Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

But once you take away hope, that’s it. Game over.

That’s when people break for good and can never be repaired. I’ve seen it happen over and over, ever since I can remember.

Corin taps me on the hand. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

The kid’s rough exterior is all but gone. This is the first time I’ve seen his true age in his eyes. I’ve managed to hold it together until now, but those five words hit me hard.

I stare at each of them for a few seconds before returning my gaze to Corin. “You’re not going to die, kid. I promise.” My eyes sweep my former comrades at the next table. “With the way the Establishment’s set things up”—I raise my voice—“the Imposer trainees and myself are a buffer between you and anything bad happening. As long as we’re around, you’re all safe.”

Mr. Ryland snorts. “Oh, yeah? What happens when the five of you are k—”

I cut him off with a glare that reaps the air between him and Corin.

Ryland clears his throat. “When the five of you are no longer part of the Trials ?”

Corin glares at him. “You mean when they bite it.”

I shake my head. “A lot can happen between now and then.” I pause for moment before turning to the others. “You should all consider yourselves very fortunate under the circumstances. You’re not just stuck in this hellhole with five other regular Incentives.” I turn to face Leander’s table. “You’re in here with one of the best Imposer trainee squads ever to survive the Trials.”

Through the icy stares I get back from my former squad I see something shift, if only for a second. Then it freezes over again in a blizzard of hatred and they all turn away again.

I’m going to need their help to get us all out of here. But it’s going to take more than words or playing to their egos to get my former allies to consider any kind of truce. And I don’t have much time to make it happen.

This is it. After several weeks of being confined in the dark and cold, subsisting on gruel and enduring back-breaking labor, the Trials are about to begin.

This is the first morning that no one has said a word during breakfast. Everyone looks weary. From the look of the bowls around me, no one seems to be feeling particularly hungry either.

The mess hall doors burst open. “Chow time’s over!” Echoes barks. “Let’s go!”

This time, I’m the last one in the single-file line as we make our way back to the common room. Ever since our arrival I’ve been cataloguing the layout of Purgatorium in my mind, not only memorizing the order of the winding passageways but also committing to memory the number of steps to any given area. If I’m somehow able to gain access to the vent shafts, air ducts, and/or drainage systems, this will definitely help me with finding my way around. The one thing that’s going to be a challenge is getting my hands on tools and some type of light source. Tricky, but not impossible; if I could make it through the last Trials in one piece, this shouldn’t be too difficult. At least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep from cracking.

Trying to get my former squad to work with me, though, has been less fruitful. Every time I attempted to talk to them, they either outright shunned me, gave me pissed-off looks, or grunted and muttered some colorful epithet. I’m going to need more time to win them over.

The problem is, time is not on my side. If Cage is the first Recruit to lose today, then all my strategizing, memorization, and self pep talks will die with me. I need to work fast, and not just to save my own life. For all I know, Arrah could be the first to die if Drusilla falters. It’s impossible to say what decision someone will make when put under that kind of traumatic pressure.

Once back in the common room, I can sense a change in the atmosphere. It’s as if it’s charged with electrical particles just before a storm.

The Imps usher us toward our holding cells but don’t force us inside, instead just leave us standing there as they disappear into the shadows. Then the lights dim and the whole room begins to glow as a deep hum vibrates throughout the chamber. Tristin’s eyes are closed, her head bowed in prayer.

It’s starting. And when it’s over, there’ll be one less chicken in the coup.

The light is blinding now, and I shield my eyes against its intensity. Then it’s gone, and I have to rub my eyes to make sure I’m not hallucinating. The entire chamber’s been replaced by an outdoor landscape. The guards, the control room—everything’s gone.

And standing right in the center of the room are Cage, Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, and Preshea.

“Cage!” Tristin cries, rushing toward her brother.

Around me, Mrs. Grimstone, Jorgen, Mr. Ryland, and Corin also bolt to embrace their loves ones. But as soon as the Incentives converge on the Recruits, it all makes sense. As they wrap their arms around their loved ones, they find that their embraces cut right through them.

Of course. The Recruits are holograms. This whole chamber is a giant holographic projector broadcasting a live feed.

We’re going to experience the horrors of this Trial right alongside the Recruits themselves.

Just like Cole must have.

Welcome Recruits! The Trials are about to begin.

The familiar voice blaring from the speaker system chills my blood. Last time, it was Slade’s voice that guided us through the Trials. This time it’s Cassius’s.

The expressions on the faces of the Recruits’ five family members turns from elated to crestfallen in the blink of an eye. Mrs. Grimstone sags into Mr. Ryland’s shoulder, pointing at Preshea. “She can’t see me. My baby can’t see me.” Then she’s sobbing, and I can’t help but be touched as the gruff man holds her up, patting her back, even as his own eyes well at the sight of his daughter, Drusilla. “Dru…” His words choke off.

Jorgen, on the other hand, stares at Crowley in silence. Is that admiration on his face? Pride? They don’t really look related, and I don’t detect any romantic longing in that expression, so I can only assume they’re friends or fellow rebels, both prepared for this eventuality, like Digory and his husband Rafé were. They’re resigned to the fact that they’re both probably not going to make it out of this.

After her initial enthusiasm at the sight of her brother, Tristin is the only one to seem calm now as she gazes at him. It’s like she actually believes he’s going to be all right and there’s nothing to worry about. In some bizarre way, I envy her. Ignorance or divine enlightenment—it gives her an incredible edge in dealing with what’s to come.

Poor Corin seems confused. His body is trembling as he stares wordlessly at the image of Boaz, directly in front of him but failing to acknowledge his presence. At one point he tries to tug Boaz’s arm, his fingers slipping through to nothingness.

“Boaz raised him after his folks were killed,” Tristin says to me.

Now I see just how devastating it can be to those standing by, watching their loved ones struggle. Knowing there’s nothing they can do to help, nothing they can do but stand idly by and watch, hoping not to die.

I walk over and take hold of Corin’s arm. “Don’t worry. He can’t see you, but he’s definitely thinking about you. I was a Recruit just like Boaz is. And my little brother waited for me, just like you’re waiting for him now.”

He wrenches his arm away. “Stay the hell away from me or I’ll kill you!”

Recruits, take your places.

I look up from Corin to see Cage coming right toward me, his face stern and menacing. Before I can move out of the way, he steps right through me. Cage takes his place at the starting line beside the images of Boaz, Crowley, Preshea, and Drusilla. Their expressions are like slivers of a broken mirror, cutting through their images with shards of fear, sadness, determination, and anger.