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 the 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.
Slade gestures to the dark horizon. “Out there is a communications station.” She points to the rear of the platform we’re standing on. “The life raft behind you contains a map with coordinates to the radio tower, along with a compass and emergency supplies. Your mission is simple. Arrive at the station in one piece.” Her tongue traces her lips. “But I do suggest you spend as little time in the water as possible, what with the hypothermia factor, not to mention the aquatic predators that roam these seas.”
Digory clears his throat. “Excuse me, Sergeant, Sir. Permission to speak?”
Slade’s eyes slash him from head to toe. “Permission granted, Recruit.”
“What if we aren’t able to reach the radio tower?”
Malice edges out the contempt in her face. “Failure is not an option in my platoon, Recruit Tycho.” She pulls out a sleek palm-sized device topped with buttons.
In that instant, my eyes have just enough time to connect her words with the hinges on the platform floor, which separate us from Slade and the Imps.
Slade’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Good luck.” Her finger jabs at the black box’s top button.
The floor disappears, sending the five of us tumbling into the roaring abyss yawning below.
The icy water hits me like a thousand syringes plunging into my body.
Something tugs at me, pulling me upward. Then I’m breaking through a barrier. Sounds rip through my ears, muffled at first. I’m not sure where I am. Deep cold slices through the numbness of my skin.
A high-pitched siren unclogs my ears. It blares again, only this time I realize it’s not a siren, but a scream.
I cough up a mouthful of salt water, just in time to swallow another one.
“Lucian! I gotcha!” Digory calls in my ear. He squeezes me tight.
“I’m okay.” I spit ocean.
“Gideon! You got her?” he calls to my right.
I manage to turn my head enough to see Gideon treading water. He paddles toward us, Ophelia clinging to his side.
“She’s good.” Gideon responds through puffs of frosty breath. “But we need to get out of this wa-wa-wat-er fast before we fr—”
“I know that!” Digory shoots back. “Where do you suggest we go? The raft’s gone … ”
During their exchange, I’ve been looking past them at a rectangular shape drifting steadily away from our position. The raft. And in it, the silhouette of a girl, her long hair whipping about in the wind.
Cypress has stolen our only chance of survival.
The thought of what will happen to the rest of us jumpstarts my heart. Sucking in a lungful of ice, I break free of Digory and dive into the water after her.
“Lucian! Wait!”
But Digory’s voice is drowned out by the splashing of my flailing limbs and the sound of my heart battering my ears. Every breath is a battle. I can’t feel my arms and legs
as they carve into the water. My only focus is reaching that raft. I take in another gulp of frosty air and catch a glimpse of Cypress. I’m almost there.
My strokes are short and fast. Arms dig up the sea. Feet gyrate as rapidly as propellers. Ironically, it’s Cassius I have to thank for becoming such a good swimmer. All those times when we were kids, racing each other in the swamps behind the electrical plant, swimming through all that muck, having to hold our breath to avoid the awful stink infesting our nostrils as we tried to push each other’s heads beneath the surface. And now, years later, he’s holding my head down again. Only this time, he’s not playing, and he’s not going to let me come up for air.
The flash of fury fuels my strokes, faster and faster, until at last I reach the raft. I grab on to the side of the boat, leaning against it as I struggle to fill my aching lungs with air. I’m panting like a Canid. Slower. Breathe slower. I have to stop gulping air or I’ll hyperventilate. Everything’s hazy, and for a moment I feel like I’m going to pass out and slide back into the ocean for good this time.
The panic jolts me into action. Digging my fingers into the rubber rim, I hoist myself up and over the raft’s edge. My left hip slams onto the bottom before I roll onto my back.
I’m so numb, my body doesn’t even ache after that marathon swim. If it weren’t for the pain in my lungs, I might just be taking a little rest, sprawled out on this raft gazing up at the night sky.
The starfield is shattered by a wooden oar that appears out of nowhere. It gleams in the moonlight for a split-
second, then it slices in a downward arc toward my head. My paralysis evaporates like a puff of frosty breath. I roll out of the way.
Thwack! The blade’s edge grazes my left ear and whomps into the raft’s floor.
Cypress raises the oar again. But this time I’m ready for
her. The toe of my boot hammers into her shin.
“Ah!” She stumbles backward, trips over a backpack, and crashes against the equipment canisters strapped into the corner of the raft. Her hand loses its grip on the oar’s handle. She lies there stunned. Her other hand rubs the back of her head.
Chills rattle my body. I force myself to sit up. “Are you crazy?”
She doesn’t respond, just continues to squirm. A few moans escape her opened lips. Did she strike her head too hard? I didn’t mean to hurt her. It all happened so fast, with that damn oar coming right at me.
My knees creak their protest. Pulling myself to my feet, I stagger over and squat beside her.
“Cypress,” I barely manage. The wet clothes are taking their toll on me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But why did you … ?” I reach out to touch her cheek, but I’m so numb I can’t tell where my fingers end and she begins.
Her open palm clamps around the oar’s handle. She springs up and knocks me aside, holding the oar’s tip to my throat. Her eyes are colder than the black sea.
This time it’s anger that energizes me. Every second Digory and the others stay in that freezing water is a stroke of the pen on their death certificates.
“I don’t know what your problem is, but we have to go back and get the others now!”
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing personal. There’s something I need to do on my own.”
“But they’ll freeze to death if we don’t get them out of the water!”
“I don’t really care.”
“You’d just let them die like that, without another thought?”
“They would do the same to me.”
“Are you so sure? I wouldn’t.” I grip the oar’s tip. “Go ahead then. Bash in my skull. Open up my throat.” It’s hard to differentiate now between the shivers of terror and cold.
