by Grayson Crew
THE WARD
CRUCIBLE
GRAYSON CREW
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I SOLD
II RUN
III WHISPER
IV SHADOW
V PROJECTION
VI JAEL
VII AWAKEN
PROLOGUE
The first fingers of dawn reach over the ocean.
Not now.
I’m trembling and my cheeks are wet.
Please, not now.
“You need more sleep, West” says Ana in a low voice. Her Portuguese accent thickens when she’s tired.
Somehow, despite the scene of ruin around us, her green eyes are still bright. Like all the death we’ve been surrounded with wasn’t completely pointless.
As the tip of the sun breaks over the horizon, I see the smoke again. The sky is blanketed from the flames that still burn in the jungle.
The air is saturated with the smell of cinder, sap and soot. This beach is safe . . . at least from the flames. But the Shadows are still out there, hunting us.
The Whispers are still waiting to creep into our minds, to control us. They’ve killed so many. My family. They’ve killed my family.
At a sandbar not far from us, another hologram flashes in and out midair. Bleeding shades of blue and gray flicker like a classroom projector showing a girl with raven hair. Jael.
I stand up and walk toward it, stopping at the water’s edge. Her projection is running through an arched gate. Her face is bloody. She collapses. The projection loops the scene.
The sun continues to rise. Jael’s projection cries out for help. My stomach rolls as my fists clench. Water wells under my eyes and I race out to the waves, pounding them with my fists, murdering them like the Whispers are murdering her.
I scream when she does, but I know she doesn’t hear. It’s just a projection. I crash my back against a curling wave. Its power sucks me farther from the shore. Like I care.
“West!”
Ana’s shout shakes me, brings me back to where we are: A beach, it’s sunrise, nearly everyone I love is dead, Dovehaven is in flames, Jael is alone and dying or she’s already dead. Ana is alive. I’m alive.
I’m alive.
I have to find her.
Dead or alive, I have to find Jael.
I
THE FACILITY
Today is the Day
Several months earlier…
In my dream, there’s a warm arm wrapped around me holding me. But the dream ends. When I wake up I’m alone. I curl up under my thin sheet, wrapping my arms around my pillow, wishing someone would hold me the same way.
The morning horn blares through speakers. I crawl out from under my sheets, wrap in a towel and make my way to the bathing pool just outside my bunk.
Morning light is just breaking over the barbed fence that runs the perimeter of the Facility. The cement walls that hold the water—what we call a pool—are cracked and moldy.
I can smell the bleach that gets poured into the water every night. Sometimes, they pour in too much and it gives me a rash for days.
Most of the other boys are already scooping buckets of water out to use for washing up.
Reaching into the pool, I pause and look at my reflection, messy brown hair over dark eyes.
Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice about getting cleaned up and dressed, but today is different.
Today is the day I’ll be put up for auction.
The Girl with Raven Hair
I finish washing up and slip on my stiff, khaki uniform, one of two I’m given every year.
“Line up!” shouts the bunk leader after blowing a whistle. We line up in rows by age, with the youngest in front and the oldest in the back. I’m in the middle. Lining up for inspection, the bunk leader passes and looks at my stained, canvas shoes and wrinkled shorts.
"This is a warning," he says. "Next time, you lose points."
I bow as expected, acknowledging my negligence. The other boys snicker.
“You’ll lose points too, so shut up,” replies our leader. The boys get quiet. After finishing inspection, we move out and head to the cafeteria.
The halls we walk are dirt. Even though we’re outside, the dilapidated buildings to either side are tall enough to block most of the light when it’s this early. Flickering fluorescent bulbs light our way instead.
Looking up at some of the bunks and classrooms, it’s hard to believe they don’t just topple or cave in. Some buildings are wooden with slatted windows and others are cement blocks that go up several floors.
A few of the bunks are pieced together by corrugated metal sheets. Those are for the really bad wards, or the ones who have just given up.
The girls' bunks are out and meeting up with us. Jael passes. Amber eyes meet mine for a moment before dark, raven hair falls in front of her face. She’s swept into a crowd of starched dresses.
Pills
In the cafeteria we stand at our tables while our bunk leaders start the morning chant, their voices echoing in the vast space. I watch Jael’s lips as we repeat the chant, a pledge of our commitment to this wonderful facility and our benevolent warden that no ward has ever seen.
