The Culling (21 page)

twenty-eight

It can’t be—I saw her ashes.

Unless … unless Cassius lied to me. That
has
to be it, because she’s standing right here looking at me, her eyes muddy puddles of sadness and accusation. Maybe it’s just my distorted senses, wracked by fever, but her skin, though pale as snow, radiates a light of its own, shimmering against the darkness beyond her.

My veins pump joy into my sagging heart, causing it to swell. “You’re alive.” I move toward her, arms opened wide.

She opens her mouth and coughs. A torrent of blood gushes from it, soaking the dirty smock she’s wearing, spilling down her arms, her legs, dripping off her fingers.

I freeze. No one who’s lost that much blood can still be standing.

It must be a trick. Some kind of illusion engineered by Cassius to torment me.

But it looks
so
real.

Maybe she
is
dead. And I’ve finally lost my mind.

The scarlet stream pouring out her cracked lips thins and dissipates. “How could you do this to me, Lucky,” she croaks. “How could you let them kill me after everything I’ve done for you?” Her voice sounds disjointed, as if she’s pulling the words from her mind at random and assembling them like a puzzle.

I back away. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bledsoe. I never meant for you to get hurt. I
love
you.” A tide of pain crashes through me, the worst kind, because no bandage, no antibiotic, no medicine ever invented can ever heal it.

Another chill sweeps my body. I feel like I’m burning up. I squeeze my eyes against the throbbing in my head.

When I open them again, Mrs. Bledsoe seems to flicker like a breeze blowing through a candle, and then she’s steady again. Her eyes bore right through me as if I don’t exist. “You’re a
murderer
, Lucky.” Her mouth twists into a sneer that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen on her face since I’ve known her. “And you need to be punished.”

“Mrs. Bledsoe, please … ” I almost trip over the chest of flashlights as I continue to retreat from her. My chest heaves with shallow, rapid-fire breaths.

Mrs. Bledsoe shambles toward me.

Drag. Squish. Drag. Squish
…

She opens her arms wide and smiles, her teeth caked with goops of bloody phlegm. I cringe, expecting to feel the heat of her rotting breath sear my nostrils. But all I can sniff is a cold, cloying antiseptic stench that’s suffocating me.

“Don’t be afraid, Lucky,” she caws through a mouthful of bile. “
Your
pain won’t last as long as mine.”

She reaches for me—

I stumble backward. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. It’s not my fault.
Please
… ”

Drag. Squish. Drag. Squish …

“
Leave
.
Me
.
Alone
.” I whirl to get away from her.

There’s someone standing at the far end of the corridor, facing me.

I cast a beam of light in that direction, and even though I can’t make out a face, I can make out a form. A familiar form. The form of a little boy.

“Cole?” The name quavers in the air. My heart swells. Can it really be?

The figure doesn’t respond. Then it darts around the corner.

The aching of my entire being propels my wobbling legs after him. “Cole! Is that you? Don’t be afraid! It’s
me
!”

“
You can’t outrun your past
,” Mrs. Bledsoe’s voice yelps after me.

I’m sprinting now, the beam from my flashlight zigzagging ahead of me, my pounding heartbeat trying to drown out my panting breaths. I hug the walls for support against the dizziness that throws me off balance as I chase Cole down winding corridors, darting left, banking right, ignoring any number of supplies along the way, ignoring the shuffling and dragging of Mrs. Bledsoe nipping at my heels. The only thing that matters is Cole. I’ve got to find him. Make him understand that I didn’t leave him … that it’s not my fault … that without him, there’s nothing left to live for …

“Cole! Wait! Why are you afraid of me?” I rasp the words in between the painful breaths that I squeeze from my lungs. My eyes blur with wet stings, making the pathway ahead a dizzying array of streaking light and swooshing movement spiraling out of control.

Careening around another corner, I almost crash into the figure. He’s standing just a few feet away, on a ledge, with nothing but gray sky ahead of him. I brace against the wall to break my momentum so we both don’t go over the edge—gasping for air, burning with fever, exhausted. But despite this, I feel better than I have in months. Cool relief douses the fire of my sickness.

It’s finally over. I found him at last.

His back is still toward me, but I recognize his shock of fine hair, glistening almost like a halo, the same as Mrs. Bledsoe’s skin. It must be the fever distorting my vision. Cole is dressed in the same baggy clothes he was wearing the day I got recruited, right down to the scuffed brown shoe with the tattered laces. They never even got him a change of clothes, after all this time? He’s clutching something in his hand. Weathered parchment pages. It’s the story of the Lady. I recognize the missing corner on the page. But Cassius torched those pages right in front of our eyes …

Am I so far gone that my memories are now haunting me, intermingling with my reality?

I push the inconsistencies from my head, aching to wrap my little brother in my arms once again, tell him he’s safe at last.

I swallow a sob. “Cole. It’s okay, buddy. I’m here.” All it takes is just a few steps to finally bridge the once enormous gap that separated us. I reach for his shoulder—

Without uttering a word or even looking at me, he steps off the ledge and plummets away …

“No!” I leap forward even as my heart leaps into my throat, jamming there. My belly smacks the hard floor, knocking the wind from me. I slide the rest of the way, until my torso’s hanging over the edge. “Cole!” My eyes search the bleak landscape far below. It’s lined with jagged spikes, jutting upward like a gigantic pincushion. My heartbreak turns to confusion.

Where
is
he? His body should be lying there, impaled like one of those beautiful butterflies in one of the science labs at the Instructional Facility.

But there’s no trace of him. He’s gone, as if he never existed.

Did he ever really?

I can’t hold back the sobs any longer. “Please don’t go … ”

Drag. Squish. Drag. Squish.

“You can’t save him,” Mrs. Bledsoe’s voice rasps behind me.

