Recruit Boaz has been eliminated from the competition.
“Son of a bitch! ” One of the Imps shoves the other.
“Pay up! I want my cash now, Bartesque!” The other Imp shoves him back.
Bartesque plunges his hand into his uniform and whips out a wad of bills. “Double or nothing the girl takes it!” He slams the money down on the console.
“You’re on!” his companion snorts.
While they’re all preoccupied, I march straight toward the supply cabinets and begin loading my satchel with all the weapons that I can.
On the screen, an onslaught of arachnids has joined the horde of maggots engulfing Cage and Drusilla, their hairy, spindly legs creeping over them as they skitter out of the gashes in the pillars.
“I can’t take much more of this!” Drusilla cries. “Please! You gotta let me have this, Cage!”
Cage shakes his head. “I can’t! Tristin needs me … and …
I’m sorry, I can’t!”
I continue stuffing my satchel. A few more guns, some thermal charges, flame thrower.
A big hand clamps around my shoulder and I nearly piss myself. “You’re sure packing some firepower, aren’t you there, sonny?”
It’s Styles.
All my muscles stiffen. I keep my back to him. “Heading out to Quadrant seven,” I grunt, lowering my voice.
He chortles and claps me on the back, nearly sending me through the cabinet. “I hear you. Those things are getting out of hand. You must be part of the reinforcement squadron.”
“Uh-huh.” I zip my satchel shut.
His fingers remain on my back, pressing into my flesh like iron. “What did you say your name was?”
My stomach sinks. This is it. It’s all been for nothing.
“Wahoo!” Bartesque’s companion bellows.
Styles releases me and I can feel him turning away. “What’s up?”
“Seems like the little lass has lost her grip, which means I win, double or nothing!” the Imp says. “Pay up, Barty!”
Recruit Drusilla has been eliminated. Recruit Cage, you have emerged victorious in this Trial. You must now select which Recruit will have to make their selection in the next sixty seconds.
Styles shuffles away from me. “How about a little wager as to who he’s gonna choose?”
“You’re on, buddy!” Bartesque snorts.
Without wasting a precious second, I grab my bag and slip out the door, trying to move as fast as I can through the corridors without arousing suspicion before Styles decides to sound an alarm.
Then I’m in the utility room and scrambling up the shelves into the ceiling, pushing the satchel containing the weapons ahead of me as I crawl as fast as I can back toward my cell. Breathless, I flick on the hand-held as I scuttle through the ducts. Cage has been lowered to ground level and a drone is just finishing spraying off the last of the vermin from his body. His face is a struggle of emotions.
Recruit Cage. Make your selection now.
I reach my cell.
Cage’s eyes are glistening with moisture. “I’m so sorry. I can’t eliminate Crowley. He’s too weak to even talk—it’ll mean his death. And if I choose Boaz and he chooses Leander this round, then Corin dies if Boaz fails again. Can’t chance that. I’m sorry. I have to choose you, Dru. Please … forgive me … ” Anger flashes across his face as he wipes his eyes.
“It’s not fair … ” Drusilla sobs.
I tear off my uniform and drop down from the vent shaft into my cell, emerging into the holding area and rejoining the others just in time to see two Imps grab Arrah and Mr. Ryland, shove them into their cells, and strap them into chairs.
Then that terrible, familiar rumble as the entire cell is lifted and disappears, reappearing on the holographic projection of the trial field.
No. We’re not ready yet. And if we try to escape now, we’ll be caught before we even get started.
“It’s all right, baby,” Mr. Ryland calls to Drusilla. “Whatever you decide, I can accept it. I’m proud to have you as my daughter.”
Drusilla is sobbing uncontrollably. “Daddy … I love you so much … ” She turns to Arrah.
