The Culling (24 page)

Adrenaline gushes through my muscles. I grab the slackness of the ladder. “Cypress! Gideon! Let’s go!”

First Cypress, then Gideon grab hold of the ladder and leap off the edge, leaving just Digory and me.

KABOOM!

Another Squawker missile strike.

CRACK!

A chink erupts in the stone underneath Digory and me. A tremor ripples through the wall as the chink turns into a ragged gash that rips down the wall between us. Our eyes meet. The sections we’re perched on begin to slide away from each other …

Digory grabs me and pulls me over the breach, tight against his chest, just as my side of the wall crumbles away. “You’re not getting away
that
easy!”

Even though I catch a glimpse of a smile, I can hear the thunder of his heart raging against me. I grip him tighter. Still tangled in each other, we both grasp the ladder and tumble off the side after the others, just as the loudest explosion of all rips through the air.

The Squawkers have breached the wall at last.

A blast of heat pushes us forward. If not for the ropes of ladder searing through my fingers, I’d swear we were free falling.

I can’t look down as we plunge. Then we’ve literally reached the end of our rope and
are
free falling.

A few seconds later, our bodies slam into marsh. We’re rolling through the muck, our arms locked around each other. A foul stench not unlike that of the sewers overpowers my nostrils, suffocating me with noxious ooze. I open my mouth to breathe, but only succeed in gulping a mouthful of pungent sludge. I spit it out and gag.

We’ve finally stopped spinning.

Digory pulls away to get a better look at me. “Still in one piece?”

I nod, not trusting my mouth to open again.

A terrible rumble fills my ears, and we both look up—

Just in time to see the wall collapsing toward us in a hailstorm of stone.

Digory springs to his feet and yanks me to mine. “Run!”

We slog through the fetid bog as fast as we can, dodging slabs of rock that crash everywhere around us, drenching us with putrid waves.

“
This
way.” Digory jerks me to the left just as a stone chunk slams into the ground that I occupied a mere second ago.

“
Watch out!
” I return the favor by pushing him out of the way of another block twice his size.

Ahead of us, Cypress and Gideon are scrambling out of the quagmire, with Ophelia just ahead of them.

I grab Digory’s hand and tug him faster, too afraid to risk a glimpse at the destruction behind us that continues to pound the earth.

We clear the marshland at last and let go of hands, sprinting like the wind. Although I have the crushing urge to look into Digory’s eyes, I pull away and will myself to go faster and faster, despite the ache of my starving lungs and the wild hammer of my heavy heart.

I look up just in time to see Ophelia cross the finish line. She throws up her hands in triumph and drops to her knees.

My veins are an adrenaline refinery, charging the engine of my heart, which pistons my legs like a well-oiled machine.

Cypress crosses the finish line next. Unlike Ophelia, she collapses onto her back and just lies there … her ordeal over …

Scrounging the last of my energy reserves, I narrow the gap until I’m almost even with Gideon. I glance over and our eyes meet.

There’s a desperate hunger there. The first time I’ve seen it since we were recruited.

He
wants
to win this time. Just as badly as I do.

And every agonizing second he’s pulling further and further into the lead …

Digory’s a blur as he swoops past on my other side and catches up to Gideon. They race neck and neck, leaving me trailing in last place.

My lungs chug like a steam engine. They’re almost at the finish line. No way I can catch them, much less win—

Gideon stumbles into Digory, whether on purpose or accidentally, I can’t be sure. The two tumble to the ground just shy of their goal. I leap over their bodies and sail across the finish line. My chest heaving, I whirl.

Gideon’s crawling over Digory’s body, inches from the finish line.“I’m …
sorry
,” he sobs.

Digory’s eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry too.”

He lifts his torso up, thick chords bulging from the sides of his neck. Gideon’s eyes stretch wide. Then Digory twists around, grabs Gideon by the throat, and tosses him backward.

Gideon lands with a loud thud on his back.

And Digory crawls over the finish line and into my arms, burying his face against my chest.

I’m too stunned to speak and can only hold him, rocking him back and forth even as tears stream from my eyes and into his golden hair.

A few feet away, Gideon rises to a sitting position. The life that had returned to his eyes is gone again and he just stares, his lips moving soundlessly.

Recruit Warrick. You have ranked last in this Trial. You will now step forward onto the podium as there is still a selection to be made.

thirty-three

Still a selection? What the hell is Slade talking about? What
else
could he possibly choose? I thought that once you lost your second Incentive, it was just a matter of watching them be executed before you were condemned to the work camps. What new level of depravity are they sinking to now?

The familiar hum of a platform rising to the surface fills the quiet. It lifts all the way, then is as silent as it’s dark.

Gideon trudges across the finish line like a sleepwalker.

A long sigh hisses from Ophelia’s lips. “Oh, well.
One
down … ” She shakes her head and turns away.

Digory steps forward. “Gideon. I had no choice.”

“I forgive you.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”

His tone … the look in his eyes … sadden and terrify me.

Cypress wraps her arms around him.

He kisses her on the forehead and traces a tear down her cheek. “You’re supposed to be the tough one, remember?”

