The Culling ttk-1

by Steven dos Santos

  Slade’s shrill whistle pierces my ears, signaling the end of morning calisthenics. I’ve never heard such a beautiful sound. “That has got to be the most pathetic display of Recruit performances I’ve ever seen,” she bellows. Her face wrinkles in disgust. “Hit the DEE-Fak.”

  “DEE-Fak?” I grumble, trying to push up from a kneeling position.

  “Short for Dining Facility.” Digory’s holding out a hand to me. If it weren’t for the sweat glistening on the muscles barely contained by his tank top, you’d never guess he’d participated.

  I shake my head and wave him away. “That’s okay. I can manage.”

  He sighs. “Suit yourself.” Then he stomps away after the others.

  After a couple of tries, I finally get my bearings and limp after them.

  The breakfast spread is more food than I’ve seen in my entire life. The five of us sit at a small metal table in the mess hall, segregated from the other Imps, barely talking while we gorge ourselves on eggs, sausages, grits, oatmeal, toast, juices, milk, and coffee. Chewing and slurping. All too soon the spread starts to dwindle and I find myself shamelessly picking crumbs off my plate, staring at the empty surface longingly.

  Digory’s arm grazes my own and I involuntarily shudder.

  He’s holding out the last two pieces of singed bacon, one slice slightly bigger than the other. He grins. “Saved you a piece.”

  My eyes bob between the two. “Any preference?”

  “You take the bigger slice.”

  “But-”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He stuffs the smaller slice into his mouth and holds the larger piece to my lips. He chews quietly, his square jaw pistoning his portion into a bulge on his left cheek. Twin oceans of blue stare at me, looking almost amused.

  My hand breaks free of its paralysis and reaches up to grab the other piece he’s offering. Our fingers brush. A jolt-like static zips through my skin. For a moment, his hand engulfs mine as I take a bite, our eyes never breaking contact.

  Then guilt overwhelms me.

  “What’s the matter?” Digory’s eyes are now turbulent seas. “You thinking of your brother?”

  I nod and push my plate away.

  “Oh, sweetie, don’t fret,” Ophelia coos. “I’m sure they wouldn’t hurt your little brother. He’s just a baby.”

  “You’d be surprised what some people will do to their babies,” Gideon says in a flatline. He chews off a piece of cornbread. “You know what they call the Complex, where they keep the Incentives stashed?”

  “Purgatorium.” Cypress stabs at her eggs with a fork, her eyes glassy.

  “That’s right.” Gideon’s lips curve into a vacant smile. “Pretty intense sounding, huh?”

  I fight the sudden urge to lunge across the table.

  Digory glares at him. “Shut it, Warrick.”

  When Gideon looks up from his own plate, he seems genuinely surprised. His eyes flit between Digory and me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-no. They wouldn’t hurt him … ”

  “Uh … this is the Establishment we’re talking about, right?” Cypress asks. She takes a last swig of juice and looks around to make sure none of the other Imps sitting nearby are listening. “The Recruitment … killing our loved ones … ring any bells?”

  “Thanks for making my point.” Digory sighs.

  Confusion elbows the sarcasm out of her expression.

  Digory grips my hands. “Goslin’s right. It’s because of the Establishment’s cruelty that you can guarantee they’re making sure all of our families are being well-nourished and taken care of. They’d never risk anything happening to them and spoiling their sadistic psychological torture.” He leans in closer, drowning me in his eyes. “Cole’s fine right now, Lucian. If you trust anything, trust that.”

  I squeeze his hands back. “Thanks,” I whisper.

  Ophelia rests a hand on my shoulder. “During the Re-cruitment. That woman up there with you and your brother, Spark … that wasn’t your mama, was it?”

  I shake my head. “Mrs. Bledsoe. She’s like a mother to me. To me and my brother. She’s looked after us ever since … ”

  I swallow. “For a while now … ”

  Ophelia smiles. “Mamas are so important.” Her eyes pool. “Heck, mine’s sacrificed everything for me.” The pools dry up. Her eyes are somewhere else again, just like during Slade’s “welcome.” “Mama’s made me who I am today.”