“Oh, Arr … I love you too … I can’t … I can’t do this … ” She looks up to the sky. “Please … don’t make me do this … ” Drusilla sinks to the floor. “I … I choose … ”
Mr. Ryland clears his throat. He gestures toward Arrah. “The one thing I want more than anything else is for you to get out of here and live your life. You have a better chance with her, Drusilla. Choose me.”
Arrah’s sobbing, too. “No, Dru. He’s your father. I understand. I love you too much to make you choose him.”
Recruit Drusilla. Make your selection now.
Drusilla’s eyes bounce between them. “I choose … my father!” she screams, burying her face in her hands and collapsing to her knees. “Daddy, I’m so sorry … I’m so sorry,” she wails over and over again.
Cage tries to hug her, but she shoves him away.
Metal spikes thrust from the ceiling above.
Mr. Ryland smiles. “I love you, honey.”
Then the metal slams down, impaling him. His head slumps over as a fountain of blood erupts from the wounds.
The holo fades, and we’re herded back into our cells in silence.
twenty-one
My eyes and nostrils are stinging from the stench of the rotting corpses filling the cart. Every bone in my body aches from all the stooping and lifting.
For hours, we’ve been wading through the heaps of dead inmates that litter the stockades. We drag them into the wagon, haul them to the crematorium, and pile them into the incinerators. Back and forth, back and forth—a grisly conveyor belt of human tragedy.
If we don’t get out now, those of us who are left will be making this journey very soon.
Arrah finishes shoving the body of a middle-aged woman on top of the pile. The woman’s arm swings off the side, swaying from side to side like a grayish-blue pendulum warning that time is running out. No rigor. Must’ve been dead for a couple of days already, from the look and smell of it.
Arrah turns, smearing the sweat and grit from her brow with her forearm. She looks at me with eyes so dark they’re like twin black holes that have swallowed the light, after everything they’ve seen.
I know that look very well. It stares back at me whenever I happen to catch my own reflection.
“Did you see the look on Dru’s face, Lucian?” she asks. “She looked so frightened. So lost … ” I almost get the feeling she isn’t talking to me. Just trying to make sense of the horror in her own head.
But how do you rationalize a nightmare?
“And I couldn’t do a thing.” She rolls the wagon over to a body set apart from the others.
It’s Mr. Ryland.
His remaining eye has rolled up into his head and looks like a bloodied eggshell. The other socket is a craggy cavern where one of the spikes pierced it.
Arrah stares at him. Her lips are quivering. Tears mix with the soot on her face, streaming down her cheeks like black blood. She drops to her haunches. One of her hands touches Ryland’s face, caressing his cheek before closing his remaining lid.
I stoop beside her, covering the dark craters torn through Ryland’s chest with the tattered remnants of his shirt. Arrah smooths his hair. “He was going to be my father-in-law. Dru and I—we were going to be married. Right after I finished my training and she wasn’t in any more danger of being recruited. Why didn’t she let me die instead? Why? ”
I grimace. “Trust me. I know, it’s hard. I’ve lost people too … ” I glance away. “Drusilla and you still have the possibility of a future. She loves you. Just like you love her.”
A bitter laugh bursts from her lips. She grabs Ryland by the arms and I take my cue and grab his
feet. Then we’re lifting the body between us.
She stares at me across the corpse. “Even if we do make it out of here, every time Dru looks into my eyes, she’ll know that I’m the reason her father is dead. And I’ll know she knows. How can you have a future like that?”
I don’t answer. What can I say that won’t sound hollow?
We maneuver Mr. Ryland into the cart. “Careful,” she says.
Then it’s done. We return and load up for another trip to the furnace.
I grip her hand. “We’re breaking out today,” I mutter.
She squeezes me back. “Who’s we?”
“All of us.”
I nudge my chin toward Leander and Dahlia, who are trundling their own loaded cart toward us, followed by Tristin and Corin wheeling a smaller one. As soon as they’re close enough, I grip the handlebars of our cart and keep pace with them as we head toward the crematoriums.
Leander and Dahlia draw up alongside us. “Did you tell her yet?” he mutters through heavy breaths.
