Thoughts crank through my head on well-oiled gears. What if my chamber’s been sabotaged? Cassius has obviously been keeping tabs on Digory and me. It wouldn’t be beneath him at this point to rig it so the explosive detonates, killing both of us.
“Something’s wrong!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “I can’t see! ”
But there’s no response. Thick silence seeps into my ears, clogging them until I feel a pressure in my brain that grinds my thoughts into anxious grit. I bang a fist against the cold metal barring my way before I can stop myself. The impact rattles the bones in my fingers. Pain jolts through my hand, echoing into a throb. I bring my hand to my lips, sucking on the sore knuckles.
Is that my heartbeat rippling through the sound vacuum in my head?
No … it’s too high in pitch and not nearly as fast as the throbbing in my chest and temples.
It’s a steady, measured sound, blip … blip … blip …
Like the sound a timer makes … or a countdown clock …
What if I’ve set off some kind of timer when I struck the panel?
But how the hell am I supposed to disarm a weapon I can’t even see?
I still have my flashlight. I thrust my hands into my pockets, not caring how many ration bars and penicillin tablets spill onto the ground, and pull out the flashlight, flicking it on.
There’s a circuit board to my right, and a vent right above it.
I wonder what’s supposed to come out of there?
My eyes lock onto the circuit board instead, studying the configuration, trying to commit every facet to memory.
I recognize the basic setup from the schematics during our explosives training and Sims. It’s a standard detonation device composed of three elements: Primer. Reactor. Ignition timer.
The flashlight flickers and dims, even as my heartbeat kicks it up several notches.
“C’mon! Not now!”
I hunch closer to the board and scan it with the ebbing light, trying to see the digital readout so I can figure out just how much time I have left before—
But the beam fades away and dies before I can get a good look, drowning me once again in pitch black.
I shake the flashlight a couple more times, but it’s no use. At least I have an idea of what I’m dealing with now.
I reach a trembling hand down to the circuit board, trying to dredge up from my memory as many of the details as I can picture. I make contact with one of the three thin wires, gripping it between two fingertips. It’s cold, like the bloodless vein of a corpse. I relax my grip, afraid that my trembling fingers are going to pull it free. Unless I splice the wires in the correct sequence, everything that I’ve gone through until now will have been for nothing.
I strain the threads of my memory until they’re taut. “Cut the wire leading into the primer first. Then the reactor wire. And finally the wire that feeds the ignition timer.” I speak the words aloud, as if that’ll somehow lend accuracy to my sketchy recall.
Letting go, I brush my fingers across the rest of the board, past the other two wires, until they come to rest on a square shape.
It’s got to be the primer.
I can feel one of the leads jutting from it. This is the first one I have to cut.
I think.
No pair of wire cutters either. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my knife and position it just above where the icy tendril feeds into the metal cube.
My blade rubs right against the wire …
I pause.
What if I’m wrong?
Inhaling deeply, I slice through and brace myself for the explosion—
Nothing happens.
I parole the breath I’ve been holding and unclench all my muscles, which ache with relief.
Just two more wires to go.
Unless someone else blows us all to bits first …
Once again, I reach down and grope my way across the panel until I trace a rectangular piece with a protruding filament. My knife hesitates above it.
Is this the reactor wire?
RING!
The sound of an alarm pierces my ears. I tumble back and smash against the wall.
Attention Recruits! Attention! One of you has just clipped the incorrect wire and activated the detonation sequence. Unless someone correctly deactivates the explosive within the next thirty seconds, it will be automatically triggered and all of you will be shelved, along with your Incentives.
Blip … Blip … Blip …
I reach out my arms, fumbling until I make contact with the control panel once more, my fingers retracing the path to the reactor wire. Along the way, I come across a smaller box.
Is this the reactor wire instead? Or is it the ignition timer?
Sweat trickles into my useless eyes and I don’t bother to blink it away.
This is exactly where I screwed up during the Sim. And I could actually see what I was doing then.
My sweaty hand runs between the two possibilities one last time before settling on my original choice.
Blip … Blip … Blip …
Gritting my teeth, I hack through the wire—
Nothing happens. No loud explosion.
I was right this time.
I’m running on pure adrenaline now. No time to fear. My palm engulfs the remaining box and hacks off the lead feeding into the ignition timer.
BEEP!
The sound screeches through my ears.
I messed up—
Searing light engulfs the room, blinding me.
Then it feels like the room’s moving. And I’m still in one piece.
Congratulations, Recruit Spark. You have successfully deactivated the explosive and emerged victorious in this Trial.
I sag against the circuit board, too fried to feel anything remotely resembling joy.
The vibrating motion ceases abruptly and the room cants left and right before coming to a stop. My eyes adjust to the brightness at last and I take in the cramped chamber.
It really does seem almost like a coffin, with barely enough room for me to stand. I spy my supplies strewn across the floor and hunch down on creaking knees to stuff them back into my pockets.
Woosh!
