Recruitment

by K A Riley

  “Not yet, anyway,” Karmine says through a wheezy cough.

  “We really need to find that doorway,” Kella says. She sounds out of breath but in better shape than the rest of us, especially Terk, who’s still on the ground, now gently moaning somewhere near my feet.

  “I’ll stay with Terk,” I say as I kneel down and try to locate his head in the dark.

  “I’ll stay with you,” Card’s voice offers.

  On what I’m sure must be shaky legs, Brohn, Karmine, Kella, and Rain start to spread out, sliding their hands along the walls and around the seamless area where Hiller, Granden, and Trench walked out who knows how long ago. They call out to each other to get their bearings. I’m just starting to despair. What if this is it? What if we’re just locked in here forever? No food. No water. No way out. Will we die slowly in the dark? Or maybe go crazy and try to kill each other? Is this a fluke or part of some twisted test? Or, even worse, is it a deliberate attempt to drive us insane to make it easier to kill us off?

  No. Get a hold of yourself, Kress. If they wanted us dead, they’ve already had a million opportunities. Everything from leaving us out in the desert to die to just shooting us all in the head the moment we boarded the transport truck.

  The others are still calling out, but their voices are so weak from fear and fatigue that I doubt anyone outside of this room could hear them. With Amaranthine sitting somewhere nearby, I’m holding Terk’s head in my hands. His hair is soaked with sweat. He’s mumbling something about not being able to see, and I explain to him about the lights going out and that we’re all going to get out of here soon, and everything will be just fine. Card backs me up, promising we’ll be out of here any second now.

  The others follow the sound of Brohn’s voice and make their way back to Terk and me. Still struggling to catch their breath, they all plop down heavily around us on the cold floor.

  We must be sitting for an hour, maybe longer, still trying to catch our breath and collect our thoughts. We talk back and forth without being able to see each other. Brohn’s voice reminds us that panic isn’t going to get us out of here any sooner. “Once we’re all relaxed and have caught our breath, we’ll start looking for a way out again.”

  “Maybe we can pick some parts out of the treadmills to make a flashlight or something,” Kella’s voice suggests.

  “Right,” Karmine’s voice chimes in. “Or maybe we can use part of the frame to smash a wall out.”

  Before anyone has a chance to come up with any more plans, a thin rectangle of light appears out of the gloom and expands to reveal an open doorway. The shock of the light on my eyes sends a wave of pain through my brain.

  The shadow in the doorway enters the room. Hiller’s voice calls for us to stand up, which we do with great effort. I’m not strong enough to help Terk up, so Brohn and Karmine each take him by an arm and get him to his feet. He’s caught his breath, but his legs are still wobbly. Hiller leads the eight of us out of the treadmill room, down a short hallway, and up two flights of stairs to another room.

  All I can think is, Please, let there be some water!

  My wish is answered. Kind of.

  7

  “What happened to the lights back there?” Brohn asks.

  Instead of answering, Hiller escorts us into the next room, which is pure white. It’s empty except for an old-style picnic table, the kind you might find in a playground or a park. The long boards of the table are riveted to the steel frame, and two cinder blocks on chains hold the whole thing in place, although I have no idea why. I can’t imagine who would try to walk off with a picnic table.

  It hits me that we’ve moved from a black room filled with sleek, high-tech treadmills to this odd, barren white space, and I can’t help thinking that if a town like the Valta had a polar opposite, this is about as close as it gets.

  When we’ve gathered around the table, Hiller stands at its head to give us instructions.

  “Sit,” she commands, and we obey.

  “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink, correct?” she asks when we’ve each found our place on the two benches that flank the table.

  We all nod, too exhausted and dehydrated to summon the anger we know we should feel right now.

  “Not since you left the Valta?”

  We all nod again. For some reason, Karmine whispers a barely audible “Yes ma’am.”

  It’s not the first time any of us has had to go for a long stretch without food or water. Every Seventeen in this room has grown accustomed to rough conditions over the years. But with the long drive, the running in place, the sensory deprivation, and the general mystery of the recruitment experience so far, I’m starting to wonder whether these people are testing us or just plain torturing us.

