The Culling
By Tricia Wentworth
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Published by Tricia Wentworth
Cover design by Vila Design
http://viladesign.net/
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Copyright 2017 by Tricia Wentworth
To my family and friends who were in on the secret.
Without y’all this would still be a bunch of jumbled thoughts in my notebook.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgments
Author’s Bio
Prologue
150 Years Ago
Dr. Pak
The irony was not lost on the scientist. The birds were chirping. The sun hit the water at a forty-five-degree angle and made the light dance across it as it wove its way further downstream. It was one of those spring mornings that give people hope. And there they stood, about to release a deadly weapon into the world, about to destroy all semblance of hope.
What they didn’t understand, what he couldn’t make them see, was how deadly Trident will be. She’s too unpredictable. Too erratic. Too brutal. And she will be just as brutal to people as she is to bacteria. She blinds. She paralyzes. Then she shuts down the host organ by organ. Trident. The triple headed spear of death. There will be no exceptions. Not even children.
This wasn’t his intention. He had wanted to create a water transferable virus capable of destroying bacteria and purifying the increasingly polluted waters. In doing so, he came across a worst case mutation scenario that was unfolding into his worst nightmare. Biochemical warfare and a virus named Trident. This was not his war. He wanted no part in this, yet somehow landed a leading role.
"Doc, do it or I will."
The no-nonsense voice snapped him back to reality. The weight of the medical briefcase in the scientist’s hand felt like it would pull him six feet under. And it would, just not today. He crouched down and opened the briefcase as commanded. The click of the clasp may as well have been a gun cocked to his head. Holding the first vial in his hand, the only thing he thought of was the death storm that would surely follow. He brought his free hand up and brushed two shaky fingers across his brow. Blood was about to be on his resume and there was nothing he could do about it.
He couldn’t stop this. The people in charge were too evil. Too power hungry. In too much of a hurry to prove themselves. This was the last thing he wanted. What started with good intentions was being used for the evilest of purposes. Going to the authorities like he was supposed to had done nothing. He was sold, like a slave, in an effort to unify Korea once again. And what a lost effort it was, as he stood on the riverbank about to send the virus to citizens of his own country.
If he didn’t do this, he knew his body would be dumped in the river along with the vials of his creation. So he led this trial run in hopes of preventing them from overusing a weapon they didn’t yet fear but should. He opened the first vial and poured.
As Trident hit the water, nothing changed. The water was still blue and continued slowly meandering downstream, delivering the virus to the unsuspecting first victims. The birds still chirped. The sun still shone. The world as the scientist knew it continued on.
But not for long.
The deed done, the scientist had only one thought, “God help us.”
Chapter 1
150 Years Later
The lead of my pencil shatters again. Go figure. What I want to do is chuck the stupid thing across the room. Instead, I quickly put that piece of crap down and pick up a fresh pencil to fill in another empty circle with what I only hope is the correct answer. I try to do it more lightly this time, going easier on the shoddy writing device.
My mind is beginning to feel like the remaining circles on my paper, empty and full of nothing. I continue on, answering dozens of questions. I’ve been taking tests like this every day for the past five days, six hours each day.
Today is the last day of pre-qualifying testing. Thank goodness.
I’m not even sure if I want to qualify for the Culling. I know what it would mean for my family, but I don’t know if it would really be worth it in the end. Is life in Omaha really so bad? It would make life different, that’s for certain. Good different? Bad Different? I’m not sure, but I’m tired of doing the same old thing every day devoid of any significance. I’m also tired of these hateful pencils and circles.
I finish the last question. I know I should spend the remaining time going back over my answers and double checking, but after doing this for so long, I just don’t care anymore. I’m numb. Done for. I gave it my best effort. It is what it is. I tuck my hair behind my ears and then rub my temples as if massaging my brain will help ease away all the stress of these tests.
Was it enough? Am I good enough?
****
I work in the fields in the late summer sun stopping only for a drink and to wipe the sweat from the back of my neck. After waiting two excruciatingly long weeks, today is the day that I will find out how I fared on the testing. Having stopped working again thinking about it, and refusing to keep thinking about it, I take another quick drink of water and get back to work. The sun is making me hot and I am glad I ditched my long sleeved shirt for my tank top. The only thing that matters in this exact moment is this field and this crop, or so I’m trying my darndest to convince myself.
The soil crumbles with each beat of the hoe I drive into the ground. It’s hard work, but it’s oddly gratifying. It’s like the weeds among the plants are the insecurities I’m currently trying to keep at bay. I’m determined to find them and take them down one by one. Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Yep. These suckers have to go.
