I think of that empty space where Cypress and her children disappeared into the ground and stifle a cynical laugh. Instead of grieving for Gideon and Cypress, there’s a part of me that actually envies them.
Digory wraps a hand around my arm. “I’m gonna have to insist—”
“Let go of me !” I’m barely able to wrench my arm free of his grip and knock the ration bar away.
He recoils as if I struck him. A film of hurt coats his eyes. “Sorry. I’m just … worried about you. It’s getting down to the wire and … and I know how hard this must be for you … with your brother and all … ” He looks down, his fingers fidgeting, tugging on the thumb of one hand with the thumb and index finger of the other.
My anger dulls. I rest a hand on his knee and give it a squeeze. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just … with everything that’s happened … I … ” I remember that empty space again. “I can’t believe Cypress is gone. And Gideon … ” I look back to find Digory’s eyes waiting for mine. “Besides, you have your own troubles, someone else to worry about.”
I state it as a fact, but the masochist in me is grasping for confirmation or denial of something I don’t want to be true.
Digory’s gaze is so intense I forget to breathe. “Yes,” he says at last, looking away.
Is that disgust? Regret? I can’t be sure. And it really makes no difference. Nothing will change, regardless.
He engulfs my hand in his warm palm. It feels so comforting, yet painful at the same time. His face kaleidoscopes with emotion: sadness, regret, anger, longing, all facets of the blue gems fixed on me. “Just because I have a commitment … a duty … to someone else … doesn’t mean I don’t … care … about you.”
As hard as I try to resist, I slide my hand out from underneath the shelter of his. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Digory, all your support. But as you said, we’re getting down to the wire and you need to focus on your priorities.”
I stuff my hand into my pocket, trying to rub away that lingering feel of his skin against mine, which short circuits the few remaining synapses in my brain. I try to remain nonchalant, but I’m doing all that I can to hold it together, and I’m angry at myself for feeling this way.
Digory and me—it doesn’t matter.
Cole’s my priority.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I shrug. “As noble as your intentions may be, I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. You need to do what’s in your own best interest from this point on, Digory.” I pause and draw strength to spit out the rest. “That’s what I’ll be doing.”
Digory purses his lips and nods. “Fair enough. But there’s one thing you need to believe.” His eyes pin me to the spot. I can’t move. “What I feel for you. It’s not pity, Lucian. Far from it.”
My heart thunders through my chest. No. I can’t let him pull me in again. Not at this juncture. He and I … it’s just not possible … never was. I compose myself as best I can and clear my throat. “I wish I could believe you. But I don’t really believe in much of anything anymore.”
His smile overflows with sadness. “Then I guess I’ll just have to prove to you how I really feel.”
The hiss of static through the speakers shatters the moment.
Attention Recruits!
Nervous energy courses through me at the sound of Slade’s voice. I spring to my feet, brimming with anxiety and fear.
Ophelia rolls onto her back and yawns, stretching her arms out. Her eyes flutter open. “Darn! I was just having the most amazing dream—”
Her words stick when she spies Digory and me. She frowns. “Oh. You two are still here.” She sighs and climbs to her feet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Stand by. Your next Trial shall commence momentarily.
Digory hops to his feet. I can tell he wants to say something but I look away, focusing on the image of Cypress and her kids sinking into the ground … buried … gone forever …
I shrink from the memory, reeling with vertigo as if I’m poised on the brink of a great precipice staring down at my own doom.
With so few of us remaining, this ordeal will be over soon.
My eyes flit to Digory, then back.
A thought jabs me in the gut. There’s a good chance only one of us is going to make it through this next round.
Ahead of us, a panel wooshes open, revealing a solitary metal door flanked by two small alcoves inlaid in the wall. A sign above the door says,
BIOGENETICS LABORATORY # 4
Both alcoves are empty, except for gaping holes about eight inches in diameter, ringed by tiny chasing lights trying to devour each other. The interior of each fissure gives way to unsettling darkness.
I force a swallow. What are those things?
And why are there only two of them instead of three?
Ophelia kicks dirt over the spot where Cypress and the children disappeared. I flinch. Then she cups a hand over the side of her mouth and leans in toward me.
“I hope you were able to get some sleep,” she says. “I’m feeling so rested and refreshed. I feel like I can take on anything—or anyone.” She chuckles.
Recruits Spark and Tycho. Before we begin this penultimate Trial, you will both approach the inoculation tubes flashing on either side of the gateway.
Digory and I exchange glances infested with worry. “Inoculation?” he asks the invisible Slade.
Now, Recruits.
We both shuffle ahead until we’re each standing in front of the strange openings.
I glimpse the shadow of satisfaction creeping across Ophelia’s face. There’s only one reason I can think of that Digory and I are standing where we are and she’s been left out.
This next step must be tied to the fact that the two of us are each other’s Incentives, and she isn’t.
Recruits Tycho and Spark. Both of you roll up a sleeve and place an arm inside the inoculation tubes immediately.