I’m too numb to be startled.

“And you can’t save yourself,” she adds. “Just let go, son. Join him. It’ll be over a lot quicker than it was for me.” Her voice crackles like live wires in my ears. “You’re running out of time. Make your choice.”

Choice. That’s what this whole Recruitment’s been about.

I edge a little closer to the brink.

Maybe she’s right.

And though I’m not even sure I really
saw
Cole, there was a time I wouldn’t have hesitated to follow him into the void. But this is bigger than just us now. I finally understand what Digory had tried to tell me when we met. I’m not really saving Cole if I’m condemning him to live in a world that allows these things to happen—encourages them to happen.

I actually don’t really have a choice at all.

The empty vessel of my body is suddenly overflowing with a sense of purpose, even more so than when my face flashed on the jumbotrons on Recruitment Day. I have to keep going not only so I can save my own little brother, but so that no one else will ever have to save anyone they love—their sisters, mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, friends—
anyone
—

Digory’s face flashes in my mind’s eye.

I pull away from the ledge and climb to my feet.

Cassius and his techs have been preying on my fear and guilt. None of this is real. Not Cole. Not Mrs. Bledsoe.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face my accuser.

Mrs. Bledsoe continues to stare at me with blank eyes, an occasional trickle of blood oozing from her lips. It’s as though she’s hovering rather than standing.

“I’m going to make you pay for what happened to me,” she whispers. She staggers forward, groping for me. But I’m no longer afraid and walk right up to her. I take a deep breath as her gnarled hands ripple like water, passing right through me.

Once I’m past her, I whip my flashlight to the corner of the ceiling. There, on a narrow track, I glimpse a tell-tale pinprick of yellow light beaming down.

The shimmering halos. The static. The truncated speech. It wasn’t the byproduct of infection spreading within me, it was holograms. Just like a part of me suspected from the beginning.

I almost laugh aloud. I guess I passed their test by deciding not to off myself.

Mrs. Bledsoe—the projection
masquerading
as her—turns and smiles again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re too late …
son. You’ll never find your way back now.”

Mrs. Bledsoe flickers and disappears, just like Cole did.

My eyes dart to my chronometer.

00:01:48

Less than two minutes to go.

The holograms were all a trick to derail me from the exit, and I was stupid enough to fall for it.

But they were triggered when I found that one corridor—which probably means it leads to the exit. How can I trace my way back again, with such little time left?

My flashlight illuminates the bloody handprints I left on the walls.

I dash back the way I came, whipping my light back and forth until I find the next crimson marker, and the next, speeding my way back down twisting hallways and sharp corners, allowing my own blood to guide me toward salvation.

I risk a glance at my watch.

00:00:59

A couple of times I have to double back when I miss a print or it’s too faded to see clearly. My heart’s beating so fast it feels like it’s going to rupture. And the intermittently shifting walls aren’t helping matters.

I lurch around the next bend. This is it! I recognize this corridor. It’s the same one where the image of Mrs. Bledsoe first appeared. It
has
to be the way out.

The walls start to shift again …

Springing across the remaining few feet, I smash against the floor and slide the rest of the way, through a gap in the wall, just as a buzzer goes off and the wall slides shut behind me.

I grab my wrist.

00:00:00

Looks like I made it.

I collapse against one of the dark glass walls of a small, octagonal-shaped enclosure. I’m gasping for breath. It almost feels like there isn’t any air in the room. My legs splay out in front of me on the hard surface. The glass around me remains opaque. I tense for the inevitable announcement from Slade, but none comes. My pulse twitches in my wrists.

I shove my face into my palms. How am I going to keep going now? Even if somehow I made it through this Trial, I won’t make it past the next.

My body curls into itself like coiled twine.

Then I just lie there, eyes closed … and wait, wondering if I’ll live to see Cole and Digory again.

Attention Recruits!

Slade’s voice blasts through the loudspeakers and jolts my eyes open.

How long was I out?

We are pleased to announce that all five of you have made it through the labyrinth. The time has come to reveal your rankings.

twenty-nine

The screens that have been obscuring the glass of my prison rise with a
whir
. I squint against a blast of light and raise my hand against it. Despite the cramps in my stomach, I steady myself against the wall and slide upward until I’m standing. When my eyes adjust I see Digory and the others surrounding me, in identical chambers.

A rush of relief surges through me.

I press my face against the glass on the side facing Digory, rubbing the pane to get his attention. But he’s staring straight ahead, not noticing me. His face is sullen, the blue in his eyes so drained they look almost gray. His upper teeth grind his lower lip. Every few seconds a ripple goes through the hard lines of his jaw.

All around me, his expression is mirrored on the faces of the others. Cypress, who’s in the chamber on the other side of me, chews her hair, pacing back and forth, mumbling words only she can hear. Gideon cowers in the chamber to her right; his glasses magnify his glazed eyes, which resemble hollow eggshells. To
his
right, and directly across from me, Ophelia’s face is pressed against the glass just like mine, her eyes brimming with fear instead of confidence, as if she’s a reflection of what I’m feeling inside.

They all look like old shoes worn well past their prime, having spent years tramping through rough terrain, now whittled down to thin soles. And that’s how I must look to them. I think about the holograms of Mrs. Bledsoe and Cole, and can’t help wonder what nightmares the other Recruits faced in the labyrinth.

Digory’s eyes finally meet mine.
Are you okay
? he mouths.

I nod despite everything, drawing strength from his gaze.
Are you?
I mouth back.

I am now
, he says silently.

His lips curve into a sad smile and he presses his hand against the glass, just on the opposite side of mine. I imagine the barrier that separates us isn’t there, and I can almost feel the warmth of his skin. For a moment, I’m not alone anymore, and things are a little better.

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.”