“Dude, those carrots and radishes look better than all the crap in the greenhouses. Let up a little would you? What did the weeds ever do to you?” a jovial and familiar voice soon interrupts.
“Well, we don’t have long before harvest and then we are stuck in those stupid, sticky greenhouses for winter, so I had better enjoy it while I can, Ash,” I respond back without looking up or ceasing my work.
“So the fact that your testing results are broadcast throughout the entire country in a few hours has nothing to do with your incessant hoeing?” he retorts with a snort as he walks over to me. I look up and see his all-knowing expression.
He sees right through me as usual. Our f
amily dog, Shepp, is with him and trots over to me wagging his tail.
“Hey, boy,” I greet him. I stop a moment, putting down my tool again and look at Ashton guiltily, “Look, it isn’t for another couple of hours. Leave me be.” I shrug and reach to fix my hair bun, which probably resembles a bird’s nest at this point.
My brother Ashton doesn’t say a word but somehow seems to understand that I am borderline freaking out but can’t stop working or then I really will freak out. I’m not sure if the freak out will entail ugly tears, punching something, verbal vomit, or maybe even a combination of the three, but it is best to steer clear of it altogether. Instead of leaving me alone like I asked, Ashton picks up a hoe and works beside me. Meanwhile Shepp finds a spot off to the side in the shade to lie down while we work.
Ashton doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything. We just keep working. We pull up weed after weed as we turn the soil of the huge field of vegetables and the time on the clock slowly ticks away. The harder and longer we work, the better I feel.
We don’t stop until Mom calls us in to shower, an hour earlier than usual. I’m not sure why this annoys me, but it does. Heaven forbid I actually have dirt on my pants when I get my results? Seriously?
Normally Ashton and I would race to the shower or play some sort of juvenile game to see who got the water first. Not today. We walk to the house tired from our work. I reach down and scratch Shepp behind the ears as he finds his spot on the porch. Ashton and I go inside and the screen door slams behind us. He walks the short distance to the bathroom door and bows before it, saying, “You first, Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes, walking in and slamming the door shut much harder than necessary.
All showered and sporting sweats and a t-shirt with my long hair pulled back in a braid, we sit down to a quiet but cordial meal of turkey and biscuits for what feels like the fifth time this week. I’m feeling much more comfortable out of my work clothes, although I’m not sure I’m ready to know the results yet. Mom brings out a special dessert of angel food cake and canned peaches. It isn’t every day we get dessert, so at least one good thing came from this. I savor the deliciousness. We need to plant more peach trees in the orchard next year. I wonder if I make it to the Culling, if they have a lot of peaches in Denver.
No, no, no.
Best not to think that way. No use in getting my hopes up. Just a little bit longer and I will finally know for sure that I didn’t make it and then life can go back to normal. No more “what ifs”.
After taking entirely too much but yet not enough time, we turn on our television to await the results. We don’t get to use the machine for recreational use like they used to, just Fridays when they broadcast an old movie for us after the weekly news reports. I wonder what movie they will play tonight after the results. I guess there is something to look forward to. Dad turns the flat screened television on, and we watch the bright blue screen waiting for the inevitable, the broadcast.
“I’m sure you did wonderful sweetheart. No matter the results, I know you did your very best,” he tells me proudly.
I look away from him and back to the TV without replying. He has said the same thing to me at least a dozen times in the last two weeks. For some reason, instead of making me feel better, it actually makes me feel worse, and I have the overwhelming feeling of just wanting this to be over.
Ashton flicks my ear and comes to sit on the couch next to me, stretching out his long legs in front of us. I hear Mom scold him for his bare chest and not putting on a t-shirt with his sweats. Somehow that feels better than Dad’s words of wisdom. Listening to them harass one another is familiar.
It feels like hours pass as we sit there watching a blue screen and just breathing. Dad thankfully gives up on his words of wisdom and mom sits there busying herself by crocheting something. I can’t help but wonder exactly how my family would be compensated for my making it to the Culling. I know they would get something because that is what we were told before the tests. They wanted to make sure we were motivated.
I take a deep breath and swallow down the insecurities lodged in my throat. I am only 18 years old. I am in my last year of school and have just been assigned my specialty. I have my whole life ahead of me. I will start working full time in my career next year. Within three or so years, I will be married and starting a family; it is law after all. Someday I will think back on this day and laugh at how nervous I am. There were others in my classes that didn’t even get the letter that I did, so at least I made it this far. Being so young, I probably wouldn’t make it very far anyway.
“Good Evening.”