My entire body stiffens. The thought of placing a fingertip, let alone one of my limbs, through that impenetrable darkness terrifies me. But what choice do we really have? If we refuse, they’ll kill us on the spot. One look at Digory tells me he’s thinking the same thing.
We jam our exposed arms into the Inoculation tubes simultaneously.
Our eyes lock. I struggle to ignore the fear pressing down on my head, on my chest, trying to crush them.
Instead, I focus on the calming blue staring back at me and drowning out everything else—the cacophony of my racing heart, my ragged breaths, the tingling in my fingers. My thoughts settle into manageable anxiety. If I can just hold on a little longer, maybe it won’t be as bad as I imagined. Maybe—
Prick!
A sharp pain digs into my inner arm. Digory’s eyes flinch at that exact moment, breaking the spell.
Then the pain’s gone and we both wrench ourselves free.
Digory walks over to me. His eyes dart from the mark on my arm back to the identical one on his own, then up at me. “You good?”
I flex my biceps a couple of times, then let my arm drop to my side. “Think so. How ’bout you?”
He shrugs. “Can’t feel much of a difference.”
Ophelia scowls. “You don’t look hurt.”
I ignore her. “Maybe it’s just some kind of vaccination.”
Digory traces the pinkish patch on his own flesh. “I don’t think so.”
Recruits Tycho and Spark, you are now in compliance with regulations.
Peals of nervous laughter erupt from me, then sputter out just as quickly. “Compliance. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
Digory shakes his head. “I don’t think so either … ”
Viral Infection is complete. You are now ready to commence this Trial.
thirty-six
Vir
al infection?
But deliberately making us sick is just the kind of thing the Establishment specializes in. I close my eyes against a wave of dizziness.
The vent in my chamber during that last trial. Digory said there was one in his, too. They were meant to gas either one of us, as each other’s Incentives.
Which means if we’ve both been infected with some disease prior to starting this Trial, then—
“Cole!” I shout at the speakers. “What’ve you done to him, Slade?”
All of the Incentives have been infected with a mutated form of the Reaper virus, including Recruits Tycho and Spark. The virus has an extremely short incubation period.
Images of Mrs. Bledsoe hacking up blood bubble to the surface. Except her face changes to Cole’s. My knees buckle. Stark desperation rips through me.
When the gateway opens, your task is to retrieve the vials of antivirus and deposit them in the marked cryogenic chamber at the top of the stairs corresponding to your respective Incentives. In the case of Tycho and Spark, should you each procure an additional vial, you’re allowed to inject yourselves or each other with the antidote. But be cautioned that there are only four vials total.
Despite the increasing thudding in my head, my thoughts spin through a cloak of fog, calculating the different scenarios based on the amount of remedies versus the number of Incentives. The results of my calculations knife through my Reaper-dulled senses.
Ophelia doesn’t need the cure, so all she needs is one vial for Maddie.
I’ll need a vial for Cole—that makes two vials claimed. Then another one for Digory. That’s three.
That leaves Digory with only one vial, the final one, with either his husband or me as its recipient.
Which means I’m a dead man if he’s forced to choose.
Once you have deposited the antivirus in your respective Incentive’s chamber, they will be transported via pneumatic tubes to their final location and you must immediately proceed to your final Trial. Prepare to enter the gateway, Recruits.
The mechanisms on the door to the Biogenetics Laboratory grind and creak. The sound hurts my ears, which ache with a dull throbbing. Digory and Ophelia crowd against me, each of us facing our potential doom.
The gears of the door stop crunching and the locks spring free.
Even if I were to use my second vial on myself instead of Digory, then he’d be left to choose between the life of his husband and his own.
A quick glance at Digory’s pained expression tells me he’s been doing some arithmetic of his own.
The door arcs inward with a high-pitched squeak, exposing a flight of stairs. I fight the urge to push through.
The only way both Digory and I can both survive, with both of our other Incentives intact, is if we find all four vials—including the one intended for Ophelia’s sister. Effectively murdering Maddie.
The door swings open all the way with a deafening clank.
Already a fever’s baking my brain. Cold sweat weaves down my face. A vise squeezes my chest and I cough into my palm.
“How’re you holding up?” Digory whispers into my ear. A red trickle’s threading its way down his left nostril and teetering on the edge of his lip.
I shake my head. It’s already started.
“You poor dears,” Ophelia clucks in mock sorrow. “See you on the other side.” She eyes us both up and down and tsks. “Well, one of you at least. Maybe.”
A broad grin tears across her face, growing wider and wider until I realize I’m seeing double. I grind the base of my palms into my eyes, then let my hands drop back to my sides. I blink a couple of times. Ophelia goes from a total blur to slightly out of focus.
Panic chews on my heart. I have to be quick if I’m going to find those antidotes before the virus takes hold. If I should go blind …
Cross the threshold and begin antivirus retrieval, Slade’s voice booms.
Ophelia shoves me into Digory and disappears through the gateway.
I almost topple to the floor, but Digory’s arms engulf me and his hands lock against my stomach, propping me upright against him. My eyes finally tighten their focus on the blood streaking through his interlaced fingers.