Arrah’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. “Tell me what?”
As we roll through the utility corridor and into the crematorium, I fill Arrah in on my excursion to the control room and the cache of weapons now hidden in the duct.
The glazed look in her eyes turns to surprise, and then the familiar Arrah starts to seep through. “You’ve been doing all that while the rest of us have been napping?” Her smile fills me with warmth. “Not bad. Looks like the Fifth Tier has a few surprises left in him.”
I smile back and nudge Leander. “I had a little help from the Second Tier over here. Leander’s not completely useless.”
“Keep talking, Sparkles, and you’ll see how useless my fist is.” Even without looking I can tell he’s smiling when he says this.
My eyes connect with Dahlia. “And of course I couldn’t have put this little Op together without our First Tier.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
When we reach the furnace, Dahlia helps me open the heavy iron door. Waves of heat emanate from the crackling, spooling flames. One by one we toss the bodies inside.
“We need to get away before the next Trial, or one of us ain’t gonna be along for the ride,” Leander says.
“Maybe we should rethink this,” Tristin interrupts. “It might not be safe. We have to have faith that—”
“Faith? ” Dahlia whispers. “The only thing I believe in is putting a bullet in each of these bastards’ brains.”
Leander nods. “You got that right, D.” He turns to Tristin. “It’s great that you’re all in tune with the higher powers and shit. But nobody’s coming for us. The only thing that’s gonna save our asses is us.”
Staring at Corin’s vacant eyes sends chills through me. I muss the kid’s hair. “How’s he doing?” I ask Tristin.
“He’s not saying much these days.” Her smile is laced with sadness. She looks up at me. “But he’s hanging in there for now.”
Yeah, but for how much longer?
“That’s why we need to get out of this hell-hole now,” Dahlia murmurs, as if reading my mind.
Tristin pulls Corin closer to her. “I hope this plan of yours, whatever it is, will work. Does it include the Recruits? After all, what happens to them without any Incentives to fight for?”
“They get Shelved? Sent to bed without supper? Who gives a damn about them?” Leander pushes past Dahlia and gets in Tristin’s face. “Look. I don’t give a crap about your religious-pacifist bullshit. You, your brother, and the other insurrectionists are the reason we’re all in this mess in the first—”
I grip his arm and pull him away from her. “Leander. Lay. Off. Her.” My voice is steady, in control. “It doesn’t matter how or why we got here. It’s going to take all of us to get out.”
Dahlia shoves him with her shoulder. “You’re forgetting what they did to Rod-Man … what they did to … ” She closes her eyes for a moment and grits her teeth. “What they’ve done to all of us.”
Leander’s demeanor flicks like a switch. He backs away. “Sorry, D. Just trying to wrap my head around this whole … ” He runs a palm over his buzzed hair.
She shakes her head. “There aren’t any rebels, any Imps anymore. Only those who are getting away. And those who are going to die.”
Arrah steps forward and touches Dahlia’s shoulder, caressing it, trying to quell the fire. “I agree that we’re all in this together—rebel and trainee alike. But Tristin does have a point. The Recruits are victims just as much as we are.” Her eyes find mine and I can see the desperation there. Of course she’s worried about Drusilla. Just like I worried about Digory once.
“Dahlia and Tristin both have good points,” I say. “I’ve taken the Recruits into account. I’ll fill you in on all the deets later. But the short version is, we’re outta here before the next trial. During our escape, we’ll set off explosive charges. I’ve already planted them throughout the ducts. That ought to keep the Imps busy and provide a diversion. The chaos will give the Recruits a chance to make a break for it.”
The furnace doors squeal as I slam them shut. I turn to face the others. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go out on my terms. What do you say?”
They move in, until we form a circle. Arrah nods. “I’m in.” She holds out her hand and I reach out to clasp it.
“So am I,” Tristin murmurs. Her own hand touches ours.