  And just who are you? I wonder.

  She laughs, almost as if she’s read my mind.“Me and my sister, both.”

  “The two of them, your mother and your sister … they’re your people, I take it?” I ask.

  “They sure are! I’d do anything for them!” She giggles. “So you see, Spark. We have a lot in common. I have my mama and sister. And you have your brother and that darling that’s like a mama to you.” She gives me a hug and leans into my ear. “I’m sure you’d just be totally crushed if something happened to that sweet little brother of yours.”

  A chill slithers down my spine. I break free of her embrace and stare her down. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  She beams. “One can only hope.”

  Then she turns to Gideon. “As long as we’re talking about family, who are you making a stand for?”

  Gideon mumbles something unintelligible.

  “What did you say, Giddy?” she squeaks.

  He swallows the last of his cornbread. “My parents.”

  “Parents?” Cypress grumbles. “I would have thought you sprang from a test tube or something.”

  I’m expecting Gideon to fire back, both barrels blazing. But he doesn’t. Instead he just looks at her. “Nah. I’m one of the ones lucky enough to have both a mother and a father.”

  “You must be so excited!” Ophelia squeals. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to them when you see them again?”

  He smiles. “I’ve thought of nothing else ever since I heard my name get called in Town Square.” He shrugs. “Guess I won’t know exactly what I’m going to say until the time comes.”

  For the first time, I realize that there’s so much about them I don’t really know.

  Including Digory.

  I opt for the easier target. “What about you, Goslin?”

  Cypress looks up from picking at her teeth. “Me? What about me?”

  I roll my eyes. “Who are your Incent-family? Who are you fighting for?”

  She bolts upright. “None of your business!” She grabs her duffel bag. “You guys are really annoying with all your prying. Besides, tactically, it makes no sense to give away all your weaknesses.” She shoves her empty chair against the table. “Morons.”

  I shake my head. “Maybe we’re just trying to get to know each other bet-”

  “Get to know each other better for what?” she snaps. “So we can say, I really like that girl or that guy, even though they forced me to pull the plug on my mother? Sheesh!”

  Ophelia’s eyes supernova. “So one of them’s your mama, too!”

  “No. Neither one is my mama.” Cypress walks a few steps away, then turns. “If it makes all of you feel any better, I’ve never even laid eyes on the ones I’m fighting for.”

  All too soon, Slade appears at our table licking her lips. “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast. Now’s when the fun begins.”

  With the exception of an hour lunch break, the rest of the day consists of nonstop training exercises, including Drill and Ceremony training, where we’re issued fake weapons so we can get familiar with their feel and added weight while being instructed on the proper procedures for marching, standing at attention, facing right or left, and standing at ease.

  After all that, Slade lectures us, and I have to bite my tongue as she drones on and on about the Establishment’s values and code of conduct. Then it’s on to Basic Weapons Marksmanship, including disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling our weapons, with Slade sneering and shouting at us the entire time.<
br />
  “Not that way, Spark! It looks like you’re handling a mop!” she barks.

  By the time dinner rolls around, everyone’s looking pretty somber, including Digory.

  “Hope you enjoyed your first day of training,” Slade announces back at the barracks. “Tomorrow I won’t be so easy on you.”

  We’re all too exhausted to take advantage of the one free hour of personal time we have until lights out, so we crash early. Gideon’s tossing and turning again, and Cypress and Ophelia are already snoring lightly. I strip to my underwear and plop onto my cot.

  I glance at Digory. The perfectly symmetrical contours of his body ripple as he takes off his uniform, folds it neatly, and stuffs his gear into his locker.

  He never did say who he was fighting for. He knows all about me and Cole, but he’s never spoken about his people. And part of me’s been afraid to ask. Though I’m not quite sure why …

  He slips into bed. “G’night, Lucian.”