An announcement crackles through the speaker system, "All sixth-years and above report to the docks for first period. The Auction will be held second period. Lower grades will follow the normal schedule." For the sixth-years like me, this auction is our first.
We sit and pull the plastic wrap off our food trays, letting the smell of sticky rice and wet kale rise. Beside each tray is a paper cup with our daily pills.
Jael takes her pills in one swallow. “These might be our last pills,” she says to me in her thick, Urdu accent.
“Don’t talk like that,” I say. The truth is that no one really knows who’s going to be sold, when they’re going to be sold, or to where. We just hold our breath and hope to not get sold to a nasty bidder.
“Maybe today’s your lucky day Jael,” says a boy.
“You want more laps?” I snap at him, “Cause that’s what you’ll get if you keep smarting off.”
“We’re all getting sold someday,” Jael says.
“Yeah, well the later the better,” I say back.
The low hum of conversation continues. I take my pills. All wards are on cheap medicine of some sort for one reason or another. That’s how the Facility works; they get us dependent on the pills, then use that to keep us in line.
Sometimes, they’ll pull a ward’s meds for a day or two so they have to suffer withdrawal. If the pills get pulled and aren’t brought back in a week or two, it’s usually a message.
The warden is saying he wants you out--more or less a guarantee that you’ll be sold at the next auction to a low-end bidder. It also means that every ward goes through withdrawal when they’re eventually sold.
A Moment of Quiet
The dismissal bell rings and wards flood through the exits; the first-through-fifth year kids heading to their first period class, while the sixth-years and above make their way to the docks.
I make sure I’m the last one to leave. Jael stays behind too. The silence in the large room calms me as I slowly inhale, letting the air rest in my lungs before breathing out.
I meet her eyes.
Either the light’s playing tricks or her eyes are quivering.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I say.
We leave the silence behind and thread our way through the maze of outside corridors that lead to the docks. Along the way, I see a group of younger wards being led into a long rectangular hall, the same one I was taken to when I first arrived at the Facility, six ye
ars ago.
The Fatherless
I was ten, the same age as these kids. And just like them I had arrived here fresh from the Cradle--the only place any young ward has ever known. We’re born there, and under the strict watch of a Guardian, we spend the first years of our life there. If we survive it, we’re sent to a facility, sent to this room.
I remember, there were hundreds of us kneeling in a straight row across a stage. Guardians--tall men with dark uniforms--started walking up and down the corridor pulling certain students out and placing them in their own line.
I was shaking because I didn’t really understand what was happening. My palms were sweating and my heart was racing. The first Guardian passed me without even giving me a glance. He chose the girl next to me. The next three Guardians chose every student around me, leaving me to stand alone. A pitiful island on a nearly empty stage.
Then came Hiro. His slicked hair was dark gray, and he wore impossibly bright, white sneakers.
As he walked down the line, his step was straight and deliberate. Stopping in front of me he extended his hand—something no Guardian had ever done.
I didn’t know how to react, so I mumbled some nonsense of shame and gratitude. He gently pulled me forward and careered me toward his line, where I waited until the selections ended.
There were still many students left unchosen after all the Guardians made their picks. They were guided out of the hall and into a dark room beyond.
I never saw them again.
I’m lucky. Most Guardians don’t care about their wards like Hiro does. I guess that’s why I got so attached to him during my first year. I took in every word he said, watched every movement. I began emulating him.
I would sit the way he sat, walk the way he walked. I even learned some basic Japanese just to impress him. He was the only person I had the slightest desire to please and the only one that made me feel any warmth in my life. Him and later Jael.
Buy or Die
As the years passed, Hiro helped me and his other students prepare as best we could for the day when we would eventually be put up for sale.
That’s the only reason the facilities exist. To build us into a product and then sell us. If you’re clever enough--you can buy your way out.
There’s a motto down here among the older wards. Buy or die. It’s the only mantra they believe in.
For me, I don’t want to believe because one option is impossible and the other is hopeless. I think I’ll choose the third option, Whenever I figure out what that is.
Why I Wait
Making our way, Jael and I come to a freight elevator and file in with a group of wards.
“Watch it man,” says one of the bigger boys as I’m pressed in against him. I hear the rusty chains clang and the slipping of gears as the lift rises.
When the doors open, I smell the salty air that brings me the same mix of relief and fear every day.
Just down the slope in front of us are the docks and a cold ocean with no end.