The oar digs deeper into my neck. The blade is shaking. Wooden splinters pierce my skin. The muscles in her face twitch, but her eyes remain glacial. Still, she hesitates.
“It’s a lot easier to paddle away and leave people in the dark than outright butcher them, isn’t it, Cypress? The thing is, they’re both pretty much murder, and I don’t think you’re capable of that.”
“Not yet, anyway,” she grunts. She pulls the oar away and bends over me.
I take in a deep breath, bracing myself. But she just offers her arm and pulls me to my feet.
“Thanks.” I rub my neck.
Her eyes narrow. “For what?”
“I don’t know. For not killing me, I guess.” I grab a second oar and plunk down on one side of the raft. The tip of my paddle sinks into the sea.
“Don’t press your luck.” She mimics my actions on the craft’s other side.
“Right. Let’s move.”
It’s slow going for the first minute or so, but our rowing falls into synch. Soon we’re speeding back to where I left the others behind. But the closer each stroke brings us, the more I fear that we’re too late.
“Digory! Gideon! Ophelia!” I call out into the gloom. “Can you hear me?”
The only reply is the crash of waves breaking against the raft.
I paddle faster, my oar stabbing the water. A tide of panic rises over me.
Cypress matches me, row for row. “It’s too late. They’re gone.”
“No, they’re not!” I shout the words, as if the louder I make them the more they’ll be true.
Dropping my oar, I stand up, cupping my hands around my frozen lips. “Can anyone hear me? Digory! Are you out there?”
My eyes scan the ocean. Nothing … only the hungry dark scarfing down everything in its path …
“Over here!” a voice calls. The two greatest words I’ve ever heard.
I drop and plunge my oar back into the water. “It came from that direction!” I point just off to our starboard side.
She’s already rowing. “I see them.”
As we draw nearer to the voice, I can’t help wonder who it was that called out. Between the thrashing of our oars in the water and the stutters and weakness in that cry, it’s impossible to be sure. It doesn’t matter. The three of them are still alive. They have to be.
“Look!” Cypress shouts.
A clump of tangled limbs floats listless in the water. My heart sinks.
“Watch your oar!” I shout back to Cypress. I struggle to maneuver the raft around so I won’t hit them with the oars. I throw my oar down and lean over the edge, gripping an icy arm.
Cypress is at my side in a flash, helping me haul the three of them up and over onto the raft. First Ophelia, shaking uncontrollably. Then Gideon, who looks like all the blood’s been drained from him. And finally, it takes all of our strength to drag Digory aboard. Even in the pale moonlight, I can see the gray taint to his skin.
Cypress grabs my shoulder. “There may be thermal blankets in that supply container over—”
“Check it!”
Then she’s gone, ripping through the gear stowed in the corner.
I lean in close to Digory, looking for signs of life. “Digory!” I slap his cheek lightly. But there’s no response. I hold my hand in front of his nose. Not a hint of warmth from his nostrils.
Nothing.
This is not happening! I grab his shoulders, shake him. “Digory! Wake up! Listen to me, damn it! Wake up!”
“Wrap yourselves in these.” Cypress throws a couple of thermal blankets at Ophelia and Gideon, and plops down next to me.
“I don’t think he’s breathing,” I say.
“Cover him in this.” Cypress pulls the thermal blanket close and I help her wrap it around his bare chest. There’s a click and an orange glow, and the blanket begins to heat.
Cypress hands me another blanket. “You too.”
Dazed, I offer no resistance as she cloaks me in the therm’s comforting warmth. But even that’s not enough to douse the icy fear creeping through me. I pull myself close to Digory and wrap myself around him. Maybe my added warm
th will be enough to spark life back into his veins.
“Listen to me, Digory,” I whisper in his ear. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.” I press my head against his chest. Shivers rock me, despite the heat radiating from the blanket.
Gideon stands over us, wrapped in his own thermal blanket. He’s colorless. “He tried going after you, but I started to drown while trying to help Juniper here, so he came back. He saved our lives.” He looks away. “I’m sorry.”
A flash of anger sears through me. “Don’t eulogize him, Warrick. He’s not dead!” I turn to Digory, whose face now has a blue hue.
The resuscitation exercises we learned in first aid training. Damn it. What if I’ve wasted too much time already?
I squat beside Digory and Ophelia. “Tilt his head back!”
Her eyes go wide.“What?”
“Just do it!” As Ophelia tilts Digory’s head back on her lap, I place both my hands on top of each other in the middle of his chest and start pushing, over and over again. Then I pinch his nose and blow two breaths into his lips before returning to pumping his chest.
“This is all your fault!” Gideon yells at Cypress. “You took the raft and left us to die. You killed him.” He grabs her shoulder. “Maybe you ought to spend a few minutes in that freezing water and see how it feels?”
She glares at the fingers clutching her. “Unless you’re planning on reliving the experience, I suggest you take your hand off me.”
Ophelia shakes her head. “It isn’t working!”
With each thrust of my hands, an image flashes into my mind. The first time I saw Digory at the Instructional Facility. Meeting him in that alley years later. His defiant look during the Recruitment.
I lean forward and pinch his nostrils closed again, press my lips to his, and blow in more air. I think about all those times he stole my breath away. Why doesn’t he use it now?
His eyes remain closed. His body still.
Ophelia touches my hand. “I’m really sorry, Spark. He’s gone.”
I yank my hand away. “No!” My fists pound his chest. “Come back!” Whomp! “Open your eyes!” Thwack! “Don’t”—slap—“Give”—slap—“Up!” Smack!
The Culling Page 11