  “Digory,” I whisper. “About the Culling. Who are your — ?”

  “Get some sleep. We have another busy day tomorrow.” Then he rolls over, and I’m staring at his broad muscled back in the shard of moonlight that cuts through the small window of the barracks.

  Is he really that tired or is it part of some strategy, like Cypress suggested?

  After all that talk about trust, Digory obviously doesn’t trust me.

  There’s too much at stake to let my guard down. Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe are the only people I can afford to think about.

  I can’t afford to trust anything anyone says anymore.

  The last thought I have before my aching body drifts into unconsciousness is that I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the rest of basic training, let alone the Trials.

  Fourteen

  I never get the chance to press Digory on his Incentives. The next three weeks are even more grueling, with Slade piling more and more on us each day. The morning calisthenics become more intense, and there’s added instruction on Ground Fighting Techniques, Map Reading, Land Navigation, Compass Use, First Aid Training, and Dressing Wounds.

  During Basic Combat Training, we’re deposited by a Squawker onto a circular training platform, about twenty-five feet in diameter, that hovers high above the steel dome of Infiernos. We’ve been placed under the tutelage of Styles and Renquist, the two burly Imps who roughed me up in my cell at the Citadel.

  “Whatever you do,” Styles grunts, indicating a yellow line running the circumference of the platform about a foot away from the edge, “don’t attempt to cross the energy field.”

  I stare over the edge of the platform and immediately look away, overcome with vertigo.

  Gideon lets loose a nervous chuckle. He traces the yellow line with the toe of his boot. “I wonder what happens if we do?” he whispers. Without hesitating he kicks a small pebble past the stripe.

  POP!

  The rock sparks and shatters into a dusty cloud.

  He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean. “Guess falling over the edge is the least of our worries.”

  “Let’s go, people!” Renquist barks.

  Styles and Renquist instruct us in unarmed hand-to-hand combat techniques, flinging us around the exercise mats as if we were rag dolls. Then they pit us against each other in bout after bout, the winner of each round taking on the next Recruit.

  Of course, Digory takes Gideon down easily. “Sorry,” he mutters as he lifts Gideon to his feet as if he were a small child.

  Cypress gives Digory a heated tussle, both of them swinging, spinning, and kicking until their breathing’s ragged. But in the end, she pounds her fist on the ground in surrender once he manages to straddle her in a chokehold. “Good job,” he says, offering to help her to her feet, but she just glares at him.

  When it’s my turn, Digory looks pained. “Don’t worry,” he whispers.

  A flash of anger hits me. Does he really think I’m not capable of handling myself?

  I charge at him, but he hooks his foot underneath mine and we both tumble to the ground, rolling across the platform. Before he can get a grip on me, I slither from his grasp, roll onto his back, and pin his arm behind him.

  “Good job, Spark!” Cypress shouts.

  Digory chuckles. “Not bad.”

  “Thanks.”

  Before I have a moment to bask in my victory, Digory wrenches free of my hold and rolls on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. I struggle underneath the weight of his body, but his grip’s like iron. Then he’s staring down at me, breathing hard, his glistening torso heaving from his efforts. He grins. “You’re welcome.”

  I can’t help but grin back. “Next time.”

  When I give the surrender signal, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. The smile’s disappeared. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

  I sigh. “You wish.”

  Cypress shoots me a look of disgust.

  Finally, it’s Digory against the only remaining Recruit, Ophelia. He leans in to her just as their match is about to start. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

  As soon as Renquist gives the signal, Ophelia hooks a foot around Digory’s ankle, grabs his arm, and flips him over. He crashes to the ground, his head barely contained within the yellow perimeter line.

  Digory twists his head and ogles the line, mere centimeters away. His eyes bulge. The sound of crackling and the stench of singed hair fills the air …

  Ophelia’s boot presses into Digory’s chin, pushing him closer to the yellow barrier. Her eyes have that same vacant expression I saw in them before.

