The Culling

by Steven dos Santos

  “You mean … ?”

  “That’s right. I’m personally escorting you to the Prefect for questioning.”

  My knees almost give—a side effect of the exhaustion, relief, and anxiety swirling inside me.

  She pulls out a triangular metallic device and points it at me. I’ve seen those in use before. Nerve stimulators. Very painful. Very effective.

  “Move,” she barks.

  I shamble from the cell, squinting against the bright lights, with Valerian at my back.

  The path to the Citadel’s main tower leads me past the dungeon levels, where the anguished cries of those waiting for sentencing or questioning raise all the hairs on my body. From the festering prison, through the shiny metallic Imposer precinct, up spiraling staircases and through enormous iron doors, I travel higher and higher, Valerian’s nerve stimulator pressing against the small of my back the entire way. If I were to make any move that she deemed suspect, a simple press of a button would do anything from frying all my nerve-endings to inducing instant cardiac arrest, depending on the device’s setting and her mood. From what I’ve already experienced, I know I don’t want to test either.

  The closer I get to the Prefect’s tower, the faster my heart beats and the shorter my breaths. It’s been two years. Since just before my mother died. Other than a few smuggled communications, we’ve barely had any contact. If they find out we’ve interacted in any way, it could destroy him.

  I’m not sure what to expect. Life in the service can change a person. I think about how I’ve changed since Mom died. How has he changed?

  As Valerian prods my body up and around the winding staircase leading to the Prefect’s antechamber, my mind dances around the questions that I so desperately want answered, but so desperately fear the answers to.

  Will he still feel the same way about me now that he’s lived away from the Parish and been exposed to so much more, in two years, than I’ve been in my entire life? Or have I gambled Cole’s life away in vain?

  The stairs dead-end in front of a set of high, arched, paneled doors that are flanked by two other stone-faced Imps.

  The answers to both my questions lie just beyond.

  Valerian salutes the Imps. “Captain Valerian requesting permission to enter the Prefect’s chamber with the prisoner.”

  The guards salute back. The one on the right presses a button on the panel by the doors. They move apart with a soft creak.

  I gulp down the last of my spit, staring at the widening rift.

  When Valerian nudges me inside, I almost risk the stimulator’s wrath before my feet finally respond and propel their burden inside.

  The room, if you can call it that, is the grandest I’ve ever seen. The ceiling towers overhead, culminating in a glass skylight that frames the noon sun in an oval, like it’s an all-powerful eye. Tearing my eyes from the blinding light, I take in molded archways flanked by columns three times the width of my body. On one wall, marble busts of previous Prefects rest in alcoves a couple of feet apart, making you feel like dozens of eyes are scrutinizing your every move as you walk past them. Set into the opposite wall is a huge glass tank, displaying a couple of small trees sprouting every color of the rainbow. Bands of scaly black twist through their branches. My skin erupts into gooseflesh and I look away.

  Across from this tank is a clear enclosure with two fluffy white rats pressed against the glass, their whiskers twitching as if they can smell me.

  Ahead, a tall shape stands with its back to me, silhouetted on a balcony overlooking Town Square. I don’t have to see the face to know who it is. My pulse quickens. Sure, he’s taller now, but that outline is the same, imprinted in my brain. The last time I saw it was on the bank of Fortune’s River. He was standing with his back to me then, too. Except we’d just said our goodbyes.

  As much as I’ve played out this moment in my mind every day for the past two years, now that it’s here, my mouth suddenly forgets to speak.

  Valerian’s hasn’t. “Excuse me, Prefect Thorn. I’ve brought you the prisoner as requested.”

  He turns and faces me at last, but the brightness behind him masks his face in shadow.

  “Leave us.” His voice sounds deeper, more like a man’s. He’s eighteen now, I remind myself.

  “But, Sir,” Valerian responds. “The prisoner has exhibited signs of violent behavior. Is it wise to—”

  “That will be all, Officer.”