  Biding her time, Hiller calls out, “Sergeant Granden. Mr. Trench.”

  The two men appear, each carrying a tray that holds four glasses. They walk around the picnic table and set a glass of cloudy water in front of each of us. There’s no doubt in my mind that every Seventeen in the room is tempted to dump the liquid down their throat, but we also know better by now than to make a move without permission.

  That is, most of us do.

  Terk, who apparently doesn’t share our sense of caution, reaches out for the glass in front of him.

  “Uh-uh,” Trench says, clicking his tongue. “Don’t touch.”

  Terk draws his hand back like it’s been slapped by a ruler-wielding nun.

  Hiller speaks up again, her voice cold and authoritative. “Here are your instructions: You can each have the glass of water in front of you now.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a few hands reach out, ready to grab their drinks. “Or—” Hiller interrupts, “you can wait one hour, and get your own personal pitcher of nice, clean ice water instead.” The hands disappear again. “You can talk during the hour, but no getting up. If you move from your seat, you’re out. Also, no sharing. If you drink, you drink alone.”

  “What does that mean, ‘out’?” Kella asks.

  “It means exactly what you think it means,” Hiller says with a smile that’s part threat, with a bit of mocking sneer thrown in for good measure. “Keep in mind that your decisions are all part of the assessment that will ultimately determine your deployment. This isn’t some clichéd boot camp like you might have seen in old movies. We aren’t just here to make you crawl under barbed-wire or march around in straight lines, although there will definitely be some of that later on.” Granden and Trench let out a knowing laugh. “Your minds need as much training and evaluation as your bodies.” Hiller gestures toward the water glasses “You all passed the treadmill test. Now it’s time for test number two. This one is about intellect. Will-power. Teamwork.”

  I eye my glass. Grayish streaks sift around in the liquid like little party streamers.

  “Is there anything wrong with this water?” I ask.

  “If you’re thirsty enough,” Hiller says as she heads toward the door, “there’s nothing wrong with anything that might keep you alive.”

  As Granden turns to follow her, I catch him staring at my arms again. I can’t help but wonder if he’s curious about my markings or suspicious. Either way, I tell myself I’m going to have to be careful. I have a long history of blending in and not attracting attention. It’s a streak I’m not eager to end.

  “So what do we do now?” Cardyn asks when Hiller and the two men have left the room. Like Karmine’s, his voice is little more than a rasping whisper.

  Brohn shrugs. “I guess we wait. It’s only an hour.” He and I exchange a quick glance, and I can’t help but think he’s still hurting after the day’s painful events.

  It’s insane to think that it was just this morning that Wisp was torn away from him or that I said my final good-bye to Render. It feels like weeks ago now. Yet the memories hang in my head as clear as anything.

  I have no doubt that Brohn feels them, too.

  “An hour? Easy for you to say,” Rain protests, drawing his attention
away. “There are a lot of different levels of tolerance at this table, and not everyone here can make it through another hour of deprivation.”

  Terk looks offended. He stammers a weak, “What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s trying to maintain his composure, but his glazed-over eyes and parched lips betray the true depth of his suffering. I can’t blame him. I’m using whatever reserves I’ve got left to keep the room from spinning, not to mention trying to keep myself from passing out.

  “No offense,” Rain assures Terk. “But Brohn might not know what’s best for everyone. Look, this is just a test. So I suggest we try to work out an optimal solution. You heard Hiller. It doesn’t even matter if we know the problem’s purpose or not. The only way forward is to think it through.”

  “It could be a test of our will power,” Kella says with a slight nod. “You know, to see who can resist, and who gives in to temptation.”

  “Who’s to say that delayed gratification is the be-all and end-all, though?” Card asks, running a hand over the patchy reddish stubble coming in on his face. “Isn’t there something to be said for indulging in something good when you have the chance? Especially if that something can save your life?”

