Mrs. Juniper screams, but her cries are muffled by a living clump that jams into her mouth, piercing her tongue and throat with poisonous barbs until she’s choking, no longer able to get air, flailing helplessly like a fish on a hook.
“Can I look now?” Maddie shouts over the frenzy.
“No, Maddie!” Ophelia shrieks. “Don’t open your eyes!”
I slump against the glass, unable to peel my eyes away from the horror, sinking to the floor.
In a matter of minutes, it’s over.
Swaying from the ceiling is an unrecognizable slab of meat that Ophelia once called Mama.
Only now she’s a thing, a bloated hunk of purple flesh covered in pustules. Magnified on the speakers is the sound of a constant plop as the sickly yellow secretions seep from the wounds and douse the floor, now entirely carpeted with dead bees.
They sacrificed their lives for the will of the Establishment, just like our loved ones.
The lights in the enclosure dim, finally obliterating the gruesome sight.
The locks on our paddocks click and the doors slide apart.
This Trial has ended. Follow the markers to the next holding station.
Collecting my things, I hobble out of my pen and collapse into Digory’s waiting arms.
“I got something for you,” he whispers in my ear. I pull away and stare at his smiling face.
He opens his palm. In it rests a small, familiar pouch.
The antibiotics.
I’m overwhelmed—with relief, gratitude … and so much more.
My hand cups his. “But you might—”
“You need them more than I do. Take them. Please.”
I hug him as tight as I’m able to with my trembling arms. “Thank you.”
Behind him, Ophelia stares at the now dark enclosure that houses her sister. “I’ll see you soon, Maddie. I promise.”
Her eyes find mine and cut right through me. “And no one’s going to stop me.”
thirty
After resting several hours at the next holding station, we resume the trek to our third Trial, plodding through the winding corridors of the Skein in near silence. The quiet is broken only by the occasional grunt that barely penetrates the white noise of our wheezing breaths, which lulls me to the brink of exhaustive sleep before the panic of failure jars me back to my senses.
Despite my fatigue, the burning in my eyes settles into a low simmer while the chill in my blood turns lukewarm. Could the medicine be working already? Or am I just so far gone that my body can’t feel anything anymore?
The only thing that still burns is my mind, bristling with images of Ophelia’s mother, swollen beyond recognition, and the stump of Mrs. Warrick’s neck, a broken fountain jetting streams of blood. Every so often the images shimmer like waves of heat baking the horizon, and it’s not Mrs. Juniper or Mrs. Warrick I see but Cole and Digory in their places.
My breath catches in my throat.
I look around at Digory trudging along beside me, followed by Cypress and Gideon, with Ophelia bringing up the rear. From their vacant eyes, cradled in dark circles, and the new creases burrowing into the corners of their thin and cracking lips, I have no doubt their brains are infested with similar thoughts.
A geyser of pain shoots up my leg on my next step. I lurch to the side. Digory is beside me in an instant, hooking my arm around his shoulder and holding me upright.
“Gotcha,” he says.
I pause for a moment, my hand gripping the back of my knee, riding out the pain like a receding wave. “I’ll be okay. Just took a bad step.”
He leans in close. “Don’t push yourself.”
Taking a deep breath, I straighten up, suddenly very conscious of how close our bodies are, how solid he feels against me, his breath hot and tingly against the hollow of my neck. A rush of energy surges through me, invigorating me more than any medicine ever could. A hot stream floods my face. For a panicked second I think I’m having a relapse, that the fever’s starting to rage again.
Then I pull away. “I’m fine. Really.”
He nods. “I’m here if you need me. Always.”
I’m trapped by his gaze. “Thanks.”
His eyes seem to want to say more, but I look away before they can drown me in their undertow.
Slowing my pace, I let everyone pass me.
Gideon and Cypress have fallen into step. At one point, her hand brushes against his and he clutches it, neither one looking at the other. Their steps synchronize as if their shared experiences have linked them in a tragic symbiosis, each feeding off the other’s pain like emotional scavengers.
“Look! Up ahead!” Digory’s shout shatters the quiet. “We’re here!”
Despite my weariness, I jog to catch up to the others.
Looming ahead is a stone wall about twenty feet high, extending in both directions as far as the eye can see. Embedded in its center is a thick iron gate with a large number emblazoned above it, flashing like a beating heart: III.
My pulse accelerates. My eyelids stretch so wide I can almost feel the skin tearing at the corners of my eyes. This is it. The Third Trial. Is this where the ironies of my nickname will finally catch up with me?
We crowd next to each other, Cypress on one side of me, Digory on the other, with Gideon and Ophelia next to him. This time I’m in no hurry to move away from Digory. Instead, I find myself leaning into him, trying to siphon his strength into my veins. What if I can’t pull through this time?
A burst of static.
Greetings, Recruits. Unlike with your previous Trial, the order in which you placed will have no bearing on this specific task.
At Slade’s words, Cypress’s shoulders slump. I understand exactly how she feels. She came in first in the labyrinth, and I was hoping my third-place finish would give me some kind of advantage for this Trial.