  Valerian clicks her boots together. “Yes, Sir.” She whirls and bumps into my arm, reigniting the bruise on her way out.

  “And lock the door. I’m not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Then she’s gone, the great doors swinging closed with a soft click.

  He just stands there for a moment. Then he walks toward me. The sound of each step on the marble hammers into my head.

  I’m breathing too fast. Trying to control it just makes it worse. I’m afraid I’ll hyperventilate and collapse, not exactly the reunion I’d envisioned. But then again, it’s not about us, it’s about Cole. I take in a deep breath and tense my muscles to quash the trembling.

  He stops a few feet away and just stares, not a hint of a word on his lips.

  Despite all my efforts, I feel like I’m going to lose it right there. I can’t take not knowing anymore. “Cassius,” I murmur.

  His thick eyebrows arch. He nods toward the door. “Do you think I was too hard on her?”

  “Huh?” Of all the things I expected him to say, I’m not prepared for that question.

  “I’m still working on my intimidating voice,” he says, his tone dropping an octave. Then the seriousness evaporates from his face, leaving only a huge grin, brighter than the streaming sun.

  My heart almost shuts down. He’s adorned in a navy blue tunic trimmed with gold lace, attire befitting a Prefect. His wavy auburn hair is longer now, and each strand captures the sunlight. Sea-green eyes wash over me, carrying away the dread and pain. I’m trembling again, this time with emotions I’m not quite sure I understand and don’t care if I ever do.

  “I told you I’d come back for you, Lucky.” His soft voice quavers at the end.

  “So what took you so long, huh?” I choke on the words.

  And then we’re hugging each other so fiercely I can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t think of a better place to die.

  Cassius’s chest muffles my sobs. I’ve tried to be strong for Cole, but everything that’s happened today—meeting Digory, that horrible death in the alley, the looming Recruitment—it’s all too much to hold in, and I welcome sharing this weight that’s threatening to crush me with every breath I take.

  All too soon, we pull apart, basking in each other.

  The palm of his hand travels from his head to mine, measuring the difference in our height. “Look at you, my little Lucky, all grown up.”

  “And you, come back the youngest Prefect the Parish has ever known.” My fingers trace the delicate embroidery on his lapels.

  A cloud siphons the brightness from his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself.” He enfolds my wrists with the warmth of his touch. “I couldn’t risk anyone finding out … that you … ”

  My eyes drop to my filthy bare feet. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly conscious of my near nakedness. “That you still associate with us peons?” I whisper.

  His finger tilts my chin up until our eyes link. “No, Lucky. It’s not like that, I promise you. It’s just that the Establishment has certain protocols when it comes to fraternization between government officials and citizens.” He stuffs his hands into his vest pockets. “I figured I could do you and your family more good if our relationship was seen as a more neutral one, to dispel any claims of favoritism, that’s all.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Yeah, I understand, Cass. It’s not wise to show them you care abo
ut anyone in particular, especially if you’re going to represent the Establishment’s code of values.” I don’t intend to sound so harsh, but my conversation with Digory in the sewers still burns in my mind.

  Cassius doesn’t seem to notice. He’s circling me, inspecting the flaps of the shoddy blanket that barely cover the cuts beneath. “As soon as I heard you were in custody I had them bring you right to me.” He stops, brushing his forehead against mine. “How bad did they hurt you, Lucky?”

  I shrug. “I’ll be all right.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “What’s that smell? Did you lose at Shit Dash or something?”

  “Hey, I used to beat you at that every time, and you know it!” I give him a playful push away.

  He shakes his head. “Faulty memory, Lucky. Come here.” He leads me behind a red velvet partition that conceals a large clawfoot tub. “I had a bath drawn for you. You can get cleaned up.”

  “Thanks.” I wince as he pulls the soiled mantle off my aching limbs.

  He tosses it into a corner. “I think we can find you something that fits better.”