Her face contorts. “Y-yes,
S-Sir
.”

He smiles at her and pulls away.

Then he turns to me and takes off his glasses, placing them in my palm, and closes my fingers over them. “Can you hold these for me?”

A lump wedges in my throat. “Aren’t you going to need them?” My voice cracks.

He squeezes my hand. Then he walks past all of us and up the stairs until he’s standing right next to the chamber.

The lights in the enclosure grow bright.

Mr. Warrick is standing on one side of the structure separated by a partition from the other, darkened side. His arms are strapped to the wall behind him. He looks even more haggard, his hair scraggly threads, his eyes sunken and hollow. It’s as if he’s already died inside.

The outer door to the chamber hisses open.

Recruit Warrick. You will now step inside and make your selection.

Gideon walks past the threshold. He stumbles and braces himself against the glass, staring at his father.

The door hisses shut behind him and the lock engages with a sharp
click
.

Cypress’s bandaged hand trembles against mine. “What are they going to do now?”

I can only shake my head, terrified at what’s to come, unable to tear myself away.

Recruit Warrick. The time has now come for your second Incentive to be shelved. But you still have a choice in the matter.

The other half of the chamber lights up at last.
My insides turn to liquid.

The entire side is jammed with rodents—large rats, larger than any I’ve ever seen in the Parish, at least three feet in length not counting their sickening pink serrated tails. They’ve obviously been bred as weapons, just like the bees that devoured Mrs. Juniper. Glowing orange eyes glare at us. The mutant rodents snap at each other with bared teeth, some chomping into the bodies of the others with razor-sharp fangs that drip with drool, greenish against the dark crimson wounds. Claws that are more like talons scratch against the glass of their prison. And to make things worse, the sound of their screeching, now amplified through the sound system, makes every hair on my body prickle …

Recruit Warrick. Either you allow your Incentive to be shelved in the manner prescribed … or, should you elect, you have the option of shelving your Incentive in a more sedate manner. One which you must carry out personally.

A pedestal rises from the floor.

On it lies a solitary object, reflecting the bright light in its smooth silver finish.

A gun.

Be warned. The weapon’s firepower will not penetrate the reinforced glass surrounding the chamber. You now have sixty seconds to make your decision, Recruit Warrick.

Gideon walks up to his father’s side of the tank and splays his fingers against it.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he says. “I guess I
am
a real loser, just like everyone says.” He shrugs and drops his gaze, his shoulders heaving.

Mr. Warrick’s eyes stream wetness down the concaves of his cheeks. “I’m the one that’s sorry, son. For not protecting you, keeping you safe. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But please, son, I
beg
you. Show me mercy.”

He nudges his head toward the rats without looking at them, his face flinching against the sounds of scratching and screeching. “I don’t want to go
that
way.”

Gideon lumbers toward the pedestal and stares at the gun. He face is a mask of indecision and anguish as he traces a finger over the barrel.

“You’re a better person than your mother and I ever were.” Mr. Warrick’s words quaver.

One of the rats screeches so loudly I fight not to cover my ears.

Recruit Warrick, carry out the sentence.

He grasps the gun in a trembling hand and slogs back toward Mr. Warrick. When the glass separating them slides into the floor, Gideon runs to his father, throwing his arms around him.

“I’m so sorry, Dad. I wish things could be different … ”

Mr. Warrick closes his eyes. “So do I, son.”

BAM!

Gideon kisses his father’s cheek and moves away. Blood gushes from a wound right over Mr. Warrick’s heart. For the first time since I laid eyes on him at the Graduation Ceremony, Mr. Warrick looks serene, as if he’s merely taking a well-deserved nap.

The suffering’s over for him.

Recruit Warrick. You have accomplished your task. Now return the weapon to its proper location and prepare to be transported to the work camps.

But Gideon doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he staggers from his father’s lifeless body and presses against the glass that’s overlooking us.

We all rush up to face him, even Ophelia.

Recruit Warrick. Return the weapon at once. This is an order. Failure to do so will subject you to immediate shelving protocol.

My heart’s running an obstacle course of its own at Slade’s warning. I’m pressed against the glass trying to will myself to melt through it somehow. I need to touch Gideon.
Now
…
before
…

“Gideon.
Please
. Listen to them. Put
down
the gun.” I try to sound calm, but I can hear the panicked edge creeping into my own voice. “You can go to the camps. At least you’ll still have a
chance
.”

He shakes his head. “Thank you.” His eyes sweep the four of us. “Thank you all for trying. But I’m so tired … I just need to rest … yeah … that’s it … just rest. It’s gone on way too long.” He smiles despite the stream leaking down his cheeks, onto the bridge of his nose.

Recruit Warrick. You are in violation of a direct order. Under the military code, you must now be shelved.

The enclosure holding the rats begins to vibrate as it prepares to slide open and let them loose—

My fist clenches Gideon’s glasses so tightly I can feel the frames cutting into my skin. “Don’t be stupid. Things can
change
.”

“
Listen to him, Gideon
.” Digory bangs on the glass himself. Cypress’s bloodied hand is cupped over her mouth.

Gideon slides down the transparent wall and I mimic him from my side, nose to nose, separated by the reinforced glass, so thin, but impenetrable.