  Rain shakes her head. “Nope. That’s called giving in to temptation.”

  “So? Just because something’s tempting doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have it. In fact, I’d say it’s the opposite.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Cardyn looks like he’s struggling for words. “Something tempts you because it’s good. If it’s dangerous, or toxic or whatever, it won’t tempt you. But if we’re tempted by the water, doesn’t that mean it’s good for us?” His voice quivers and breaks, but he manages to make his point.

  “Sure,” Rain says. “All food is tempting when you’re hungry.”

  Brohn nods. “It’s not a bad point. If you knew you were going to die in an hour anyway, it would be stupid not to drink the only glass of water you have in front of you.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Card says, managing a weak smile. “Life’s short. Eat dessert first.”

  Maybe it’s just my weakness talking, but I offer a gasping, half-hearted laugh and say, “Agreed!”

  “Wait a minute,” Brohn says. “This could be a teamwork test. Which means they want to see if we’ll all stick together and drink or delay.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t care what kind of test it is. I’m tapping out,” Terk mumbles with a shake of his head. “I need water now, or I’m going to drop dead right here on the spot.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Brohn assures him.

  “Says you. My vision’s been blurry since the treadmill. My head’s pounding, and my throat’s on fire.”

  I don’t think he’s exaggerating. His eyes are starting to roll back, and he’s clearly unable to focus. His voice is barely a scratchy whisper, like his throat is full of dry sand. Being the biggest of us has advantages in certain situations, but endurance tests followed by water deprivation clearly aren’t among them.

  “I can’t feel my legs,” I announce, trying to take his mind off his own suffering as I rub the feeling back into my numb calf muscles.

  But my well-intentioned words don’t work.

  Terk, who’s sitting on the end of the bench just across from me, suddenly jerks over to the side and spews a thin spray of white vomit on the floor. His eyes roll back all the way, and he slumps over.

  Brohn starts to get up, but Kella interrupts him. “We can’t leave our seats!” she calls out, as if Hiller’s rules are concerning her more than the fact that our gentle giant of a friend is about to die in front of our eyes.

  “Screw the rules,” Brohn says. “I might fail their test of will-power, but no way am I failing at basic humanity.”

  “No, wait,” Card says from his seat next to Terk. “Let me check on him.” He reaches over to feel Terk’s forehead and neck, then holds a hand under Terk’s nose. “He’s breathing. And he’s got a pulse. But it’s weak.”

  That’s enough to set everyone into a panic. Card’s eyes are darting back and forth, looking for some sort of guidance. Kella has turned red, and Brohn is biting his lower lip in helpless frustration at the other end of the table. He keeps pressing his hands into the table top, ready to push himself up. But he hesitates each time and sits back down. His dilemma is written all over his face: Do I lose if I get up, or does Terk lose if I don’t? It’s the first time I’ve ever known him to seem indecisive, not that I can blame him. No one’s sure what to do right now, how severe the punishment might be if we fail. Hiller mentioned points and assessments, that we were being watched all the time. Without any other details we’re all kind of frozen in place, an unfortunate but also pretty understandable precaution in any minefield.

  “You’ve got to get him to drink his water!” Brohn finally shouts down to us from his end of the table. “The only thing I know is this little game of theirs isn’t worth dying over.”

  “Wait,” Karmine says. “This could ruin the challenge. He might get punished, or we all could.” When I shoot him my glare of death, he adds, “Terk’s my friend as much as he is yours. He’s not going to die from waiting an hour for water.”

  “We don’t know that,” says Brohn.

  “He’s right,” Kella says. “At some point, everyone crosses the line when dehydration becomes death.”

  “But how do we know where that line is?” I ask.

  “We don’t,” Kella says. “That’s the test.”

  “In that case, it’s a horrible test.”

  “Wait. There are eight of us,” Rain says. She’s the only one whose voice is even close to normal and controlled. The rest of us sound like panting, hyperactive puppies in a sack on the verge of getting tossed into a river by a psychopath. “We can’t share our water now, but they didn’t say anything about not sharing our pitchers with each other later.”