  Then I submerge my naked body into the water, bracing myself for the usual jolt of coldness, only to be shocked by how warm and soothing it feels, like a thousand toasty fingers kneading my sore muscles. People actually live like this? If I did, I’d bathe four or five times a day instead of the once-a-day ritual of enduring a freezing splash from a rusty spigot.

  Cassius kneels beside the tub, using a sponge to gently scrub away the grime coating me, careful around my cuts and bruises. “Lucky, what about Cole? Your mother? How are they?”

  My vocal chords twist tight. “Mom … she … she’s gone. Reaper’s Cough. About six months after you left.” I blink, spilling a few drops into the bathwater.

  He massages soap into my scalp. “I don’t know what to say. I tried to make inquiries about your family, but you know—”

  “Contact is forbidden. Yeah, I know.” I sink deeper into the water.

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here now.” He cups water in his hands and rinses out my hair, making sure it doesn’t get in my eyes. “How’s Cole handling things?”

  I sit up. “Cole’s a real champ. He’s the best little brother a guy can have.”

  Cassius laughs. I’ve missed that sound. “I’m sure he doesn’t even remember his Uncle Cass.”

  I turn and grip the tub’s rim. “Of course he remembers you! I’ve only told him the stories of all our adventures, like a million times!” My mind floods with a stream of memories. “Well, some of our adventures, at least.”

  He winks at me. “Remember the time we snuck past that squad of Imposers into Old Man Roarkeshire’s farm and got ahold of that Wanderer’s Brew?”

  “Just how much intoxicant was in that thing?”

  Cassius stands, knuckles resting against his hips. “All I know is that Old Man Roarkeshire used it to polish the metal hinges in his barn.”

  I chuckle. “Great stuff!”

  He grips one of the marble columns and swings completely around it. “We ought to take a ride out there sometime, see the old place!”

  Visions of burning skin and its stench drains the remaining warmth from the bathwater. “We can’t. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

  A sigh escapes Cassius. “How stupid of me. I heard about …

  about that.”

  My eyes drop to a bubble forming a dome on my palm. A pair of eyes stares at me. Probably just my own reflection. But why are they sky blue and filled with accusation? I dunk my hand beneath the surface.

  I’ve had enough. No matter how long I lie here, I’ll never feel completely clean. Rising, I climb from the tub. Cassius picks up a towel draped over a pedestal and tosses it my way. With my back to him, I dry off. When I’m finished, he’s holding a robe open and slips it around me. It’s made of a lustrous black material that’s softer than any I’ve ever felt before.

  “It’s called silk,” he whispers in my ear. “Only the best for my Lucky.” He reaches around me and cinches the robe’s sash about my waist.

  “Cole must be wondering where I am,” I whisper back.

  “So he hasn’t been taken into a child assimilation program?”

  Breaking from his embrace, I swerve to lock eyes. “Of course not. I’m his family. He belongs with me.”

  Genuine surprise darts from Cassius’s eyes, like needles to my skin. “I only meant that I’m sure it’s hard to take care of a—what is he now, four?—year-old on your own.”

  I back away on uncertain legs. “Mrs. Bledsoe helps out during my shift at the library. We don’t need any outsiders.” My heart gallops. I lean against the partition to steady myself.

  Cassius moves closer, arms open wide. “But the Establishment’s child care programs are a valuable—”

  “I’m not going to give Cole to strangers, Cass. He’s lost Mom and Dad. He’s not going to lose me, too.” A fog shrouds my brain.

  Cassius reaches me and draws me close, a beacon in the mist. “I wasn’t trying to offend you, Lucky.”

  Bringing my fingers to my temples, I try to massage away the throbbing. “It’s just that—”

  “Here! I know what you need!” He smiles, takes hold of my hand, and leads me to a table nestled in a small alcove. In its center rests a covered silver tray. Even before he lifts the lid, a mixed aroma of fresh sweetness and cooked meat overpowers my nostrils. My stomach growls. Saliva floods my mouth.

