I shrug. “They’re only fairy tales. You said so yourself, Digory. ”
His eyes return to the sky. “They don’t have to be.” He squeezes my hand.
Neither of us says anything for the next few minutes. We just stare out to sea, listening to the waves crash in the distance, harmonized by the mourning wail of the wind.
“So tell me,” Digory says at last. “What story are you looking at now?”
I’m losing the fight against my emotions. “I’m not looking at a story. I’m just thinking how far away these stars really are. By the time their light reaches us, the stars could have been dead thousands of years.”
He brings my hand to his knee and holds it there. “Don’t worry. Cole’s all right, Lucian. I know he is. You have to keep believing that.”
My eyes burn. “But he’s a prisoner in that awful place—what did Cypress call it? Purgatorium.” I swipe at my eyes but the wind has already dried them. “He may as well be one of those stars.”
“But he’s not alone, Lucian. Look. Look up there.” Now it’s his turn to guide my hand in the sky. “You see that bright star up there?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Let’s just say that’s Cole for a minute. Well, look around, Lucky. He’s not alone. There are millions of other bright lights out there, and one of them is you.” He moves my hand to another star twinkling in a different area of the sky. “And as you just showed me, they’re all connected.” He begins moving my hand from star to star. “Sooner or later you’ll find the path that connects you to each other again.” He traces the final point until it interconnects with the bright star representing Cole. “I promise you.” He adds his other hand and completely envelops mine in his.
My sadness boils over into liquid heat stinging its way down my cheeks. I wrench my hand away. “How can you promise me something like that? You know what we’re up against, what’s about to happen. It’s an impossible situation, barring some unlikely miracle. The only way Cole and I can both survive this is if I can somehow make it through to the final round and win the Trials. In order for that to happen, everyone else’s loved ones will have to die in the Culling. Do you get that, Digory? Including the people you love, who, by the way, you’ve never told me a thing about. So unless you and the others are prepared to sacrifice your own just so I can see my little brother again, I’d refrain from making promises that will be impossible to keep.”
“I know how hopeless it seems, Lucian. Trust me. And I’m sure the other Recruits do too. But the moment you stop believing that it’s possible … well … that’s the moment that it’s not.”
Waves of confusion rock me. It’s hard enough living and training with Digory. But being alone with him—it stirs up too many conflicting emotions.
All that time at the Instructional Facility, he hardly ever spoke to me—barely even looked at me. What if all this newfound concern during our training is part of his strategy, making me … like him, rely on him … just so he can crush me when I least expect it, the way Cassius did?
There’s too much at stake.
Swinging my legs back over the railing, I spring back down to the platform. “Sorry. I know you’re only trying to make me feel better. But I think it’s best if we each go it alone from this point on.”
“You do, huh?”
If he’s only been turning up the charm to lull me into a false sense of security, he’s got the aching expression down pat.
I take off the jacket and hold it out to him. “Here. Take it.”
He dismisses me with a wave of the hand. “Keep it. You need it more than I do.”
I’m tempted to look away from the blossoming hurt on his face, tell him I don’t mean a word of what I’m saying, but it has to be done, for his sake as well as my own.
“Good luck during the Trials, Lucian. I guess we’re going to find out what we’re both truly made of.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. But the air of finality about it catches me off guard like an unexpected crash of thunder.
He bolts from the Observation Tower without another word.
Leaving me to wonder if I’ve just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
By the time I make it back down to the ground, exhaustion is finally starting to catch up to me. But before I can round the corner leading to the barracks, I spot a figure darting through the shadows from one equipment bunker to the next. A fresh wave of energy takes hold of me. Recalling all my recent stealth training, I slink into pursuit, partially from curiosity and a sense of duty …
Mostly to avoid having to face Digory back at our barracks.
When the figure ducks behind a supply crate, I catch a glimpse of pale skin and raven hair in the moonlight.
Cypress.
What the hell is she doing skulking around?
But she’s already on the move again and I continue my tail, shadowing her as we dodge one ground patrol after another until she stops behind an electrical shed that overlooks two of the perimeter pylons.
She turns in my direction, but I duck behind the bunker that’s diagonal to her, before she can see me. Then I crawl to the edge and peer around the corner.
Styles and Renquist are talking to the pilot of a troop carrier—an oblong transport vehicle, with an open-air bed, that looks like a floating coffin without the lid. The craft is hovering a few feet off the ground, just on the other side of the invisible sonic barrier.
“—After all your recon, you’d think you guys would’ve turned up something already.” Renquist’s voice carries in the wind.
“Maybe they don’t show up on infrared at all,” the pilot’s voice crackles. “Look, just open the shield and let us back inside.”
Styles belts out a raucous chuckle. “Don’t get your skivvies in a wad, Corporal.” He holds his walkie to his mouth. “This is Sector Seven. Deactivate field for squad re-entry.”
Cypress crawls to the edge of the shed. By the looks of her posture, she’s ready to spring.
She’s going to make a break for it.