The screen comes to life and interrupts my mental pep talk as President Maxwell begins speaking. He is wearing a striking blue suit with a red plaid tie. It has been a while since he has been on the newscasts personally, and he looks thinner and paler than I remember. And old. When did he get so old?
“For only the fifth time post-Trident, I am pleased to be here today to announce to you the list for the State of the Union’s Culling. These young people are the best of the best. They are our future. They are our most prized possession. I won’t keep you waiting any longer with formalities. This is why we are all gathered together tonight as one nation. The following are the 50 young men and 50 young women chosen for the State of the Union’s fifth Culling.”
The screen changes to a list. Boys are listed first, by township, and then alphabetically. I don’t care to look at it, or look for Omaha even. I find I’m holding my breath and take one more deep gulp of air.
This is it.
I feel Ashton playfully put his arm around me and am glad he is there holding me up. I am just sure my body has turned to mush and would be on the floor in a heap if he weren’t supporting me. Good thing he is considerably bigger than I am. Having a big brother comes in handy sometimes, but mostly they are just a pain in the butt.
After a full minute or two of seeing the boys’ names, the screen changes to the girls’ names.
I immediately slam my eyes shut. This is finally it. I can’t bear to look. None of my small family is screaming. No cheers or applauses. Mom isn’t doing her signature super-excited squeal.
Sooooo, I didn’t make it then.
I sigh. We will be stuck where we are for the rest of our lives. Working, working, working. I was our last chance for something better, if such a thing even exists anymore. I have failed them. We live in a world where dreams are just a whisper on a cold wind. Why did I even let myself mentally go there? I was stupid to have hope. I should’ve known better. I want to facepalm myself into next week.
Ashton squeezes my shoulder rather roughly and I open one eye, then the other. I see three sets of eyes staring at me. One set of which, my mother’s, are filling with tears while she holds a hand over her mouth.
“Mom?” I ask, feeling horrible.
She must be upset I didn’t make it. I let her down. Why else would my normally emotionally stable mother be crying? I’ve seen Dad cry more times than she, so this is unnerving. Mom teaches junior high students during the day. She’s a rock.
She can’t seem to stop though. She isn’t sobbing, she just stands there quietly while tears spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She doesn’t bother to wipe them away either. Unable to find words, she points at the TV. The names are still up so I am confused.
Then I see it under “Omaha”. Two names.
Mine is one of them.
Reagan Scott.
I’m in.
Chapter 2
Is this real life?
That is the only thought running through my head as I look at all three sets of eyes again. Am I happy with this? Excited maybe? Maybe that nervous feeling I am feeling is just because I have to pee. I don’t have time to decide. The screen switches back to the President.
“I would like to congratulate all the candidates, whom I can’t wait to personally meet. I know, firsthand, what it takes to lead this nation. I will take great care in helping to choose o
ur next leaders. There are 100 of you now. Yet by the end of the Culling, only two will remain. Congratulations for making it to this point. Some of you are only 18. Some of you are 21. All young. All vibrant. And our best hope. Remember this moment and then prepare.”
Then he gets more serious as he takes a deep breath. “The responsibility you have just been given is not to be taken lightly and you have a long road ahead of you. We will push you and challenge you to your greatest capacity in order to find our greatest leaders. We need leaders in this day and age not for four years, or eight years, but hopefully for forty years.” He pauses a moment then smiles again. “So without further ado, let the Culling begin.” He ends it with a nod.
The screen is then on the Speaker of the State, who takes over. “To all the candidates aforementioned, please say your goodbyes and pack only a small bag of personal possessions. Within two hours, you will be escorted from your home to leave for Denver, given another routine blood sample first, of course. The Culling starts immediately. Because all of the candidates obviously weren’t around for the last Culling, here’s a quick reminder that it has no time requirements. It may take only a matter of months. It may take a year. It may take two. Say your goodbyes accordingly. The State of the Union has called on you for its highest honor. We will have a new Presidential Couple by the end of this.”
There were a few more announcements made that I didn’t really pay attention to after that and then I was again staring at a blue screen.
I really did it? I made it to the Culling?
“Well, what are you waiting for, Your Highness?” Ashton says, snapping me back to reality. “Let’s get you packed.” He stands and curtsies, bare chest and all.
I try to keep it together. Feeling weirdly and unusually emotional, I think I might cry right there on the spot. Mom’s emotions must be rubbing off or something. But before I burst into tears, laughter instead escapes my lips. First a giggle, then a laugh, then a snort from trying to contain it, and then a harder and uglier laugh. And then there really were tears, but the laughing kind.
The Culling: Book 1 (The Culling Series) Page 1