  He raises the cover. “I thought you might be hun—”

  I pounce on the tray. Grabbing the meat with my bare hands, I tear into it with my teeth, hardly savoring each morsel as it slides down my gullet. Then I’m stuffing cheese and fruits into my mouth, frenzied by the new tastes assaulting my tongue as I try to devour them all before someone steals them away.

  When I finally look up, a monstrous beast stares back at me, teeth bared, a distorted face smeared with the blood of its latest kill. Then I realize it’s my own face, reflected on the tray’s silver cover. Disgust and shame overwhelm me.

  “It’s going to be all right, Lucky.” Cassius leads me to one of the plush sofas, sets me down, and wipes my face with a handkerchief. We sit there in silence, his arm around me, my face buried in his shoulder. I’m not sure how much time passes before I find my voice again.

  “Cole … he’s … he’s all I have left. That’s why I risked coming here today—allowed myself to be taken into custody—it was the only way I could think of to see you face-to-face and ask you to protect him in case I get recruited.”

  “You took a big chance. If I hadn’t seen your name on the prisoner roster … ” His arm squeezes me close.

  I look into his eyes. “The Recruitment. Now that I’m sixteen, there’s a chance I could be selected.” My hands grab both of his. “You have to promise me that if that happens, you’ll do whatever you can to keep Cole from being one of the Incentives. I’ll never choose to … I’ll never choose him … and you know what will happen.”

  He purses his lips. “You’ll both be shelved.”

  “That’s right, we’ll be murdered, only they’ll make Cole watch me get killed first. You were the one who told me how it worked, remember? How they make you choose between the people you love … what happened to your father … ”

  He brings my hands to his lips. “That’s not going to happen to you and Cole. I’d never let it.”

  I scoot closer. “So you’ll help us then?”

  His arms envelop me. “Do you even have to ask? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He pulls away. “But Lucky, there’s something you need to explain to me first.” He springs from the couch and strides over to his desk.

  When he turns back to me, he’s holding up Digory’s unfurled poster.

  Seven

  I can barely swallow. I clamber from my seat and limp ove
r to him. “Cass, it isn’t mine. I swear it. I … I picked it up near the sewer. I’d never seen it before today.” I look away. I hate the idea of dancing around the truth with Cass. But he wouldn’t understand about Digory, would he? And the thought of Digory being slaughtered the way that guy in the alley was …

  Cassius nods. “I believe you. The Parish is going to be a real challenge for a new Prefect to administer. I’m going to need your help, your support, if I’m going to pull this off.”

  Gripping the edge of the desk, I brace myself against the cold granite. “What can I do to help you?”

  He raises the poster higher. “This rebellion. It’s got to be crushed. If it isn’t, everyone loses.”

  “I don’t know much about it, but … ” The stone edge of the desk digs into my lower back. “Is it so wrong for people to want a better life … something to look forward to?” My throat gulps dryness. “I know that’s what I want for Cole. Does that mean I should be crushed, too?” I stand as straight as I can, forcing him to look up into my eyes.

  He waves my question away. “It’s not the same. You and Cole are different.” The poster crumples in his grip. “You’re not like these leeches who want to drain the government of its resources. Ingrates, all of them.” He flings the banner on the floor, where it rolls up against the foot of the sofa.

  My jaw plunges. “Leeches? Ingrates? It wasn’t so long ago you used words like that to describe the Establishment, not its citizens.”

  His eyes dim. “I was young then. I didn’t understand.” He shakes his head. “Without order, civilizations whither and die. The Establishment’s learned from the mistakes our ancestors made.”

  “And it’s making even bigger ones.” I stare into his eyes. “What’s gotten into you? How can you think the Establishment cares about the good of all its people? I just saw someone not much older than we are get mauled to death by a Canid patrol. Have you taken a good look around you? Taken a good look at me ?” I tug open the top of my robe, exposing the blue and purple blotches that contrast with my pasty flesh. Lacerations weave across my chest like the fancy lace pattern on his lapels, swirling downward to wrap around my jutting ribs.