He shakes his head. “There’s
nothing
for me now.” He cocks his head as if he could whisper through the barrier. “I
wanted
to be a
good
person. Make a
difference
… But I … I mean … after my mom … my dad … ” He shrugs and his eyes connect with mine. “Am I unforgivable, Lucian?”

The panel holding back the writhing rodents rises an inch …

I pound as hard as I can. But the glass doesn’t shatter. The only thing that does is my heart.

“You
are
a good person, Gideon. You
are
,” I sob.

“Thanks for everything.” He smiles at me. “I wish we could have gotten to know each other better in school.”

He lifts the gun to his temple and looks right at me.

I can’t breathe.

“
Don’t do it
!” Cypress shrieks. She grabs onto me, her fingers digging into my arm.

Gideon squeezes the trigger—

CLICK.

It’s empty. The gun drops from his hand and clatters on the floor.

I sag against Digory. Of course they’d only load it with one bullet.

Gideon’s face is a mixture of regret and fear. “That’s what I figured.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that flashes in the light … something familiar …

I open my hand, staring at his glasses—and at the empty socket on one side, where the lens has been removed.

He shrugs. “I hope it’s not
too
dark … ”

“Gideon,
no
!” I shout.

He jabs the small shard into his throat, tearing a ragged smile all the way across it, choking and gurgling as a dark river flows down his neck.

His head slumps over.

And then I can’t hear the rats’ claws, the screeches, my heartbeat … nothing but my wails, which drown out everything else.

Far above, in that opening that let the Squawkers through, the sun tears through the dark veil of night and into a cloudy morning.

We’ve been at it for hours. The four of us pause in our labors and lean against the mound of sticks to gaze at it, no one saying a word. The muted light casts a creeping grayish brown pall over us. For a moment we’re frozen in time, like an old sepia-toned photograph.

But time’s fleeting. No matter how hard we try to capture it, it always trickles away through our fingers like fine sand, gone forever.

As the soft light deepens to a fiery orange, I can’t help but think how cold the sunrise is despite its radiant warmth, how indifferent to the fact that one less pair of eyes will ever be in awe of its majesty.

“It’s time.” Digory’s voice breaks the silence, plaintive notes whistling through a hollow reed. In his hand, he holds a makeshift torch which he’s lit by using one of the matches he found in the labyrinth. It flickers across his face in the deep orange and red hues of autumn, highlighting the circles under his eyes and infusing his pale cheeks with color.

I finally move, wiping the sweat from my brow, and place the last naked branch atop the others, careful not to disturb
him
. He looks so peaceful lying on the pyre, hands folded across his stomach, almost as if he’s stretched out in sleep. I run my fingers through his hair, and pull his collar closed, covering the long dark scar on his neck that shatters the illusion.

Cypress steps up to the pyre. Her face is ashen, eyes red and swollen. She bows her head, her lips moving in silence.

Ophelia stands a few feet away, her arms crossed, her eyes empty wells. “Why do we have to do
this
?” she mutters, her voice drained of any emotion. “We could get a penalty for this. If we had just left him
there
—”

I whirl on her. “They would have just dumped him in some unmarked grave, buried him as if he were
trash
—as if he … ” The words catch in my throat. “As if he didn’t mean
anything
.” I bury my face in my hand, letting my fingers slide upward until they’re knotted in my hair. I bite into my lip to hold it together. But I’m powerless against the tremors rocking my body, making my shoulders heave.

I expect her to say something snide, to fight back. I don’t care. But she doesn’t, just continues to stare at Gideon. And then I think of her own mother, how horrible she looked at the end, how Ophelia never got the chance to lay her to rest, and I can
feel
her anguish. My grief is compounded with guilt for lashing out at her, and I reach out and clasp her hand.

Cypress sidles next to me, resting her head in the crook of my neck, not bothering to fight the tears running down her cheeks. Digory pats me on the back and lowers the torch to the kindling.

The branches sputter and sizzle as the fire catches, growing stronger and stronger, consuming the rest of the branches until it swaddles Gideon’s body in a blinding blanket of blazing light. Cypress’s sobs harmonize against the steady crackle of the flames.

“Anyone want to say anything?” Digory asks.

Ophelia can only shake her head, her eyes glazed with firelight.

I step forward and take the torch from Digory, a sudden rush of strength coursing through me.

I have to do this. I
need
to.

My eyes challenge the brightness of the fire, now raging like a miniature sun. But I don’t blink. Instead I let its heat seep into my pores as if I’m absorbing a part of Gideon that will forever be seared into my soul.

“Goodbye Gideon,” I say. “We’ll miss you. You will always be remembered for the kind, brave person that you were. A
good
son. And a
true
friend. May you find the peace at last that eluded you for so long.”

I hold the torch high.

The tendrils of flame look like fingers that reach up to the sky and merge with the risen sun, now bursting free of its cloudy prison, brilliant rays beaming down upon us.

The warmth finally penetrates my heart. I smile. Tears fill my eyes, trapping them in prisms of glistening color. “Rest in the light, Gideon, and never fear the darkness again.”