  “Ophelia … ” Digory groans through the pressure on his windpipe. “I give up.” His hand slaps the platform’s surface.

  “Good job, Recruit Juniper,” Styles grunts.

  Ophelia lifts her boot from Digory’s throat and steps back, her eyes glowing with satisfaction. “I did good ?” Then she’s giggling, a sound that pours down my back like ice cubes.

  I rush past her and crouch beside Digory. “Are you hurt?”

  He sits up, rubbing the red welt on his throat. “I’m fine.” He musters a smile. “She just caught me off guard.” His shakes his head. “Won’t happen again.”

  As exhausting as the training is, I find that each day my endurance increases bit by bit, the soreness in my body easing off a tad as it becomes more solid and toned.

  Maybe I’ll make it to the Trials after all.

  If anything, channeling all the physical energy has kept the nightmares at bay-at least for now.

  After a particularly arduous day of training, as I’m just about to slip into sleep after lights out, the barracks door crashes open. Half a dozen hulking Imps clad all in black, wearing masks that cover everything but their eyes, swarm inside, carrying flashlights.

  I bolt up in bed. “What’s going-?”

  “On your feet!” the lead figure shouts.

  The next thing I know, the five of us are being dragged from our bunks by these brutes.

  “You’re hurting me!” Ophelia squeals.

  I exchange anxious looks with Digory just before a hood is pulled over my face. With no eye slits, I can’t see a thing. Panic surges through me like an electrical current. The coarse material feels like it’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.

  “Wait! I need my glasses!” Gideon cries.

  Then I’m being dragged and shoved outside, I think. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Lucian!” Digory’s voice, a few feet away.

  “Keep your mouths shut!” my captor hisses into my ear. “Inside!” A large hand shoves me. I trip over my own feet and land on my knees.

  “Strap them in,” another voice calls to my right.

  I’m yanked to my feet and shoved into a seat. A harness comes down over me and locks into place.

  My heart’s thumping out of control. What are they going to do us? What if they’ve decided we’re not working out and they’re going to kill us?

  “Cole … ” I whisper to t
he dark.

  “Lucian?” Digory whispers back, right beside me.

  His fingers grope for mine and his touch is just enough to keep me from going over the edge.

  A metal door clangs shut. “Let’s move!” one of the Imps shouts.

  There’s the grind and whir of engines and then a deep vibration as whatever vehicle we’re in begins to move.

  The next hour is agonizing. We’re jostled to and fro for what seems like forever. Then at one point we stop and are transferred to some other vehicle. This time it feels like we’re airborne.

  “Hang tight!” an unknown voice calls through a loudspeaker. “We’re in for some chop!”

  The craft is buffeted by turbulence and I lean closer to Digory to steady myself.

  I can hear muted sobs coming from close by. Ophelia? Gideon?

  When it’s finally over, the craft comes to a rocky stop and the engines cut out with a long whine. A loud clank like the opening of a door-a hatch? — then the harnesses click open and we’re pulled from our seats and prodded down a slope, some kind of ramp I imagine.

  The first thing I notice is a biting cold wind that sets my half-naked body shivering. The last time I felt like this was when-

  My hands are uncuffed and the hood is ripped off my face.

  Of course. We’re standing on the deck of a ship, much larger than the freighter that brought us to Infiernos. An aircraft carrier, by the looks of it. Before us, Sergeant Slade stands alongside the goons who kidnapped us from the barracks. They’ve removed their masks and I recognize Styles and Renquist among them, grins plastered on their faces.

  “Welcome to your first impromptu FTX, Field Training Exercise,” Slade announces. “For the past several weeks, your training has concentrated on increasing your fitness and endurance, as well as learning basic survival and combat skills. Now the time has come to put your newly acquired proficiencies into play.”

  There’s an audible shift in our stances. Our eyes dart to each other, and then back to Slade and the Imps.