Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

Staring at Corin’s vacant eyes sends chills through me. I muss the kid’s hair. “How’s he doing?” I ask Tristin.

“He’s not saying much these days.” Her smile is laced with sadness. She looks up at me. “But he’s hanging in there for now.”

Yeah, but for how much longer?

“That’s why we need to get out of this hell-hole now,” Dahlia murmurs, as if reading my mind.

Tristin pulls Corin closer to her. “I hope this plan of yours, whatever it is, will work. Does it include the Recruits? After all, what happens to them without any Incentives to fight for?”

“They get Shelved? Sent to bed without supper? Who gives a damn about them ?” Leander pushes past Dahlia and gets in Tristin’s face. “Look. I don’t give a crap about your religious-pacifist bullshit. You, your brother, and the other insurrectionists are the reason we’re all in this mess in the first—”

I grip his arm and pull him away from her. “Leander. Lay. Off. Her .” My voice is steady, in control. “It doesn’t matter how or why we got here. It’s going to take all of us to get out.”

Dahlia shoves him with her shoulder. “You’re forgetting what they did to Rod-Man… what they did to…” She closes her eyes for a moment and grits her teeth. “What they’ve done to all of us.”

Leander’s demeanor flicks like a switch. He backs away. “Sorry, D. Just trying to wrap my head around this whole…” He runs a palm over his buzzed hair.

She shakes her head. “There aren’t any rebels, any Imps anymore. Only those who are getting away. And those who are going to die.”

Arrah steps forward and touches Dahlia’s shoulder, caressing it, trying to quell the fire. “I agree that we’re all in this together—rebel and trainee alike. But Tristin does have a point. The Recruits are victims just as much as we are.” Her eyes find mine and I can see the desperation there. Of course she’s worried about Drusilla. Just like I worried about Digory once.

“Dahlia and Tristin both have good points,” I say. “I’ve taken the Recruits into account. I’ll fill you in on all the deets later. But the short version is, we’re outta here before the next trial. During our escape, we’ll set off explosive charges. I’ve already planted them throughout the ducts. That ought to keep the Imps busy and provide a diversion. The chaos will give the Recruits a chance to make a break for it.”

The furnace doors squeal as I slam them shut. I turn to face the others. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go out on my terms. What do you say?”

They move in, until we form a circle. Arrah nods. “I’m in.” She holds out her hand and I reach out to clasp it.

“So am I,” Tristin murmurs. Her own hand touches ours.

Dahlia adds her grasp to the mix. “As long as we get to kill them.”

Leander smiles at me. “For Rod-Man.” His grip is firm.

A smaller hand reaches out. Corin’s. His fingers feel cool as they rub against my own. “Let’s kick their asses,” he whispers.

Someone’s coming down the corridor, and we separate.

“What do we have here?” Styles marches up to us, along with a couple other Imposers, hands on their holsters. I shift into a slouch.

He sneers at the bodiless carts, then back at us. “If the garbage has already been taken care of, what the hell are you sorry lot doing just standing around? Move it back to your cells unless you want to join the rest of the trash in the smoke box.”

His companions snicker alongside him as they herd us from the crematorium back through the corridors. I have to try to control the fresh spring in my gait. Whatever happens, this will be the last time we’ll have to burn bodies and walk down this path.

Instead of leading us to the showers first, Styles and his crew lead us right back to our cells. “Inside,” he snarls. Using the butt of their weapons, they prod us inside.

I stare him down. “Is that our punishment? No showers? I wouldn’t think you’d miss a chance to see us naked.”

He smirks at me. “Soon. But unfortunately, there’s no time.”

It feels like vermin are gnawing at my gut from the inside. “ No time? What are you talking about?”

He leans in real close and leers. “Timetable’s been moved up. The fourth trial is about to start.”

We’re taken from our cells and deposited on top of a circular field of sand, which is shaped like a giant ant hill with spiral pathways etched into the sloping sides. Our half-naked bodies are shackled together at the wrists by a long length of chain that’s embedded in a stone pillar at the top of the mound. Metal bands, containing a thin slot and a blinking red light, have been clamped around each of our necks. The lump in my throat is not solely due to the tightness of the band digging into my neck.

Directly ahead, on the far side of the field, Drusilla, Cage, Crowley, and Boaz emerge—in the flesh this time. They’re standing on a circular platform that rose up from beneath the sand, the hole sealing behind them with a serpent’s hiss as they step off. Just like us, they’re barely clothed.

Welcome Recruits, and congratulations on making it to round four of the Trials.

In spite of Cassius’s greeting, the four of them look anything but thrilled.

Scattered throughout the field are keys that will unlock both the collars around your Incentives’ necks and their manacles. There are only three keys available, and four Recruits. The collars have been equipped with a lethal neurotoxin that will be dispensed if not removed in time. The last Recruit to complete the task will be required to select which one of their Incentives will receive the toxic dose. Good luck!

BUZZ! The shrill sound of the starting signal ricochets through the Trial field.

Drusilla tears away from Cage and Boaz, who take a few seconds to disengage from the ailing Crowley before sprinting off after her. Crowley teeters as he struggles to maintain his balance. This whole contest won’t even be close.

My hand finds Dahlia’s and I expect her to flinch and pull away, but her fingers slip into mine and squeeze firmly.

“It’s not over yet,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“It will be soon,” she mumbles back.

Cage and Boaz have caught up to Drusilla. The three of them look feral, like cornered animals tearing through the crevices in the sand in a fight for survival. Then Drusilla’s arm emerges from the rubble holding up a flashing beacon. Dangling from it is a long, golden key.

“ I got it!” Her elation is almost choked by a sob. But the wide smile on her face is eclipsed as the shadows of Cage and Boaz fall upon her.

Boaz holds out his hand. “Let me have it, Dru.” The calm in his voice is unsettling. He takes a step closer to her.

She backs away. “I need it.” Her glance shoots in Arrah’s direction, pleading, before boomeranging to her two fellow Recruits.

“It’s not for me.” Boaz softens his tone. “It’s for Crowley.” He turns for a second toward their companion, who is slowly limping along in their direction. “He needs our help, Dru. Let him have this one and you can take the next one.”

Drusilla shakes her head. “I’m taking this key. If you find the next one, you can give it to him yourself.”

The anger returns to Boaz’s face. “It’s because of that girl. That Imp bitch!” He jabs a finger toward Arrah. “First Cage here, and now you. Whose side are you really on, Dru? Huh?”

“It’s not about sides. I love her.”

A harsh sound approximating a laugh bursts from Boaz’s lips. “ Love ? This coming from someone who murdered her own father.”