Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

We’ve been running on pure adrenaline for the last couple of hours since Leander’s death.

Down in the crematorium, my eyes water from the stinging heat of the furnace. Inside, resting on the metal rack, Leander’s body blackens as his crisping skin shrivels away to the bone. A recently virile and vibrant human being, reduced to nothing but a smoldering pile of ash in minutes. I’ve grown so used to the stench of roasting flesh that it barely registers anymore.

I feel like I’m the one that’s burning.

Tonight’s the night we either break out of this shithole, or go down taking as many of them with us as we can.

Either one works for me.

Since we’ve been under constant watch ever since the last trial, I have to dish out the details of the plan piecemeal—as we load more bodies onto the carts, mop out the grime from the cells, take our shower, and finally sit down in the mess hall, sharing what could be our last, meager meal.

Where once there were two tables, now there’s only one.

“So, you said you and Tristin are gonna come get us tonight?” Corin asks through a mouthful of gruel.

My eyes flick to Ensign Echoes, the lone Imposer, who’s standing by the doorway stifling a yawn.

“That’s right,” I reassure him. After everything Corin’s been through, I’m just glad he’s speaking again. The fire I saw in his eyes way back during our first encounter at the research facility is coming back. “After lights-out, Tristin and I will crawl through the ducts and set the timers on the charges I planted.”

Tristin gives him a hug and smiles. “Then we’ll come back and use the access card Lucian and Dahlia stole from Renquist, to unlock the cell blocks for you guys to slip out.”

Dahlia swallows, her eyes staring ahead into nothingness. “Like I said before, opening the cell doors will transmit a signal to the duty guard in the control room. They’ll be on us in seconds. We have to be ready to take them on.”

I glance again at Echoes, who’s scratching his nose. “Don’t worry. I told you, we’ll have some firepower on our side. You’ll get your chance.”

Arrah lifts her water cup to her lips, covering her mouth as if she’s going to sip. “And you’re sure you have enough weapons?”

I stir the slop in my bowl with a finger, not looking at her. “At least enough to take the skeleton crew by surprise before they send for reinforcements.” My eyes sweep across them. “The explosives will distract any guards long enough for us to slip through the ducts, into one of the aircraft hangars, commandeer a Vulture, and get the hell out of this place.”

Corin is staring at Leander’s empty chair. “Where will we go?” he whispers.

I reach out and muss his hair. “Anywhere’s better than here.” I smile at him, but I’ve been thinking the same thing. Flee to where? We’ll be fugitives. If the Establishment doesn’t find us first, there are other things out there.

“Finish up!” Ensign Echoes calls from across the room. “Time to get going!”

The squeak of chairs fills the room as the five of us push away from the table as one. We give each other one last, knowing look. Within minutes, we’re back in our cells. The doors hiss as they seal shut. Moments later the lights are extinguished.

The only thing I can hear are the mingled sounds of Tristin and my breathing, and the throb of my own pulse.

Time passes. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Can’t be sure. I strain my ears. Footfalls in the distance. More doors closing. The low rumble of voices fading.

“Time to move,” I whisper to Tristin.

Climbing on top of the cot, I reach my fingers up through the darkness of the cell until they brush up against the slats of the grate leading into the vent shaft.

The lights flare on, flooding the cellblock and momentarily blinding me. My heart misses a beat, then shoves a couple of extra ones in to compensate.

Tristin and I stare at each other in shock, not moving a muscle.

“Lucian, what’s—”

I shake my head, cutting her off. They found out what we’re up to. Somehow, they know .

Do they have us under surveillance that I’m not aware? I’ve searched this cell from top to bottom, hundreds of times, and never found any hidden cameras. What else could it be?

Did one of our very own betray us?

No. After all we’ve been through, that’s something I refuse to believe. Even though it wouldn’t be the first time.

I glance at the vent shaft overhead. Whatever’s happened, now might be our only chance.

But before I can move, the cell doors spring open.

Attention Incentives,an unfamiliar voice blares from the cell block speakers. You will now exit your cells and gather in the main holding area. We have a special announcement to make.

Special announcement? This can’t be good.

Several Imposers, including Styles, are milling around brandishing their weapons. Judging from the grogginess on their faces, it looks like everybody’s rest period was cut short.

But why?

I follow Tristin out. Arrah and Corin look my way. They both have the same look on their faces—a blend of fear and curiosity. Arrah’s eyes are asking me what’s going on, but I can only shrug and shake my head.

Only Dahlia seems unfazed. She takes in everything with dead calm—no panic, no contempt, no rage—nothing. It’s as if Dahlia Bledsoe abandoned her body, leaving only a gutted shell. The only sign of life is the slow sawing of her ragged nails against her arms, digging deep enough to dredge up thin rivers of glistening red.

Cassius Thorn’s face fills the screen.

He nods. “Greetings, Incentives. I know that you are all wondering why your rest period has been interrupted in such an unexpected manner.” He pauses for a moment, as if he’s waiting for us to agree. “As you are aware, Recruit Crowley sustained an injury during one of the Trials.”

“Yes. We know ,” I respond.

“Recruit Crowley’s condition,” Cassius says, “continues to steadily decline.” He sighs. “In fact, he is not expected to survive more than an hour or two at most.”

“He wouldn’t be in this shape if you’d given him medical atten—”

Styles shoves me with the butt of his weapon. “ Shut up! You will not address the Prefect—”

Cassius waves him off. “It’s all right, Officer. Let him speak.” His eyes drill into me. “Actually, what happened to Recruit Crowley could have been completely avoided had his performance during the trial met acceptable standards.”

“Acceptable standards?” I scoff. “There’s nothing acceptable about any of this.”

“Crowley had the opportunity, just like all the other Recruits, to train and make the right decisions—”

“But—”

“His well-being and ultimate fate is in his own hands. A fact you of all people, Spark, should be well aware of, given your own brush with illness during last season’s Trials—oh!” His fingers massage his forehead. “Forgive me. My mistake. You didn’t obtain those antibiotics on your own. You relied on the pity of a fellow Recruit—what was his name?” He shakes his head and flicks his hand as if he’s shooing away dust. “No matter.”

“You know his name,” I say. “After all, wasn’t he on your payroll?”

“Enough time has been wasted,” Cassius says, not taking the bait. “Rather than waiting for Recruit Crowley to expire, thus eliminating himself as well as his sole remaining Incentive from the Trials”—his eyes prey on Dahlia for a moment—“we have decided to preserve the integrity of the Recruitment process and incorporate this unfortunate situation into the next Trial, which will take place immediately.”