The docks are cement rows that used to be used for harboring battle ships, but now they sit mostly empty. A few docks are still used for ships carrying wards that are sold at auctions. Each of the unused docks stretch far into the brackish water, with wards lining the edge, ready to dive in.
Every day, I’m required to swim an assigned number of laps. The number is based on my grades and behavior. The lower my grade, the more laps I have to swim.
I’m a mostly good student with mostly good grades, so I only have to swim three laps—from one dock to the next and back.
Most days, we do our laps at the end of the day, a sort of goodnight punishment. But today is special, we get to face our punishment early just in case we get sold--the Warden wouldn’t want anyone to miss out on their due laps just because they’re getting shipped to a bidder.
Watch-posts are scattered throughout the docks. I see a guard at the top of one, scanning the lines of students. Beside him is a rack with ropes and clubs, clear reminders of what happens if we don’t follow the rules.
At the lockers, I change into my trunks, now feeling the chill of the wind against my skin.
“Cold day today,” says Jael in a low voice as I take my spot next to her. The wind blows her dark hair across her face. She brushes it away.
I take a deep breath and dive.
She follows.
The water is cold and choppy, with only a few isolated rays of sunlight piercing through the cloudy sky. One lap is finished.
Jael is falling behind, but she usually does. Two laps. Three.
After completing my last lap, I wait at the ladder. Anymore, I can’t get myself to leave the water until Jael is finished.
Not since the Chumming.
The Chumming
The Chumming happened three years ago.
The water was unusually brackish and thick that day. All wards were at their spot, waiting for the signal to start their laps. The air reeked of something rotting.
A horn blew and we dove in.
Something in my gut turned. I remember racing through the thick, filmy water as fast and hard as I could. The pressure in my head was throbbing behind my ears, my heart was pounding.
During my third lap I started to hear screams.
The water around me became unnaturally disturbed. I glanced to the right and saw a ward go under, then another.
I pushed as hard as I could and made it to my fifth lap. Before finishing, I felt, rather than saw a massive shadow pass below me. I could feel it rising. I reached my lap goal and scrambled up the ladder to the dock. Looking back, I saw a younger ward struggling in the water.
She had a yellow bow in her hair.
I turned away so I couldn’t see her. But I knew she was still there, struggling. I couldn’t take it. I ran back to the ladder and climbed down to help her. Before I dropped in the water, her eyes met mine and for a moment her face brightened.
Then she was dragged under.
I raced back up the ladder, curled into a ball and covered my ears. I could hear the muffled sounds of fighting. Several boys must have gotten out of the water before finishing their laps. They were fighting with the guards. I could hear the dull thud of clubs.
I looked for a moment to see several boys being thrown back into the water, one of them pulled a guard in with him. Rumor had it that some of the older wards were planning a revolt.
The Chumming was a clear message to them and the rest of us of how completely expendable we all are.
Facing the Cold
Jael makes it back to the dock and climbs the ladder. She dries herself in the chilling wind while looking out to the horizon.
"I’m afraid West," she finally says.
Me too.
The horn sounds for us. We change and make our way to the auction.
The Auction House
Outside the Auction House, I line up behind the other wards, each grouped according to their bunk. Metal doors open and students go through in two lines.
The Auction House is a large oval room with a stage in the center. All the students are led to a wall of lockers where we’re instructed to change. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs as I’m led to my pod’s section, where we each stand--feet together, arms straight--on a small circle with our ward number.
We’re all facing an analog display. There are several men with bulky cameras walking up and down the Auction House, getting close-up shots of the wards. They seem to focus on the more attractive ones. For a moment one of them stops to film me.
The auctioneer approaches a microphone, "This auction is open, let the bidding begin," His voice drones as if this is normal day for him. I guess it is.
Nothing is happening. A minute passes, then two. Finally the analog display starts to show a combination of letters and numbers. I look at my bunk's section. It’s still blank. But Jael’s bunk has some activity.
Guards direct a girl to the auction block in the center of the room. Her lips are pursed and tears stream from
her eyes. I recognize her. She’s the Sixth-Year I heard about whose meds got pulled a couple weeks ago.
No one wants to get sold as a Sixth-Year. Our value is lowest at our first auction, so only the worst bidders buy us. Our value increases every auction--providing that our grades and performance keep up--so the longer a ward can go without a bid, the better their chance of being sold to a decent bidder—unless of course they buy their way out first.