The hum between the two pylons winds down and the lights dim.
Renquist motions the vehicle forward. “You’re clear!”
The carrier soars through the gap, just as I dash to the shed and tackle Cypress before she can bolt. We tumble to the ground and roll back behind the shed, my hand clamped over her mouth. She jams her elbow into my gut and I see a different variety of stars as she squirms free.
“Don’t do it,” I whisper.
But my warning’s moot. The hum of the sonic pulse vibrates through the air once again and the field flickers, having been re-energized.
“Let’s pack it in, people!” Styles shouts as both he and Renquist are hoisted into the cab by the other soldiers and the carrier speeds off into the distance, leaving Cypress and me alone in the dark.
She kicks gravel into my face. “You idiot! I’ve been mon-
itoring the recon patrol schedules for weeks. This was my one chance to get outside the fence before the next rotation, and you screwed it up!”
Her boot hauls back to kick me, but I grab hold of her foot before it makes contact and twist. She yelps as her body slams into the ground.
“I’ve had a really long day and I’m not in the mood.” I grab her hand and yank her to her feet. “Talk to me. What’s so important that you’d risk your Incentives’ lives by going AWOL? You know what they’d do to your family if you deserted, don’t you?”
“They’d probably be better off getting it over with quickly than where they are now.” She turns away. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I clear my throat. “Maybe I understand better than you think.”
She flashes me a look laced with anger and panic. “What are you getting at?”
“Back on the raft, during the first training Sim. The way you were so desperate to strike out on your own�
��away from everyone else. None of the others saw the look on your face—the desperation. You said there was something you had to do.”
She turns away again, and my words keep coming in a rush.
“And your knowledge of the Fallen Five, and how sure you were that I saw something in those woods in the Southwest Quadrant. Just now, you were willing to risk everything to venture out beyond the perimeter, with no map to guide you. You also seem very familiar with the living conditions of the Incentives—it’s almost like you’ve been here before. And since this is a military installation, and you’re too young to have ever served, there’s only one other reason I can think of for you to have ever been here.”
I brace myself for a hostile outburst, but none comes. Instead, her eyes grow moist.
I swallow hard. “You were one of the Fallen Five’s Incentives, weren’t you?”
This time she doesn’t bother to wipe the wetness that spills from her eyes and traces its way down her cheeks. “Yes. I know what it’s like, Spark. Being dragged away from your family and locked in that hellhole Purgatorium. Wondering if someone loves you enough … enough to … choose … ”
“But you survived. That means there’s hope.”
Her eyes fill with venom. She leans in close until we’re practically nose to nose and jabs her finger in the center of my chest. “If you tell anyone else what you’ve seen and what I’ve told you, I’ll kill you myself.”
She shoves me out of her way and heads back toward the barracks without ever looking back.
Alone, I stare into the darkness long after she’s gone.
Eighteen
The only good thing about Phase Three training is that it keeps me too stressed and exhausted to dwell on the fact that both Digory and Cypress have been virtually ignoring me for the past couple of weeks. Whenever I cross their paths and they give me the silent treatment, I keep telling myself that it’s fine, because I can’t afford to lose sight of what’s at stake here.
But every time Digory turns his back on me, it takes a bit to shake the dull ache inside.
In between waking up at the crack of dawn for target practice with actual Pulsator guns firing live ammo and spending the entire day under the scorching sun enduring our final physical training tests, there’s not much time to dwell on anything else—anyone else—and I slump into bed exhausted every night, too tired to even scrounge up a mild nightmare for a change.
But this morning’s different.
Right after breakfast, the five of us are herded by Styles and Renquist to the East Landing Platform as a hovering Squawker touches down.
My pulse quickens. Today’s the day basic training comes to an end with the last of our Field Training Exercises. Earlier this week, they had us facing a mock group of rioting insurrectionists during nighttime combat operations. “Urban Terrain Crowd Control,” they called it. I couldn’t help notice the wince on Digory’s face as we were forced to fend them off with shields and jolt sticks.
He catches me staring at him now, and I look away.
“I wonder what they have in store for us this time?” Gideon mutters into my ear, over the hum of the craft’s engines.
The Squawker’s hatch springs open and Slade is standing there, smirking. “What the hell are you sorry lot waiting for? Get your asses on board.”
No sooner do we finish scrambling aboard and strapping ourselves in than the Squawker takes off again. I’m practicing my deep breathing techniques, trying to get a grip on my nerves while my mind races with the possibilities of what today’s final exercise will be.
“There’s no reason to get bent out of shape,” Digory whispers to the Recruits, as if reading my mind. He shoots a look my way. “It’ll probably be just another Sim.”
I’m just starting to relax when, instead of landing at the main compound, the Squawker soars over the sonic fences that protect Infiernos and heads deeper inland, further and further away from the coast.
“Where the hell are they taking us?” I mutter, more to myself.