  “So?”

  “So the four of us who need it most will drink the water. That includes Terk. If it’s poisoned or toxic or whatever, at least we’ll know.”

  Kella starts to object to using Terk as a guinea pig, but Rain stops her with a raised hand. “I know it sounds cold, but it’s a necessary step in the act of self-preservation. After the hour’s up, the rest of us will drink our own water, then share our pitchers with the table.” Rain interrupts herself with a hoarse, hacking cough that she quickly suppresses. “That way, we take care of the neediest first, and share with everyone once we get through the rough patch.”

  “I get it,” I say. “We can consider it a kind of triage situation, assigning levels of treatment based on need and urgency.” Although I’m not a fan of potentially being called one of the “needy” ones, I see Rain’s point, and it does seem like a good way to help some of us while the rest muscle through, until we can do something that will benefit all of us.

  “Hold on,” Brohn calls out to Rain. “It’s a good idea, but I’m not sold on the part where Terk might get poisoned.”

  “It’s a chance we need to take. It’s a chance I know Terk would take for any of us.” Rain draws in a shallow breath. “Now the big question: which of the four of us are the most in need?”

  “Terk, obviously,” Brohn says. Though from here, his weakened voice tells me he’s not doing much better. But instead of asking for help, he says, “And Amaranthine.”

  “Are you okay, Manthy?” I ask. She has her head down, her chin in her chest. Her arms are dangling loosely at her sides. I can’t tell if she’s unconscious, annoyed, sleeping, or dead. “Manthy?”

  “She needs our help,” Brohn says. “No question.”

  “Agreed,” Karmine says as he looks us all up and down as if to assess our level of fatigue and dehydration. “And Kress, you’re not looking so good. And…I…think…” His voice trails off as his eyelids flutter, and he droops heavily against Kella, who’s sitting to his left.

  Kella braces herself to stop from falling over and helps guide Karmine’s head gent
ly to the table top. “And Karmine,” she says.

  Rain checks with the rest of us to make sure we’re all in agreement. Through a dizzy haze, I feel myself nod in the hopes that enough of the hour has already gone by so I can survive what’s turned into a dangerous game of life or death.

  One by one, Brohn, Kella, Cardyn, and Rain help me, Terk, Karmine, and Amaranthine to drink. My hands are shaking either from fatigue or terror, so Cardyn helps me tip the glass to my mouth. I’m almost too dried out to part my chapped lips, but I manage to take in a tiny sip.

  The water is tepid and slightly brackish, like the Kokanee River back in the Valta during the summer before it finally dried up. But I don’t care. The first sip loosens my lips, so I take another. Card is leaning toward me, watching like a hawk to make sure I don’t faint or choke to death.

  The next sip goes down, but not without a fight. At first, my parched throat tries to reject it. I try again and manage to get down a sizeable gulp. After that, it becomes easier, and I finally drain the small glass to the bottom. I no longer care about how bad it tastes or how cloudy it looks. After what we’ve been through already since leaving the Valta, I’d drink down battery acid if I thought it would keep me alive for another minute or two.

  Tipping my head back, I breathe a monstrously large sigh of contentment and thank Cardyn for looking out for me. “No problem,” he says, but looking over at him, at his flushed complexion and dry lips, there very definitely is a problem.

  Down the length of the table, Kella is helping Terk, Rain is taking care of Karmine, and Brohn is assisting Amaranthine, who looks like she doesn’t really want to be helped. I don’t think she’s even fully conscious, but she still manages to thrash her head away from Brohn out of some instinct of pure defiance. Eventually, he’s able to steady her long enough to get some water into her.

  While we’re busy trying to keep each other alive, no one seems to notice that Hiller and her two bodyguards have come back into the room. Hiller alerts us to her presence with a condescending, “Well, well, well. It looks like our brave little band of Seventeens has figured out a way to keep themselves alive for a little while longer.” Maybe she’s trying to sound surprised or proud, but it just comes out as mocking.