We all turn to see something glistening in her open palm.
Gideon’s eyes grow wide. “Let me see that.” He stumbles over to where she’s waiting and scoops it from her. One hand holds the wobbly frame of his glasses in place while he inspects a dangling chain.
“What is it?” I call.
Gideon’s jaw drops. “It’s an identification tag. A Recruit ID tag.”
Cypress lunges for it, but he rips it away.
“You sure?” Digory asks.
Gideon pulls out his own tag from around his neck and compares them. “Same size, same shape. You tell me.”
I clutch my own chain, the one that’s holding me hostage for my brother’s life. “Is there a name on it?”
Holding the tag up to his face with one hand, Gideon rubs the surface. “Nothing I can make out. Looks corroded. But there is part of a serial number.”
Everyone else’s attention is fixed on the chain, and I don’t think they notice the pained look on Cypress’s face as she massages her forehead.
Digory shoots me a look. “A Recruit ID tag way out here? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“If you’re thinking Fallen Five, yeah, me too.”
Cypress’s eyes are riveted on the tarnished silver swaying from Gideon’s fingers. “They must have come right through here.”
Ophelia wipes sweat off her brow. “So is this whole mission a Sim, or not? I’m confused.”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Gideon mutters.
I shrug. “No way to be sure. Slade and the others are definitely worried about something, though.”
Digory clears his throat. “If something’s got Slade of all people worked up, then we should be, too.”
The sun hovers noticeably lower on the horizon. In a matter of minutes, the temperature’s dropped enough to dry the perspiration on my forehead.
A tortured moan stretches across the canyon like a soul being pulled apart.
My eyes ricochet around the crater’s remains. “What was that?”
Ophelia’s face is as pale as the skulls. “We need to get going.”
Gideon shakes his head. “We can’t abort the mission until we find proof, one way or another, of what happened to that patrol. I don’t know. An identifiable corpse. A message. Anything.” He looks around. “I suggest we split into teams and search the area before reporting in. Juniper and I will take the south quadrant, and Tycho, Spark, and Goslin—”
But Cypress is already tromping through the site, her eyes desperately searching as she disappears behind one of the mounds.
Gideon shrugs. “Keep in touch through your walkies.” Then he and Ophelia head off in the opposite direction, leaving Digory and me to explore on our own.
After almost an hour of sifting through the site and finding no evidence of the missing patrol’s whereabouts, I run my fingertips along the surface of the nearest gruesome mound. Interspersed between the skulls are thigh bones, femurs, sternums, clavicles—all jammed against rib cages and all manner of vertebrae. If there’s one thing we learn quickly in the Parish when dealing with Imps, it’s the names and locations of each bone in the human body.
The whole macabre assemblage is held together by a slimy, thick resin. I bring my fingertips to my nose and sniff, then wince. Whatever it is, it reeks of ammonia. I wipe the gunk on my fingers against my pants.
Thwack!
A skeletal hand springs from behind the mound and latches onto my wrist—
I try to wrench free but the grip is strong, frenzied.
“Let … go … of … me … !” I pull with all my might and a figure comes crashing through the mound. Bones scatter everywhere. A heavy weight drives me into the ground, knocking the wind from me.
“You’re dead!” I pummel the figure on top of me as its stone-cold hands grip my throat, squeezing. The light dims. My head swims. I start to float away …
“Get off of him!” Digory’s voice. Far away.
The pressure around my neck is gone. The canyon comes into focus once again. Air cascades through me like a waterfall.
I bolt into a sitting position. A hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch.
“Are you okay?” Digory is crouched beside me.
My fingers knead my sore neck. “I’ll … live. What happened?”
Digory nudges his chin toward a figure lying in a skeletal pile. “He did.”
I spring to my feet. “They’re nothing but bones—they can’t be—”
Digory stands beside me. “This one’s very much alive. Trust me, Lucian.”
I creep closer to get a look at my assailant.
It’s just a guy. Mid-twenties, maybe … hard to tell. He’s covered in filth and coated in the same goo that holds the bones in place. Scraggly black hair juts from his scalp in long strips, tangling with his patchy beard. Thin red slashes crisscross his prominent cheekbones, and his murky-green eyes are stretched into wide ovals. There’s madness there.
Despite the creepiness of the way his gaze seeps into my pores, there’s something else about him that sends a shudder through my own bones.
“Digory. Look what he’s wearing.”
Even though this stranger’s clothes are ripped and flapping in shredded tatters, there’s no mistaking the familiar jumpsuit design and the ID tag that hangs from his scrawny neck.
“A Recruit uniform,” Digory whispers.
I snatch the ID tag loose. The man yelps as if I’ve struck him and curls into a fetal position.
I dangle the silver chain in front of Digory’s face. “He’s one of us.”
Nineteen
The Recruit just lies there, still as a corpse. The only sign of life is the tide of soft whimpers that rises from him.
My brain spirals. “He has to be one of the Fallen Five.” I squat close to him. “It all fits. His age … clothes … where we’ve found him.” My eyes pierce Digory’s.