I can’t help but remember the conversation I overheard between Styles, Renquist, and the pilot of that troop carrier. Whatever’s out here beyond the perimeter fence, it has the entire base on edge. From the day of the bomb diffusion Sim, when I noticed the look of worry on Slade’s face, it’s been spreading. The furtive glances among the officers, the tense, weary expressions of the enlisted whenever they return from perimeter patrol … those that do return, that is.
What is it they’re not telling us?
Ophelia and Gideon look nervous as they gaze at the barren landscape whizzing past the windows. Even Digory looks ill at ease.
Only Cypress’s face burns with excitement. Our eyes meet and she smirks at me before pressing her face back against the glass.
This is what she’s wanted, all along. To be outside the safety perimeter.
But why?
Slade emerges from the door of the cockpit, and everyone turns away from the window and snaps to attention.
“Now listen up!” she growls. “A situation has arisen. It seems we’ve lost contact with one of the recon patrol units led by Commander Cordoba. Your mission is a search and rescue Op.” She holds up a small handheld screen and tosses it to Gideon. “Using the team’s last known coordinates, you’re to track them, ascertain their whereabouts, and bring any survivors back to base.”
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” Digory says. “Will we be provided any ground backup? Any supplies? MREs?”
As awful as those pre-packaged Meals Ready to Eat taste, they’ll sure beat an empty stomach after a long day of being out on the field.
“No ground transport shall be provided, Recruit. You’ll be traveling on foot with no survival packs or med kits, and only a limited supply of drinking water. Anything you eat you’ll have to pick or kill. Among other things, an important part of this mission is for you put the skills you’ve hopefully acquired during your training to the test.” Her expression softens. “I advise you not to dawdle, and to make your best effort to get back to the barracks before sundown.” She gazes out the window. “If you aren’t afraid of the dark now, you will be … ”
A look of stark terror settles on Gideon’s face.
As much as I’ve grown accustomed to Slade’s melodramatic embellishments during our training exercises, there’s an edge to her tone now, and a hardness to her expression, that sends a chill through me.
Just how much of this exercise is a Simulation?
“Drop point ETA thirty seconds,” a voice blares from the cockpit speakers.
“Get your chutes on!” Slade commands. “This is your stop.”
As we strap into our jetsail harnesses, Slade grips the handlebar overhead with one hand and presses the hatch release with the other. Wind rips through the open cabin. “Good luck!” she shouts.
One by one we leap through the hatchway and into the sky—first Digory, then Cypress, Gideon, and Ophelia, and finally me.
Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I free-fall after them. The ground’s coming up fast and I resist the urge to kick in the thrusters.
Remember the training. It’s not time yet.
“One … two … three … four … five,” I mutter to the wind before jamming my thumb onto the button that activates the jetsail’s steam propulsors. Using the toggles on my handgrips, I maneuver the steering lines of my pack’s sail until I’m knifing down in a reasonably smooth arc. Before I hit the surface I catch one last glimpse of the Squawker, disappearing into the morning fog. Then I hit the surface, rolling on the ground alongside the others.
After eight hours of tracking the missing recon patrol’s troop carrier signal through sparse, rocky terrain, we finally clear the last of the trees and emerge into a clearing—and what little breath I have left is torn away.
The bowl-shaped crater in the earth must be at least a mile in ci
rcumference. Just below us is the battered hull of the troop carrier we’ve been searching for. And scattered throughout this canyon, as far as the eye can see, are large mounds about twenty feet high, shimmering under the dying sun. They remind me of giant versions of the ant hills behind the old power plant in the Industrial Borough. But instead of being composites of sludge and weeds, these symmetrically perfect knolls are made up of hundreds of pale faces—staring back at us, eyes black, mouths agape …
Skulls.
My own mouth drops open. But before I can make a sound, a collective moan erupts from the leering faces.
I stumble backward into Digory. The groans build in intensity until each skull’s shrieking its fury into the sky in a maelstrom of despair.
Ophelia clamps her hands over her ears. “What’s that terrible sound?”
“It’s only the wind whipping through the eye sockets.” Cypress’s voice is just as haunting.
Gideon steps forward. “We gotta get a closer look.”
Using the trunk of a dead tree, the five of us manage to roll it into place, at an angle from the rim of the canyon to the floor, so we can shimmy down it for ten feet until we hop off it at the bottom.
Even though we don’t find any survivors in the carrier, a quick survey of the grid yields rust-colored stains throughout, a grim indication of what must have happened here.
“So where are the bodies that go with these skulls?” I finally ask the question that no one else dares to.
Gideon’s staring right into a pair of dark sockets on a skull in the nearest mound. “I’m more disturbed by why someone took the time to arrange these in neat little piles … ”
Digory’s nose wrinkles. “Maybe it’s some kind of burial rite.”
I hear Cypress slam something closed inside the cockpit of the troop carrier. “Even though this baby’s pretty banged up, she’ll still fly,” she says as she climbs out.
I nod. “At least we won’t have to walk home.”
“I found something!” Ophelia’s squeal breaks the tension.
The Culling Page 14