“You have to keep it together,” he says. “We can’t let her get this, Lucian. Do whatever you have to—she will. Understand?”
I nod.
Then he releases me and dashes through after her. I seize a painful breath and lurch through behind him.
The gateway slams shut, with a terrible echo that penetrates my throbbing brain like shards of jagged glass.
“Careful! ”
Digory’s warning startles me. I expected him and Ophelia to be way ahead of me. But they’re both standing close by, eyes riveted ahead.
I follow their gazes …
And gasp.
The wide steps that dominate the dimly lit compartment are no ordinary steps. For a horrified second I think that the virus has seriously impaired my faculties, to the point where I’m severely hallucinating.
“What is that?” Ophelia asks, all traces of bravado leeched from her voice.
The stairs are not so much hewn from the earth as growing from it, each step pulsating with slimy moisture. Translucent membranes separate each rise. Pressed against these are writhing shapes, twisted bodies with misshapen fingers trying to claw their way out.
“The sign on the door,” I croak. “Biogenetics. It must be where the Establishment experiments with genetic manipulation … ” I stifle a cough with my fist.” And biological weapons, like the virus.”
Throbbing red and dark purple tendrils cling to the surface of each step like an arterial system, squirting random jets of a sickening yellow pus-like substance that coats the chamber floor in a gooey mess. With the door closed, cutting off any fresh air, the confined space reeks—a mixture of excrement and vomit … and something else …
Rotting meat.
I double over and cough up a dark wad that looks like tar.
But I know it’s not.
Digory rubs my back. “Lucian … ”
I shoo him away and straighten up.
Groans all around us, getting louder and louder.
It’s those shapes, trapped behind the stairs. Their moans rise and swell in intensity until a crescendo of doom vibrates through the air.
Above, on the landing of this organic nightmare, are three circular steel tubes, each large enough to fit a grown man. Even from down here I can make out the designations stenciled on each one.
Tycho Incentive Storage
Juniper Incentive Storage
Spark Incentive Storage
Ophelia pushes past us. “Maddie’s up there! ” She bounds up the first two steps. One of the undulating tendrils wraps around her ankle and slams her down.
Splat! She hits the viscous rise headfirst.
Without missing a beat, Ophelia pulls her torso up with her arms. Blood trickles from her forehead, mixing with strands of gelatinous slime that sticks to her cheek. The slime gives way with a sharp rip the more she pulls her way upright, tearing flesh from her face until she’s free.
“Ophelia!” I pitch forward.
But Digory’s arm shoots out and barricades the way. “Look for the vials.”
His eyes plead through the glaze that encases them. More blood oozes from his nose, as if it’s a spigot. Heat radiates from his body like a furnace.
I half nod to him and manage a grunt of agreement. When I swivel my head from left to right to pan the room, it feels like it’s going to slip free of the creaky bearings barely attaching it to my neck. I take in the solid walls, which ripple in the heat of my burning vision.
Digory wipes his nose and runs his palms over the walls as if searching for something—a hidden panel or concealed door, maybe? Soon the metal finish is streaked with his blood, and
it looks like he’s trying to claw his way out his own tomb.
He turns. “Nothing!” Anger flashes in his eyes. He kicks the wall. The impact causes him to flinch and slump against it. I can tell by the effort on his face that he’s trying to keep himself upright and not slide the rest of the way down to the floor.
The floor.
I try to focus on the ground. “Maybe the vials are hidden inside the gunk underneath us?”
He weaves toward me. “But we’d have stepped on them by now … ” He sloshes his boot through the goop and almost slips. He looks back up at me. “Wouldn’t we have?”
I shake my head, making myself more dizzy. I search the room again, until my gaze lands on Ophelia … still tangled on the stairs, trying to pry herself free of the tentacle gripping her leg. “Unless the vials are somewhere we haven’t stepped yet.”
Despite the waves of pain and nausea, I squat, careful to avoid the flailing tendrils, searching through the opaque membranes between each rise of the stairs, past the silhouettes of disease-riddled victims, their glowing eyes blinking at me …
Those aren’t eyes.
I dig my fingers through the clammy diaphanous skin coating the stairs and tear a portion away.
The blinking is actually the green flashing of a miniature beacon. It’s attached to a transparent packet, which contains a hypodermic needle and a small bottle of clear fluid. The packet’s half-wedged into the muck.
I point at it. “That’s gotta be one of the four vials,” I whisper so Ophelia doesn’t hear. Considering both our handicaps, we need every advantage we can get.
Digory leans in, his lips grazing my cheek on their way to my earlobe, penetrating my fever with shivers that tingle through every nerve-ending. “You get that one and then keep looking,” he whispers back. He smiles at me despite the weariness in his eyes. “You’re going to make it, Lucian.”
Something about his tone saddens and frightens me. I clutch his hand. “We both are.”
His smile ebbs. “Of course. Keep moving.” He squeezes my shoulder then moves away, searching through another part of the membrane.
When I look back, Ophelia’s eyes are glued on me. The tendril that gripped her lies torn in her gore-streaked hands, leaking a dark pool by her feet.
The Culling Page 27