Steven Santos - The Culling

I lean forward and pinch his nostrils closed again, press my lips to his, and blow in more air. I think about all those times he stole my breath away. Why doesn’t he use it now?

His eyes remain closed. His body still.

Ophelia touches my hand. “I’m really sorry, Spark. He’s gone.”

I yank my hand away. “No!” My fists pound his chest. “Come back!” Whomp! “Open your eyes!” Thwack! “Don’t”- slap -“Give”- slap- “Up!” Smack!

“Spark! Let him go !” Gideon grabs one of my fists in mid-swing.

Digory’s eyes snap open. Icy water spews from his mouth. He leans forward, coughing and gasping for air.

“You did it, Spark!” Ophelia holds up the back of Digory’s head, steadying him against her.

Relief floods me. Pushing Gideon aside, I squat beside Digory, pull the thermal blanket over him, and pat his back. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

He continues to cough. But eventually it peters out, as does the trembling. Little by little, the pink returns to his skin. Finally, his breathing eases into a normal rhythm.

His eyes wander around the raft, taking us all in.

“I feel like a Squawker ran into me,” he says at last. His voice sounds a little weak, but at least it’s not laced with chill. “What happened?” He looks right at me. “The last thing I remember, you took off after … ” His eyes narrow at Cypress. “ Her .” He bolts upright. “Warrick! You were drowning-!”

“Take it easy, Tycho,” Gideon says. “At least you came back.” He glares at Cypress. “Quicker than some other people.” He looks back at Digory. The hint of a smile appears on his face. “You helped us out.” His head swings to Ophelia. “ Both of us. We owe you one.”

Ophelia nods.

“Don’t worry about it, Warrick.” Digory smiles. “So, what happened to me?”

“You just passed out,” I say before anyone else can respond. My eyes sweep Ophelia, Gideon, and finally Cypress before relaxing on Digory. “But the therm’s doing its job and you’re better now. And we have a Radio Tower to find.”

Cypress just stares at me with a crooked smile painted on her face. Her eyes shift between Digory and me. “So much selflessness tonight is gonna make for a much more interesting competition during the actual Trials.”

Gideon pulls out the map and rattles off the coordinates while I grab the compass, Ophelia and Cypress take the oars, and Digory trains the binoculars toward our destination.

Behind us, the carrier is just a few specks of flickering light on the horizon. We’re all alone now, adrift in the engulfing blackness.

I study the faces around me. Digory. Gideon. Ophelia. Cypress.

No. Not alone.

We have each other.

“I see it!” Digory points into the distance.

Before us, a tiny island looms, with a triangular tower at its center.

We can barely contain our whoops and hollers. We did it. Together .

As we approach the shoreline, the island flickers. At first I think it’s lightning from an approaching storm. Then the radio tower shimmers-and vanishes, along with the island, sky, and stars.

Harsh lights come on. When my eyes adjust, I see that we’re actually indoors, in a vast domed tank, surrounded by huge empty walls.

Screens.

Congratulations, Recruits,Slade’s voice booms from the loudspeakers. You have successfully navigated through your first training Simulation without any casualties. This concludes Phase One of your training. Only two more phases to go. But I warn you. No more coddling. Now get your butts to bed. We start bright and early tomorrow.

The elation on our faces evaporates like the virtual horizon.

“We’ve got three minutes before this thing blows sky high!”

Cypress’s warning ricochets through the circle of fifty-gallon steel drums marked Toxic Waste , which surround us on all sides.

“I know how to tell time,” Gideon hisses at her.

Cypress scowls. “Based on your performance the last few weeks, I’ve learned not to assume anything where you’re concerned.”

I shove past Ophelia to get between them. “C’mon, knock it off, people.”

Gideon reaches an arm across the nearest cylinder, his glasses reflecting the blinking red light of the timer that’s keeping pace with the rhythm of my heart. “I think I got it.”

“Careful,” Ophelia whispers. She hands him a pair of wire cutters as if they were a delicate piece of glass.

“No sudden movements,” Digory says, right behind me.

The sound of his voice ignites something inside me. He’s barely spoken to me these past two weeks-ever since I revived him during that Sim.

I turn to him. Flashes of crimson dance in his eyes, thawing the ice into fluid blue. As our eyes meet we spark for a second, but then he looks away and the moment dies like a fading ember.

As Gideon struggles to access the control panel, no one makes a sound.

Finally, he turns and shakes his head, not looking any of us in the eye. “No use. I can’t reach it.”

A sigh escapes Cypress’s lips. “Surprise.”

Gideon thrusts the wire cutters at her. “I’m sure these’ll work on vocal chords.”

She smirks. “It’d be fun to see you try, anyway.”

I grip the drum myself. “There’s a lot riding on this. This bomb’s not going to diffuse itself.” I try to twist it around as carefully as I can, but it must weigh a ton.

Without saying a word, Digory pulls me aside and grips the metal cylinder himself, lifting it a couple of inches off the ground. Thick cords bulge from the sides of his neck. His biceps threaten to burst through the sleeves of his damp T-shirt, which clings to his body like a second skin.

“You’re going to set it off, Tycho,” Cypress growls through clenched teeth.

Ignoring her, he pulls the drum out and away from the other ones, turning it enough to expose a silver box attached to its side.

He’s been exerting himself way too much since we started Phase Two, especially given what almost happened to him on that raft, but I’ve learned it’s pointless to try and talk him out of anything.

“Easy … ” Gideon mutters under his breath.

Digory sets the drum back down with a low thump, which still manages to stir up a gritty shroud of dust that prickles my skin.

“Two minutes … ” Ophelia’s hands are clasped in front of her mouth and she’s bouncing on her boot heels.

“I know. I know .” Gideon’s already on his knees with the screwdriver, fiddling with the control panel. In seconds, he’s unscrewed it from its moorings and detached it from the drum. He stands, cradling the bomb’s canister like a baby.

We all back away, giving him plenty of room to maneuver.

One of his feet tangles in some cables and he lurches-

Our collective gasp drowns out the steady bleeping of the countdown clock as Gideon teeters for a few agonizing seconds-

Before Cypress reaches out to steady him.

“ Don’t drop it ,” she whispers.

His only response is the wisp of his breath, which fogs up the clear display of the bomb’s throbbing innards as he pries the panel open with the screwdriver, exposing several black cubes connected by red, blue, and yellow wires.

“That’s it, Warrick. You got this.” I’m already warming to the idea that we may just make it through this latest ordeal of Slade’s.

Digory and I crowd together, avoiding each other’s faces. The frigid air pumping through the overhead vents pecks at my flesh and gives me the shakes. There’s an awkward second when our shoulders graze. I steal a quick, shallow breath. Part of me wants to stare him down, ask him how he’s feeling, both physically and otherwise. But I trash the impulse and bury it deep. I can’t let him know how I really feel.