Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

Recruit Cage. Make your selection now.

I reach my cell.

Cage’s eyes are glistening with moisture. “I’m so sorry. I can’t eliminate Crowley. He’s too weak to even talk—it’ll mean his death. And if I choose Boaz and he chooses Leander this round, then Corin dies if Boaz fails again. Can’t chance that. I’m sorry. I have to choose you , Dru. Please… forgive me…” Anger flashes across his face as he wipes his eyes.

“ It’s not fair …” Drusilla sobs.

I tear off my uniform and drop down from the vent shaft into my cell, emerging into the holding area and rejoining the others just in time to see two Imps grab Arrah and Mr. Ryland, shove them into their cells, and strap them into chairs.

Then that terrible, familiar rumble as the entire cell is lifted and disappears, reappearing on the holographic projection of the trial field.

No . We’re not ready yet. And if we try to escape now, we’ll be caught before we even get started.

“It’s all right, baby,” Mr. Ryland calls to Drusilla. “Whatever you decide, I can accept it. I’m proud to have you as my daughter.”

Drusilla is sobbing uncontrollably. “Daddy… I love you so much…” She turns to Arrah.

“Oh, Arr… I love you too… I can’t … I can’t do this…” She looks up to the sky. “ Please… don’t make me do this…” Drusilla sinks to the floor. “I… I choose…”

Mr. Ryland clears his throat. He gestures toward Arrah. “The one thing I want more than anything else is for you to get out of here and live your life. You have a better chance with her, Drusilla. Choose me .”

Arrah’s sobbing, too. “No, Dru. He’s your father. I understand. I love you too much to make you choose him.”

Recruit Drusilla. Make your selection now.

Drusilla’s eyes bounce between them. “I choose… my father !” she screams, burying her face in her hands and collapsing to her knees. “Daddy, I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry,” she wails over and over again.

Cage tries to hug her, but she shoves him away.

Metal spikes thrust from the ceiling above.

Mr. Ryland smiles. “I love you, honey.”

Then the metal slams down, impaling him. His head slumps over as a fountain of blood erupts from the wounds.

The holo fades, and we’re herded back into our cells in silence.

My eyes and nostrils are stinging from the stench of the rotting corpses filling the cart. Every bone in my body aches from all the stooping and lifting.

For hours, we’ve been wading through the heaps of dead inmates that litter the stockades. We drag them into the wagon, haul them to the crematorium, and pile them into the incinerators. Back and forth, back and forth—a grisly conveyor belt of human tragedy.

If we don’t get out now, those of us who are left will be making this journey very soon.

Arrah finishes shoving the body of a middle-aged woman on top of the pile. The woman’s arm swings off the side, swaying from side to side like a grayish-blue pendulum warning that time is running out. No rigor. Must’ve been dead for a couple of days already, from the look and smell of it.

Arrah turns, smearing the sweat and grit from her brow with her forearm. She looks at me with eyes so dark they’re like twin black holes that have swallowed the light, after everything they’ve seen.

I know that look very well. It stares back at me whenever I happen to catch my own reflection.

“Did you see the look on Dru’s face, Lucian?” she asks. “She looked so frightened. So lost …” I almost get the feeling she isn’t talking to me. Just trying to make sense of the horror in her own head.

But how do you rationalize a nightmare?

“And I couldn’t do a thing.” She rolls the wagon over to a body set apart from the others.

It’s Mr. Ryland.

His remaining eye has rolled up into his head and looks like a bloodied eggshell. The other socket is a craggy cavern where one of the spikes pierced it.

Arrah stares at him. Her lips are quivering. Tears mix with the soot on her face, streaming down her cheeks like black blood. She drops to her haunches. One of her hands touches Ryland’s face, caressing his cheek before closing his remaining lid.

I stoop beside her, covering the dark craters torn through Ryland’s chest with the tattered remnants of his shirt. Arrah smooths his hair. “He was going to be my father-in-law. Dru and I—we were going to be married. Right after I finished my training and she wasn’t in any more danger of being recruited. Why didn’t she let me die instead? Why?”

I grimace. “Trust me. I know, it’s hard. I’ve lost people too…” I glance away. “Drusilla and you still have the possibility of a future. She loves you. Just like you love her.”

A bitter laugh bursts from her lips. She grabs Ryland by the arms and I take my cue and grab his feet. Then we’re lifting the body between us.

She stares at me across the corpse. “Even if we do make it out of here, every time Dru looks into my eyes, she’ll know that I’m the reason her father is dead. And I’ll know she knows. How can you have a future like that?”

I don’t answer. What can I say that won’t sound hollow?

We maneuver Mr. Ryland into the cart. “Careful,” she says.

Then it’s done. We return and load up for another trip to the furnace.

I grip her hand. “We’re breaking out today,” I mutter.

She squeezes me back. “Who’s we ?”

“All of us.”

I nudge my chin toward Leander and Dahlia, who are trundling their own loaded cart toward us, followed by Tristin and Corin wheeling a smaller one. As soon as they’re close enough, I grip the handlebars of our cart and keep pace with them as we head toward the crematoriums.

Leander and Dahlia draw up alongside us. “Did you tell her yet?” he mutters through heavy breaths.

Arrah’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. “Tell me what ?”

As we roll through the utility corridor and into the crematorium, I fill Arrah in on my excursion to the control room and the cache of weapons now hidden in the duct.

The glazed look in her eyes turns to surprise, and then the familiar Arrah starts to seep through. “You’ve been doing all that while the rest of us have been napping?” Her smile fills me with warmth. “Not bad. Looks like the Fifth Tier has a few surprises left in him.”

I smile back and nudge Leander. “I had a little help from the Second Tier over here. Leander’s not completely useless.”

“Keep talking, Sparkles, and you’ll see how useless my fist is.” Even without looking I can tell he’s smiling when he says this.

My eyes connect with Dahlia. “And of course I couldn’t have put this little Op together without our First Tier.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

When we reach the furnace, Dahlia helps me open the heavy iron door. Waves of heat emanate from the crackling, spooling flames. One by one we toss the bodies inside.

“We need to get away before the next Trial, or one of us ain’t gonna be along for the ride,” Leander says.

“Maybe we should rethink this,” Tristin interrupts. “It might not be safe. We have to have faith that—”

“ Faith?” Dahlia whispers. “The only thing I believe in is putting a bullet in each of these bastards’ brains.”

Leander nods. “You got that right, D.” He turns to Tristin. “It’s great that you’re all in tune with the higher powers and shit. But nobody’s coming for us. The only thing that’s gonna save our asses is us .”