Steven Santos - The Culling

I bolt up in bed. “What’s going-?”

“On your feet!” the lead figure shouts.

The next thing I know, the five of us are being dragged from our bunks by these brutes.

“You’re hurting me!” Ophelia squeals.

I exchange anxious looks with Digory just before a hood is pulled over my face. With no eye slits, I can’t see a thing. Panic surges through me like an electrical current. The coarse material feels like it’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.

“Wait! I need my glasses!” Gideon cries.

Then I’m being dragged and shoved outside, I think. “Is everyone okay?”

“Lucian!” Digory’s voice, a few feet away.

“Keep your mouths shut!” my captor hisses into my ear. “Inside!” A large hand shoves me. I trip over my own feet and land on my knees.

“Strap them in,” another voice calls to my right.

I’m yanked to my feet and shoved into a seat. A harness comes down over me and locks into place.

My heart’s thumping out of control. What are they going to do us? What if they’ve decided we’re not working out and they’re going to kill us?

“Cole … ” I whisper to the dark.

“Lucian?” Digory whispers back, right beside me.

His fingers grope for mine and his touch is just enough to keep me from going over the edge.

A metal door clangs shut. “Let’s move!” one of the Imps shouts.

There’s the grind and whir of engines and then a deep vibration as whatever vehicle we’re in begins to move.

The next hour is agonizing. We’re jostled to and fro for what seems like forever. Then at one point we stop and are transferred to some other vehicle. This time it feels like we’re airborne.

“Hang tight!” an unknown voice calls through a loudspeaker. “We’re in for some chop!”

The craft is buffeted by turbulence and I lean closer to Digory to steady myself.

I can hear muted sobs coming from close by. Ophelia? Gideon?

When it’s finally over, the craft comes to a rocky stop and the engines cut out with a long whine. A loud clank like the opening of a door-a hatch? — then the harnesses click open and we’re pulled from our seats and prodded down a slope, some kind of ramp I imagine.

The first thing I notice is a biting cold wind that sets my half-naked body shivering. The last time I felt like this was when-

My hands are uncuffed and the hood is ripped off my face.

Of course. We’re standing on the deck of a ship, much larger than the freighter that brought us to Infiernos. An aircraft carrier, by the looks of it. Before us, Sergeant Slade stands alongside the goons who kidnapped us from the barracks. They’ve removed their masks and I recognize Styles and Renquist among them, grins plastered on their faces.

“Welcome to your first impromptu FTX, Field Training Exercise,” Slade announces. “For the past several weeks, your training has concentrated on increasing your fitness and endurance, as well as learning basic survival and combat skills. Now the time has come to put your newly acquired proficiencies into play.”

There’s an audible shift in our stances. Our eyes dart to each other, and then back to Slade and the Imps.

Slade gestures to the dark horizon. “Out there is a communications station.” She points to the rear of the platform we’re standing on. “The life raft behind you contains a map with coordinates to the radio tower, along with a compass and emergency supplies. Your mission is simple. Arrive at the station in one piece.” Her tongue traces her lips. “But I do suggest you spend as little time in the water as possible, what with the hypothermia factor, not to mention the aquatic predators that roam these seas.”

Digory clears his throat. “Excuse me, Sergeant, Sir. Permission to speak?”

Slade’s eyes slash him from head to toe. “Permission granted, Recruit.”

“What if we aren’t able to reach the radio tower?”

Malice edges out the contempt in her face. “Failure is not an option in my platoon, Recruit Tycho.” She pulls out a sleek palm-sized device topped with buttons.

In that instant, my eyes have just enough time to connect her words with the hinges on the platform floor, which separate us from Slade and the Imps.

Slade’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Good luck.” Her finger jabs at the black box’s top button.

The floor disappears, sending the five of us tumbling into the roaring abyss yawning below.

The icy water hits me like a thousand syringes plunging into my body.

Something tugs at me, pulling me upward. Then I’m breaking through a barrier. Sounds rip through my ears, muffled at first. I’m not sure where I am. Deep cold slices through the numbness of my skin.

A high-pitched siren unclogs my ears. It blares again, only this time I realize it’s not a siren, but a scream.

I cough up a mouthful of salt water, just in time to swallow another one.

“Lucian! I gotcha!” Digory calls in my ear. He squeezes me tight.

“I’m okay.” I spit ocean.

“Gideon! You got her?” he calls to my right.

I manage to turn my head enough to see Gideon treading water. He paddles toward us, Ophelia clinging to his side.

“She’s good.” Gideon responds through puffs of frosty breath. “But we need to get out of this wa-wa-wat-er fast before we fr-”

“I know that!” Digory shoots back. “Where do you suggest we go? The raft’s gone … ”

During their exchange, I’ve been looking past them at a rectangular shape drifting steadily away from our position. The raft. And in it, the silhouette of a girl, her long hair whipping about in the wind.

Cypress has stolen our only chance of survival.

The thought of what will happen to the rest of us jumpstarts my heart. Sucking in a lungful of ice, I break free of Digory and dive into the water after her.

“Lucian! Wait!”

But Digory’s voice is drowned out by the splashing of my flailing limbs and the sound of my heart battering my ears. Every breath is a battle. I can’t feel my arms and legs as they carve into the water. My only focus is reaching that raft. I take in another gulp of frosty air and catch a glimpse of Cypress. I’m almost there.

My strokes are short and fast. Arms dig up the sea. Feet gyrate as rapidly as propellers. Ironically, it’s Cassius I have to thank for becoming such a good swimmer. All those times when we were kids, racing each other in the swamps behind the electrical plant, swimming through all that muck, having to hold our breath to avoid the awful stink infesting our nostrils as we tried to push each other’s heads beneath the surface. And now, years later, he’s holding my head down again. Only this time, he’s not playing, and he’s not going to let me come up for air.

The flash of fury fuels my strokes, faster and faster, until at last I reach the raft. I grab on to the side of the boat, leaning against it as I struggle to fill my aching lungs with air. I’m panting like a Canid. Slower. Breathe slower. I have to stop gulping air or I’ll hyperventilate. Everything’s hazy, and for a moment I feel like I’m going to pass out and slide back into the ocean for good this time.

The panic jolts me into action. Digging my fingers into the rubber rim, I hoist myself up and over the raft’s edge. My left hip slams onto the bottom before I roll onto my back.

I’m so numb, my body doesn’t even ache after that marathon swim. If it weren’t for the pain in my lungs, I might just be taking a little rest, sprawled out on this raft gazing up at the night sky.

The starfield is shattered by a wooden oar that appears out of nowhere. It gleams in the moonlight for a split-second, then it slices in a downward arc toward my head. My paralysis evaporates like a puff of frosty breath. I roll out of the way.