Dahlia adds her grasp to the mix. “As long as we get to kill them.”
Leander smiles at me. “For Rod-Man.” His grip is firm.
A smaller hand reaches out. Corin’s. His fingers feel cool as they rub against my own. “Let’s kick their asses,” he whispers.
Someone’s coming down the corridor, and we separate.
“What do we have here?” Styles marches up to us, along with a couple other Imposers, hands on their holsters. I shift into a slouch.
He sneers at the bodiless carts, then back at us. “If the garbage has already been taken care of, what the hell are you sorry lot doing just standing around? Move it back to your cells unless you want to join the rest of the trash in the smoke box.”
His companions snicker alongside him as they herd us from the crematorium back through the corridors. I have to try to control the fresh spring in my gait. Whatever happens, this will be the last time we’ll have to burn bodies and walk down this path.
Instead of leading us to the showers first, Styles and his crew lead us right back to our cells. “Inside,” he snarls. Using the butt of their weapons, they prod us inside.
I stare him down. “Is that our punishment? No showers? I wouldn’t think you’d miss a chance to see us naked.”
He smirks at me. “Soon. But unfortunately, there’s no time.”
It feels like vermin are gnawing at my gut from the inside. “No time ? What are you talking about?”
He leans in real close and leers. “Timetable’s been moved up. The fourth trial is about to start.”
twenty-two
We’re taken from our cells and deposited on top of a circular field of sand, which is shaped like a giant ant hill with spiral pathways etched into the sloping sides. Our half-naked bodies are shackled together at the wrists by a long length of chain that’s embedded in a stone pillar at the top of the mound. Metal bands, containing a thin slot and a blinking red light, have been clamped around each of our necks. The lump in my throat is not solely due to the tightness of the band digging into my neck.
Directly ahead, on the far side of the field, Drusilla, Cage, Crowley, and Boaz emerge—in the flesh this time. They’re standing on a circular platform that rose up from beneath the sand, the hole sealing behind them with a serpent’s hiss as they step off. Just like us, they’re barely clothed.
Welcome Recruits, and congratulations on making it to round four of the Trials
.
In spite of Cassius’s greeting, the four of them look anything but thrilled.
Scattered throughout the field are keys that will unlock both the collars around your Incentives’ necks and their manacles. There are only three keys available, and four Recruits. The collars have been equipped with a lethal neurotoxin that will be dispensed if not removed in time. The last Recruit to complete the task will be required to select which one of their Incentives will receive the toxic dose. Good luck!
BUZZ! The shrill sound of the starting signal ricochets through the Trial field.
Drusilla tears away from Cage and Boaz, who take a few seconds to disengage from the ailing Crowley before sprinting off after her. Crowley teeters as he struggles to maintain his balance. This whole contest won’t even be close.
My hand finds Dahlia’s and I expect her to flinch and pull away, but her fingers slip into mine and squeeze firmly.
“It’s not over yet,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“It will be soon,” she mumbles back.
Cage and Boaz have caught up to Drusilla. The three of them look feral, like cornered animals tearing through the crevices in the sand in a fight for survival. Then Drusilla’s arm emerges from the rubble holding up a flashing beacon. Dangling from it is a long, golden key.
“I got it! ” Her elation is almost choked by a sob. But the wide smile on her face is eclipsed as the shadows of Cage and Boaz fall upon her.
Boaz holds out his hand. “Let me have it, Dru.” The calm in his voice is unsettling. He takes a step closer to her.
She backs away. “I need it.” Her glance shoots in Arrah’s direction, pleading, before boomeranging to her two fellow Recruits.
“It’s not for me.” Boaz softens his tone. “It’s for Crowley.” He turns for a second toward their companion, who is slowly limping along in their direction. “He needs our help, Dru. Let him have this one and you can take the next one.”
Drusilla shakes her head. “I’m taking this key. If you find the next one, you can give it to him yourself.”
The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) Page 17