s left of the little girl she rescued. Tears forge a path through the grime coating her cheeks. “She was about my … my
children’s
age.”

A low rumble drowns out the sound of my breathing. A platform rises out of the ground, containing a darkened glass enclosure the size of a small room. From the rock just beneath it, a series of metal steps slides out.

Recruit Warrick. Approach the podium.

If
my
heart’s pumping a million beats per second and I can barely catch my breath, I can’t even imagine what Gideon must be feeling when he hears Slade’s latest orders.

He stares at the dais. The nub of his throat bobs up and down. Then he moves forward.

As he walks past all of us, Digory squeezes his shoulder. “Stay strong.”

When my eyes meet Gideon’s, I’m surprised by a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction there. Then it’s gone and he’s past us, climbing the stairs, his gait as delicate and measured as if he’s maneuvering through a mine field.

The moment he’s standing in front of the dark chamber, the lights inside it come on, revealing Mr. and Mrs. Warrick.

My breath lodges in my throat.

Stripped of their formalwear, they’re clad in filthy rags that dangle from their bodies, barely concealing their dignity. Mrs. Warrick’s hair hangs in knotted disarray about her scrawny shoulders, while one of Mr. Warrick’s eyes is practically sealed shut and ringed in a swollen patch of dark purple. Bloody slush fills my veins at the thought of what all the other Incentives must be going through, imprisoned in Purgatorium.

But even more disturbing than the Warricks’ physical appearance is the fact that they’re both sitting on metal chairs on either side of the chamber, strapped down by their wrists and ankles. Just to the side of each of their necks, long metal blades curve toward them like sickles, casting blinding flashes of light.

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

At Slade’s announcement, the digital countdown display above the podium begins hacking away at the seconds.

Mr. Warrick just sits there, his wide eyes glazed.

In contrast, Mrs. Warrick, despite her frail appearance, struggles with her bonds. “Gideon, honey. Please! I’m your
mother
! You have to get me out of here!” Her face contorts into a mask of terror.

Gideon’s face frightens me more than anything else I’ve seen. Tears are flowing like rivers down his cheeks. But his eyes gleam with a twisted fire.

And he’s
smiling
.

“How does it
feel
, huh?” His voice is a bitter frost. “Are you scared,
Mommy
? Does it feel like you’re all alone and you’re never going to live to see the sunrise? The light?”

Mrs. Warrick’s scream pierces through me.

“Gideon,
please
,” Mr. Warrick begs, his voice drained of any strength it might have once had. “Don’t do this to your moth—”

“Shut up!” Gideon spits. “You’re always covering for her! How could you
not
know what she was doing to me all those years? You saw the marks, heard the screams. You did nothing.
Nothing
! You’re a coward, always have been.”

“I was always a good mother to you, Gideon!” Mrs. Warrick wails. “Anything I did was for your own good!”

Gideon pounds the glass. “What kind of a mother beats her child and locks him in the dark for days on end just for crying because he was
hungry
?”

Anger flashes on her face. “You’re
weak
. Always have been. And ungrateful. I was trying to toughen you up. It’s a harsh world—”

“Harsh world?” He flings the words back at her. “It’s not supposed to be a harsh world at home, with the people that are
supposed
to love you.” He rips his shirt up and turns, exposing his back to her. “I
can’t
forget. I’ll
never
forget.” He slumps against the enclosure, sobbing. “I hope you’re terrified, like I was.”

Make your selection.

Gideon raises his head to the sky. “I choose
her,
Sgt. Slade. My
mother
.”

The blade springs forward and arcs into Mrs. Warrick’s throat, slicing clean through to the other side with a loud
thwack
. For a second she just sits there, her eyes looking confused. Then a red line fades in around her neck and her head topples off, rolling down her body and across the ground until it stops, pressed against the glass at Gideon’s feet.

Mr. Warrick’s horrified eyes take in the sight of his wife’s body, still sitting in the chair, gouts of blood pumping from the severed neck. A deep moan stretches out from his throat and turns into garbled sobs.

“I just wanted to scare her, that’s all,” Gideon says with an eerie calm. He slides down the panel and traces the glass as if he’s trying to caress his mother’s face. “How does it feel, Mom? Huh? How does it
feel
? Tell me. How does it
feel
? How does it—?”

He repeats the mantra over and over again, rocking back and forth.

This Trial is now complete. Recruits will now proceed to the next station where you will have a rest period before receiving instructions and proceeding to your next Trial.

Slade’s voice fades into nothingness.

None of us move. If the others are feeling anything like I am, they’re too stunned to even speak.

A swarm of drones buzzes overhead and hovers over us, their glistening pincers providing the motivation we’re lacking. Slowly, we slog single file toward our next horror.

All except one of us.

I look back.

Gideon’s still rocking and chanting, even after the chamber’s lights have dimmed and faded to black.