A slot above the control panel slides open, letting in more light. Bracing myself against the wall, I push myself back up to my feet and peer through the glass.
Digory, Cypress, and Ophelia peer out of identical oblong rooms arranged in a diamond pattern. Digory is directly across from me, Cypress is to my left, and Ophelia is to my right.
Digory presses a hand against his window as if he’s greeting me. Despite the mics embedded in the glass, neither one of us says a word. His cheeks are drawn, his eyes somber. I mimic his gesture with my own hand and try to smile, but the muscles in my face feel numb. My eyes dart from Cypress to Ophelia. Both looking exhausted—
And afraid …
A terrifying thought oozes through my skull.
If I won, and no one else was able to disable the bomb in time, how are they going to determine who will have to endure the Culling?
What is Phase Two?
Recruit Spark. As the victor, it now falls upon you in Phase Two to decide which of the other Recruits must choose between their Incentives.
My gaze lingers on each of them. And then I tear away.
“I won’t do it—I can’t.”
But even as the thought escapes my lips, I know I have no choice.
A panel rises from the circuit board containing round buttons numbered one through three. All are lit in vivid green.
Recruit Spark. Before you are three numbered buttons. When you are given the prompt, you must simply press any one of these buttons within ten seconds, blindly choosing one of your comrades as the losing Recruit. The losing Recruit will, in turn, make a blind choice between
their own Incentives. If you should choose Recruit Juniper, she will be selecting the manner of her remaining Incentive’s shelving, just as Recruit Warrick did. But be warned that the wrong selection will make you susceptible to shelving, despite your victory.
A blind choice. Someone else’s life will be shattered by my whim.
And if I should select Digory’s button, then he in turn might end up blindly selecting me—and therefore my Incentives—for execution.
There’s no choosing correctly.
Recruit Spark. Make your selection now.
Everything in the room seems to shrink around me, everything except for the three green buttons which grow larger, pulsating like noxious slugs.
My hand hovers over them, wavering.
I slam a fist down onto button One.
My chin slumps to my chest. I don’t care what happens to me.
What if I’ve not only condemned myself, but murdered Cole and Digory as well?
DING! DING! DING!
I take a deep breath and look up.
Nothing’s changed. Digory’s looking at me, just the same way he was a moment ago.
Then he smiles wide.
I almost laugh out loud.
Cole’s safe. And I guess I am, too … for now.
My joy evaporates. There’s a green light blinking in my peripheral vision … to my left.
I whip my gaze in that direction.
The light’s flashing right above the window of Cypress’s chamber.
I’ve chosen her.
After Digory, Cypress was the last person remaining I’d ever want to put through such horror. To my right, Ophelia’s jumping up and down, clapping her hands, giggling.
Recruit Goslin. You have been chosen by Recruit Spark to make your selection. The panel that has just opened in your chamber will trigger the release of toxic gas into your Incentives’ chambers. By selecting either the key marked Incentive A or Incentive B, you will decide into which chamber the poison shall be dispersed. However, the identity of the recipient shall not be revealed until after your decision has been made. Prepare to select at once.
Just as before, there’s the whir of motors and a darkened glass chamber rises from the floor between us like a behemoth from the depths of the underworld. The lights come on, revealing the little girl and boy I saw at the Graduation Ceremony sitting on identical cots, divided by a partition of thin glass. I can see the metal vents in each of their sections, just like the one in my own chamber, gleaming like teeth. The girl’s playing with a torn stuffed doll, while the boy’s jumping up and down on his cot, both totally unaware of what’s in store for one of them.
I collapse against the glass.
I’m responsible for murdering one of them.
Recruit Goslin. Make your selection. Press button A or button B.
Cypress looks at me with empty eyes. Then she turns and stares at her children, together for the very last time. Even from here, I can see her fingers digging into her cheeks, drawing blood.
Make your decision now, Recruit.
“I can’t.” She cups a hand over her mouth.
My heart’s breaking, especially knowing that I’m the cause of all her agony.
Your time for making a selection has expired, Recruit Goslin. You have forfeited your position in the Trials, and as a result, you, as well as both your Incentives, shall be shelved immediately.
I pound the window over and over again until I finally slump against it. Weak. Empty. “I’m so sorry, Cypress. Please forgive me.”
She looks at me, her green eyes glazed into icy lakes. Then she shakes her head. “There’s nothing to forgive, Lucian.” Her voice sounds tinny over the speakers. “You’ve done nothing except what they made you do.”
I make a decision. “Your brother never abandoned you, Cypress,” I say. My voice quavers. “You have to believe that he loved you and would have been there if he could.” Even now I can’t bring myself to tell her everything.
She smiles. “I choose to believe that.”
Woosh!
The door to Cypress’s chamber slides open.
Recruit Goslin. You will now enter your Incentives’ chambers.
“Don’t do it, Cypress,” Digory calls.
Her face contorts into a mask of anguish. “You know it’ll be worse for them if I don’t.”