I glance at Digory, who’s nodding. At least he’ll get the chance to pull away from a low-ranking position. I breathe a little easier.
Understandably, Ophelia’s eyes spark, faint embers turning into a steady glow. Now she has the chance to overcome her last-place slump and ensure her sister makes it through this round.
But Gideon, who came in second and should be crushed at the news, remains unfazed, his eyes fixed ahead, the blinking numbers reflecting through his glasses onto unblinking eyes.
When the gate opens, you will all commence at the exact same moment. This particular Trial will test strength, endurance, and speed. Once the Trial is underway, you will be required to overcome several obstacles by working together as a deployment team, set down in enemy territory.
I survey my fellow Recruits. After a near-catatonic Gideon came in second place during that last Trial, I can’t afford to underestimate anybody. A false sense of confidence can turn out to be any of our undoing.
Be warned. Although you will need to cooperate to make it through the obstacles, in the end it will come down to a race to cross back into ally territory. The last one to arrive will be the one to participate in the Culling.
I try to swallow but my mouth’s dry.
Good luck, Recruits.
CLANG!
The gate rumbles open with a grinding of gears, and I bolt through it.
thirty-one
The first thing that surprises me as I dash through the gateway is the fact that we’re on a hill. High above, on the ceiling of this artificial landscape, there’s a circular opening—a patch of night sky in the form of hundreds of twinkling stars shining down upon the sloping field. After being entombed in the Skein for what seems like a lifetime, I’d lost track of whether it was morning or evening. The sight fills me with dread.
Another solid wall looms in the valley below, its smooth surface brushed with moonlight. The only pathway to it is a thin slice of terrain with a sheer drop into darkne
ss on either side. It looks to be barely wide enough for six people to fit across standing elbow to elbow.
I sprint down the hill, jostling against the others as we reach the strip of narrow grass. They’re nothing but a blur in my peripheral vision. My breaths clog in my throat—it’s like the darkness is folding in on itself, suffocating me in a claustrophobic haze. Fueled by pure adrenaline, I pull ahead of them, needing to break free … to breathe …
SPROING!
A cylindrical object sprouts from the ground just to my left, startling me.
WHIRRR!
A gun turret swivels in my direction. I lose my footing and stumble, just as the weapon begins to fire.
RATATATATATAT!
Screams fill the air. I can’t tell whose.
“Everyone stay low to the ground!” Digory cries, somewhere to my right.
I roll farther down the slope as bullets whiz past my cheeks. One nicks the tip of my right ear. Digory crashes into me, smothering my body with his weight. All around us the sod explodes, spraying through the air like gritty rain.
“You hit?” Digory yells.
I squirm out from underneath him. “Just a nick.”
Ophelia rolls past us without a word.
SPROING!
Another turret juts through the earth in front of her and unleashes a volley of firepower. She flattens herself on the ground about ten feet from us.
“Ophelia! This place is rigged. Hold your position!” Digory tugs my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Any ideas?”
More shots ring through the sky.
“Ah!” This cry comes from behind me. I whip around just in time to see Cypress tumble to the ground.
“Cypress!” I tear out of Digory’s grasp and stumble toward her.
Her face is twisted into a grimace. Her right hand is tucked under her left armpit, and even in the dim light I can see the dark trail oozing down.
I wrap her in my arms. “How bad?”
She clutches me tight with her other hand. “Flesh wound.”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
More blasts hit the ground beside us. I pull her away, hugging her tight.
Digory darts toward us, dodging a spray of sparks and smoke that nip at his heels like an unrelenting shadow. He swerves to a stop beside us. He jabs a finger toward the base of the hill. “We need to get over that wall now!”
I prop Cypress up against my shoulder. “She’s been hit. Her hand.”
Trying not to hurt her further, I ease her injured hand out. It’s covered in blood. Near the center of her palm is a ragged hole outlined by scorched flesh.
“Looks like it went straight through.” Digory tears off a piece of her sleeve and wraps it around her hand, ignoring her winces.
A steady hum fills the air, getting stronger and stronger. Ophelia looks up. “Something’s coming.”
Cypress grabs my collar. “I’m okay,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “We have to get out of here. It’s not safe in the open.” Her body slumps back against mine.
Digory nods. “She’s right.” Then he moves in close and lifts her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” She makes a fist but it barely glances off his shoulder. “Put me down, Tycho!”
RATATATATATAT!
More bullets zip past our heads.
Close.
“I’ll put you down just as soon as we’re out of firing range.” He turns to me. “C’mon!” He tramps down the remainder of the hill after Ophelia, carrying Cypress in his arms as if she were light as a baby.
My eyes search the dark. I stop dead in my tracks. “Wait ! Where’s Gideon?”
Digory freezes and turns. His eyes dart from me to the blazing turret.
Ophelia shakes her head. “There’s no time—leave him.” She starts to run, but another blazing turret springs from the ground and fires. She dives onto her stomach and holds still.
“Look! There he is!” Cypress points behind me.