“He’s definitely about the right age.” Digory plucks the ID tag from my hand. He twists it in his fingers, examining the front and back. “Name’s covered in gunk. Can’t make it out.”
“What’s your name?” I ask the stranger.
He just shakes his head as if he doesn’t know the answer.
Realization dawns on me. “It must have been him that I saw … behind the tree—” I glance at Digory, not bothering to conceal my I told you so expression.
Digory counters with a sorry I doubted you look and stoops beside the stranger. “It’s gonna be okay. How have you survived out here all on your own? What do you do for food?” He cushions each word as if it’s made of delicate porcelain.
The Recruit’s breathing shifts to a slower tempo. His whimpers become a sigh, then a purr. He looks away. “I get by.”
I edge in closer to him. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna get you out of here. Take you home.”
The unknown Recruit springs up. His eyes boomerang between Digory and me.
“It’s too late,” he rasps. He’s trembling all over. He leans into my ear. “The Fleshers will get you too,” he whispers.
Fleshers. I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but something about the word and the way it quavers in his throat causes my skin to break out into thousands of tiny bumps, swelling to burst free like hungry larvae feeding off fear.
The man’s eyes flood. “They … they ambushed us … there were too many of ’em … they just kept coming … and coming … but I got away … ” He buries his face in his hands. “Never saw the others again.” He looks up. “I looked for so long, but I never found ’em.” His eyes cloud over in a swirling haze of memory. “There was a little girl … I forget her name now. So pretty … such nice hair … ” Tears stream down his cheeks. “Why can’t I remember her name?” His head snaps to the left and he looks up, as if he’s heard something we can’t. He clamps his hands
over his ears.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“That sound … that terrible sound. It’s them! The Fleshers. They’re all around us! Make it stop! Make it stop!”
Digory stoops and pries the Recruit’s hands from his ears. “What are … the Fleshers?”
The man smiles for the first time, revealing a full set of grimy teeth, all intact except for the jagged center tooth. “The Establishment wasn’t the only thing that survived the Ash Wars. There are others … things that prefer the dark … ” His snorts become cackles until his entire body is convulsing with laughter, despite the stark terror in his eyes.
I rub my arms, trying in vain to warm my body. “We’re looking for a missing recon patrol from that wrecked troop carrier,” I tell him. “Do you know where they are?”
Drool seeps from the corner of his lips. “They’re right here,” he whispers. “All around us … listening to everything we say … ”
Digory and I crane our necks in every direction.
“There’s no one else here,” Digory says.
“There sure as hell is!” the man snaps. He digs into the mound he was hiding behind and pulls something out, thrusting it in front of our faces.
A severed arm.
I stare in revulsion at the pale flesh, which seems to be relatively intact. Fresh. At least in appearance if not in odor. The fingers are curled inward, clutching something gold—a pin, from the looks of it. Clamping a hand over my nose and mouth, I lean in and yank the object free.
It’s an Imposer badge. I can’t read the first name because it’s coated in something dark and sticky. But the last name hits me like a sonic pulse.
“Cordoba. The commander of the missing recon patrol.” I force the words through clenched teeth and look up as I hand the badge to Digory.
“Looks like we have our proof.” His eyes are somber as he tucks the badge into his pocket. “Whoever or whatever did this has Slade and the others running scared.”
“It isn’t a Sim,” I whisper. “It isn’t a Sim…”
Just above the grisly wrist the Recruit is still holding out to me, there’s a semicircle of indentations separated by small spaces. The pattern is almost perfect, except for a jagged slash at its center.
Bite marks.
I look back up. The fallen Recruit’s staring at me, licking his lips, mouth once again upturned in a foam-coated grin … proudly displaying his chipped front tooth.
The crackle of my walkie nearly gives me a heart attack.
“There’s something coming!” I hear Gideon shriek through the speaker. “We gotta go. Now!”
“The Fleshers,” I whisper.
A tremor rocks the basin.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Digory grabs my hand and pulls me away from the mound.
In the distance, dark shadows flit among the hives of bone like marauding insects, nibbling their way toward our position as we scramble toward the carrier.
Another powerful rumble rocks the ground, the deep bass of a siren that vibrates through the canyon like the cry of some prehistoric beast, followed by a series of clanks and grinds from some poorly oiled machine, mixed with sickening wet squishes and a clatter … like snapping teeth.
We run nearly smack into Gideon and Ophelia.
“Where’s Cypress?” I gasp out.
“Probably already at the ship, getting ready to take off without us.” Gideon jabs a finger past us. “What the hell are those things?”
Ophelia’s eyes bulge. “The Five.”
I shake my head. “Sounds more like five thousand.”
Digory pushes us forward. “We’re not sticking around long enough to find out!”
That siren blasts louder than ever and a big blur of creepy bursts through the hives just ahead, cutting us off from the carrier.
“Take cover!” Digory shouts.
I dive to the ground and roll behind the nearest mound, pressing close to it so whoever or whatever it is can’t spot me. Jagged bones pierce the skin on my back. My heart punches the walls of my chest. A drought hits my mouth. I try to slow my breathing so I won’t pass out.