The divider between the children sinks into the floor.
Cypress steps out of her chamber on tentative legs and weaves like a drunk over to the children’s chamber. It’s so unlike her determined walk up to the dais on Recruitment Day. The door to the children’s prison slides open. Cypress wipes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and grips the edges of the threshold, pulling herself inside. The door slides shut again, sealing all three of them inside.
“Hello again,” Cypress says to the children. Her voice sounds hoarse through the speaker system, as if she’s been screaming.
The boy stops jumping and bounces over to sit next to his sister. “You’re the soldier lady.”
The girl elbows her brother. “What’s she doing here?”
The boy stares at Cypress, then cups his mouth to whisper something in his sister’s ear.
“Sssh!” The girl nudges him. “You’ll make her upset again.” She turns to Cypress. “Do you wanna play?”
Cypress wipes her eyes and smiles. “I’d like that very much.” She sits on the cot beside them.
A round slot in the panel before me opens up, and a sleek, dark lever, like a small dagger, rises from it.
Recruit Spark. In a few seconds, a pack of starving Canids will be set loose in Recruit Goslin’s Incentive Chamber. As victor of this Trial, you can choose to override this method of shelving by pulling the lever yourself and releasing a painless toxin into the air vents instead. As always, the choice is yours.
Memories of blood-curdling screams and tearing flesh coming from that alley back in the Parish drown out Slade’s voice and my throbbing heartbeat. The idea of those vicious, horrible beasts pouncing on Cypress and these innocent little ones is too much to bear.
My shaking, sweaty hand grips the ice-cold lever and pulls it. “Forgive me,” I whisper, collapsing against the panel.
A faint hissing comes through the speakers.
The boy shifts on the bed, moving next to Cypress. “Do you have any children?”
I bite into my lip.
Cypress’s eyes glisten. She shakes her head. “I … I never … did … but I always wanted to.” Her lips curve into the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “Maybe you two can be my children now.”
My fingers scrape the glass. I can’t bear to look anymore, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
Cypress pulls the children close. “I think you’re both pretty special,” she whispers. She kisses each of them on the forehead.
Both children yawn and huddle closer to her.
Then Cypress starts to sing.
Her voice is melodic, echoing softly through the speakers. A bittersweet song of love lost and found again. Each lyric tugs at my heart, sometimes gentle, sometimes wrenching through my chest. I think of my mom, my dad, Mrs. Bledsoe—all the warm memories of them, carved out of me by the Establishment, leaving me hollow inside except for the single flame that still burns.
I’m hugging myself, rocking back and forth.
Through a blur of tears, I can see Digory, glassy-eyed, as if staring at another life.
Even Ophelia seems touched, her cheeks like dewy leaves.
By the time the song comes to an end, neither child is stirring.
Cypress pulls them closer and kisses them again. “Sleep well and have wonderful dreams.” Serenity washes over her face.
She smiles and closes her eyes.
thirty-five
I wake up curled into a ball on the floor of the nex
t holding station. Digory’s sitting cross-legged beside me, his hand stroking my hair. I barely remember half-walking, half-stumbling here after that last Trial.
After Cypress was—
The memory of Cypress and her children lying there with closed eyes, perfectly still, jolts me fully awake. I replay the scene in my mind—the entire pen containing the bodies sinking into the ground as it were being swallowed by quicksand. My hands are still sore from pounding on the window, my throat raw from crying out. When our pens were unlocked, Digory wrapped his arms around me, but I broke away and staggered toward the next holding station. As soon as I reached it I collapsed into a fetal position, and exhaustion gave way to sleep.
Cypress and her children had just vanished, as if they’d never existed. And once again, I did nothing to stop it.
Unlike with Gideon, the Establishment robbed us of our chance to say goodbye to Cypress in our own way, just like they’ve robbed us of everything else. Grieving is a weakness—too human, too mired in compassion, and we can’t repeat that mistake, can we?
My eyes finally wander. Ophelia’s lying on the ground a few feet away, sound asleep. A soft, rhythmic purr bleeds through her parted lips, which look curved into a smile. I can just make out her eyeballs rolling beneath their sheaths before she turns on her side, away from me.
A shudder penetrates the numbness.
How can she actually nap, after what happened? What’s still happening?
But even more disturbing is the thought of what dreams lie coiled in that mind, hidden deep, waiting to spring.
Digory stops stroking my hair. He holds out a ration bar.
“Lucian, you really should eat something. You don’t look well. You need your strength.”
My eyes finally connect with his. A shard of anger stabs me. Why does he care what happens to me? Why keep pretending when he already has someone?
I sit up. “I’m not hungry.”
Instead, I swallow the sour clump lodged in my throat. My fingers dig out the crud from the corners of my eyes. There aren’t any tears left to spill, nothing left to feel except the longing to see Cole, to hold him one last time, make sure he’s okay before I, too, take my last breath. I’m so tired of fighting, tired of surviving.
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