I whirl.
Gideon’s sitting down in the grass a few feet up the hill from us. He’s completely immobile, eyes opened wide as if he’s in some kind of meditative state. He’s sitting in the shadow of another turret, right underneath its swerving barrel.
“Gideon?” I take a few steps toward him. The weapon roars to life, flinging death at me in fiery flashes.
I dive to my right, slamming into the ground on my injured leg.
“Lucian!” Digory yells. Still carrying Cypress, he runs a few steps toward me. Yet another turret springs to the surface and fires at them.
Digory drops to the ground and Cypress rolls away from him, still clutching her bloodied hand. When she attempts to get up, another gun breaks through the ground and swivels her way.
A blast of pain rips through me, and for the longest second in my life, I think I’ve been hit again.
But it’s only the old wound in my leg, squishing open to douse my bandages with the warmth of fresh blood. I roll onto my stomach to take the pressure off.
Dead ahead, the barrel of the second turret faces me, a dark, gaping snake just waiting to spit its lethal poison through me.
And still Gideon sits there, beneath it, staring right past me, past the field, as if he’s relaxing under the shade of a tree on a hot summer day.
WHIRRR …
I lift my head and risk a glance behind me. The first turret veers until it’s pointing at my back.
They’re motion activated, I realize. Its sensors must be tracking our every movement. That’s why Gideon hasn’t been fired at yet.
And now we’re all trapped right along with him, each at the mercy of one of the turrets, unable to move forward or backward without getting ripped apart.
The hum in the air is louder now. From the circle of sky above, five lights zoom toward us like angry wasps in a perfect V formation.
Squawkers.
It’s a no-win situation. If we stay still, the turrets won’t get us. But we’ll be easy targets for these aircraft to take out.
Unless …
I raise my cheek off the ground as far as I dare without entering into the turret’s sensor range. “Everybody listen! These guns are motion activated. As long as we stay close to the ground and don’t move too fast, they won’t fire on us!”
“Great!” Cypress shouts back. She repositions her hand and winces. “You know how long it’s going to take to crawl our way down like that?” Her voice barely carries above the approaching craft.
Digory sighs. “We’ve got bigger problems. Those birds are heading our way. They’re almost on top of us. We’ll never make it in time.”
The Squawkers blaze a path in the sky like shooting stars.
Shooting stars. I glance from one turret to the next, calculating the distances, approximating the angles of the barrels, tracing a mental line from one to another just like I did with the star patterns I showed Digory on top of the Observation Tower.
Picking up a handful of pebbles, I toss them at random turrets.
One … two …
Ratatatatatatatatatatatatat!
“What are you doing?” Ophelia shrieks. “You’ll kill us all!”
It might just work …
My heart pounds against the grass beneath me. “We can do this if we work together. That’s the key, how this Trial was designed.”
The wind picks up, rippling through the grass as the Squawkers roar into the simulated valley.
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast!” Digory shouts.
I clutch fistfuls of damp grass and raise my upper torso. “I’ve been timing the blasts. It takes just under three seconds for the gun sensors to track their marks and fire. When I give the signal, Gideon and I will run toward each other’s turret, while you guys run toward the turrets ahead of each of you—Digory over to Cypress’s, C
ypress over to Ophelia’s, Ophelia to the final turret by the wall.”
“Let’s just make it easier for them to kill us, why don’t we?” Ophelia cries.
“We’ll be safe as long as we drop to the ground no later than two seconds in!” I shout back. “The guns will react to our movement and take each other out before they can redirect their course. Then we’ll be clear.”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The ground rocks with the force of the Squawker’s blasts, which rip out chunks of landscape in bright red fireballs. The air’s filled with acrid smoke that clogs my lungs. Burning tears streak down my cheeks.
Digory’s eyes meet mine. “I’d rather go down trying than just wait here to die.”
“I’m in, too.” Cypress chimes in.
Ophelia’s eyes are glued to the sight of the Squawkers as they bank back toward us. “Let’s do it then,” she groans.
I turn to face Gideon. His eyes remain blank, unfocused. He’s the last cog in this carefully constructed machine. If I can’t get through to him …
“Gideon.” I lower my voice. “Please. We need you.”
He blinks, removes his glasses, wipes them with his shirt, then pushes them back on his nose.
“I’m ready,” he says.
Thank you, I mouth.
I turn to the others, four sets of desperate eyes, trusting me with their lives. “When I give the signal, we move. Remember—drop at two seconds, not a moment later.”
The growl of the Squawker engines rips through the sky toward us.
My heart’s thundering. My breaths come in quick, shallow bursts.
“Run!” I sprint, heading right for the dark eye of my gun turret, a black hole of unblinking death.
thirty-two
Everything’s a slow-motion blur. I bolt toward Gideon and his turret, ignoring the searing pain in my leg, the piercing shriek of the Squawkers overhead—nothing matters except the cold gleam on the barrel of the gun, blinding me. For a split second I can taste its metal, but it’s only the blood of my lower lip as my teeth sink through.
The Culling Page 23