The mechanical noise putters throughout the canyon. Rusty gears clink together, screeching in protest. At first it seems further away; then it gets closer and closer. I hug my almost bare torso against the chill. The thing must be making a sweep. What is it about that sound that gnaws at my memory?
Then it hits me. Back at the Parish. Walking home from school past the Borough’s processing plants—
It’s the sound the meat grinders make during a particularly sparse season.
The sound creeps nearer. It’s just on the other side of the mound I’m curled behind. My eyes squeeze shut.
Whirrrrrrrrrrr …
Clackclackclackclackclack …
My body’s clenched so tight it feels like my own bones are about to pop from their sockets.
Why won’t it go away?
It knows I’m here …
The grinding noise clacks off, replaced by a nauseating sloshing.
Slopslopslop …
A light flicks on, bathing my peripheral vision in a sickly yellow glow.
Another loud click adds a new sound to the assault on my senses.
Buzz!
The vibration is so strong, it hurts my teeth and I have to gnash them tight to prevent a telltale chatter. Not daring to breathe, I slink further around the mound, before the thing can reach me. I’m not sure how big it is, but if I can keep moving out of sight I just might be able to—
My belt loop snags on a piece of bone.
The yellow beam creeps around the bend. Silhouetted in the shadow of its glow are twisted shapes that look like they’ve been ripped free of a nightmare.
I claw at the loop, trying to jerk it free, but it won’t budge.
The amber light burns a path toward me, just inches from my boots …
I twist my body out of its path, curling my legs beneath me just as the glow sweeps the spot my feet occupied moments ago. My fingers grope the jagged bone holding me hostage, scraping against it and drawing blood, which just makes it slick and harder to grip.
Snapsnapsnapsnapsnap …
I tug as hard as I can—
Pop!
The loop rips away. I’m free! I scuttle further around the bend on hands and knees, ignoring sharp rocks digging into my skin. In my panic, my boot kicks out behind me and crashes through the mound.
A loud rattle of bone rains down all around me.
A very loud rattle.
A mechanized shriek pierces my eardrums. The grotesque confirmation that the Fleshers are on to me. I clamp my hands to my ears.
Whir …
Clacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclackety …
The rhythm of the sounds is much quicker now, and loud enough to penetrate the ringing in my ears.
Something grabs me—
“Run!” Digory hauls me to my feet and then we’re racing after Gideon and Ophelia.
We tear through the canyon, careening past the rest of the mounds, zigzagging over rocks, leaping over fissures. Swirls of blinding yellow and twisting black haunt the corners of my vision. They’re all around us, swarming over the mounds like locusts, but I’m too afraid to turn and get a better look, too afraid to see what kind of monsters would be responsible for this hell, would make a fallen Recruit crave flesh …
Too afraid to find out if what happened to the lost Recruits could happen to me.
I stumble down a slope after Digory and Ophelia, rolling, my flesh scraping against rock and bone. But I’m running on pure adrenaline now, impervious to pain.
I skirt the next mound—
Just in time to see the troop carrier taking off without us.
“The bitch is leaving us behind!” Gideon cries.
The dark shadows close in on us from all sides.
It’s over.
Then the carrier banks, swinging in a wide arc until it’s hovering just overhead. The hatchway springs open and a familiar silhouette stares down at us, long raven hair whipping in the wind.
Cypress tosses down a rope ladder, which wriggles down like a long snake, grazing my skin as it sways against my nose. I recoil.
“Don’t just stand there like idiots!” Cypress shrieks. “Get your butts up here now!”
“Ophelia!” Gideon cries.
But Digory’s already scampering up the rope and towing him along. “She’s in good hands with Spark.” He pauses and shoots me a desperate look. “Lucian! Move! Now!” Then the two of them disappear inside the carrier’s open hatch.
Just as I grab the lower rung, a heavy weight slams into me, knocking me to the ground, smothering me.
My eyes snap open.
But it’s not a Flesher.
It’s the fallen Recruit.
There’s something different about him. I search his eyes but don’t find madness. Only fear, and sadness.
The monstrous chorus of the Fleshers approaches all around us …
The Recruit looks behind, then back at me. Liquid fills his eyes. “My name’s Orestes … ” he whispers. “Please take me … home … ”
His words are a vise to my throat. My heart crumples. No matter what he’s done, he’s still a human being, broken by the Establishment like so many others before him.
“Yes. Come with us,” I say, barely squeezing the words past a sob. “You’ll be safe. We’ll take care of you.”
He smiles—
His throat bursts open. Dark crimson sprays onto my face, into my eyes, and runs down my cheeks in hot rivulets.
Metallic gore fills my mouth. I spit it out. Every nerve-ending sizzles with shock.
The young man stares at me. He doesn’t look like he’s in pain. More like he’s confused. Soft gurgling noises purr from his lips. He convulses, choking on his own blood, still staring as it fountains from the ragged hole in his neck, dousing me in its warmth. His eyes flutter and roll back into his head. Then he pitches forward onto me, each shudder pumping more blood over me until he’s still at last.
The Culling Page 15