Steven Santos - The Culling

There’s too much at stake.

Swinging my legs back over the railing, I spring back down to the platform. “Sorry. I know you’re only trying to make me feel better. But I think it’s best if we each go it alone from this point on.”

“You do, huh?”

If he’s only been turning up the charm to lull me into a false sense of security, he’s got the aching expression down pat.

I take off the jacket and hold it out to him. “Here. Take it.”

He dismisses me with a wave of the hand. “Keep it. You need it more than I do.”

I’m tempted to look away from the blossoming hurt on his face, tell him I don’t mean a word of what I’m saying, but it has to be done, for his sake as well as my own.

“Good luck during the Trials, Lucian. I guess we’re going to find out what we’re both truly made of.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. But the air of finality about it catches me off guard like an unexpected crash of thunder.

He bolts from the Observation Tower without another word.

Leaving me to wonder if I’ve just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

By the time I make it back down to the ground, exhaustion is finally starting to catch up to me. But before I can round the corner leading to the barracks, I spot a figure darting through the shadows from one equipment bunker to the next. A fresh wave of energy takes hold of me. Recalling all my recent stealth training, I slink into pursuit, partially from curiosity and a sense of duty …

Mostly to avoid having to face Digory back at our barracks.

When the figure ducks behind a supply crate, I catch a glimpse of pale skin and raven hair in the moonlight.

Cypress.

What the hell is she doing skulking around?

But she’s already on the move again and I continue my tail, shadowing her as we dodge one ground patrol after another until she stops behind an electrical shed that overlooks two of the perimeter pylons.

She turns in my direction, but I duck behind the bunker that’s diagonal to her, before she can see me. Then I crawl to the edge and peer around the corner.

Styles and Renquist are talking to the pilot of a troop carrier-an oblong transport vehicle, with an open-air bed, that looks like a floating coffin without the lid. The craft is hovering a few feet off the ground, just on the other side of the invisible sonic barrier.

“-After all your recon, you’d think you guys would’ve turned up something already.” Renquist’s voice carries in the wind.

“Maybe they don’t show up on infrared at all,” the pilot’s voice crackles. “Look, just open the shield and let us back inside.”

Styles belts out a raucous chuckle. “Don’t get your skivvies in a wad, Corporal.” He holds his walkie to his mouth. “This is Sector Seven. Deactivate field for squad re-entry.”

Cypress crawls to the edge of the shed. By the looks of her posture, she’s ready to spring.

She’s going to make a break for it.

The hum between the two pylons winds down and the lights dim.

Renquist motions the vehicle forward. “You’re clear!”

The carrier soars through the gap, just as I dash to the shed and tackle Cypress before she can bolt. We tumble to the ground and roll back behind the shed, my hand clamped over her mouth. She jams her elbow into my gut and I see a different variety of stars as she squirms free.

“Don’t do it,” I whisper.

But my warning’s moot. The hum of the sonic pulse vibrates through the air once again and the field flickers, having been re-energized.

“Let’s pack it in, people!” Styles shouts as both he and Renquist are hoisted into the cab by the other soldiers and the carrier speeds off into the distance, leaving Cypress and me alone in the dark.

She kicks gravel into my face. “You idiot! I’ve been monitoring the recon patrol schedules for weeks. This was my one chance to get outside the fence before the next rotation, and you screwed it up!”

Her boot hauls back to kick me, but I grab hold of her foot before it makes contact and twist. She yelps as her body slams into the ground.

“I’ve had a really long day and I’m not in the mood.” I grab her hand and yank her to her feet. “ Talk to me. What’s so important that you’d risk your Incentives’ lives by going AWOL? You know what they’d do to your family if you deserted, don’t you?”

“They’d probably be better off getting it over with quickly than where they are now.” She turns away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I clear my throat. “Maybe I understand better than you think.”

She flashes me a look laced with anger and panic. “What are you getting at?”

“Back on the raft, during the first training Sim. The way you were so desperate to strike out on your own-away from everyone else. None of the others saw the look on your face-the desperation. You said there was something you had to do.”

She turns away again, and my words keep coming in a rush.

“And your knowledge of the Fallen Five, and how sure you were that I saw something in those woods in the Southwest Quadrant. Just now, you were willing to risk everything to venture out beyond the perimeter, with no map to guide you. You also seem very familiar with the living conditions of the Incentives-it’s almost like you’ve been here before. And since this is a military installation, and you’re too young to have ever served, there’s only one other reason I can think of for you to have ever been here.”

I brace myself for a hostile outburst, but none comes. Instead, her eyes grow moist.

I swallow hard. “You were one of the Fallen Five’s Incentives, weren’t you?”

This time she doesn’t bother to wipe the wetness that spills from her eyes and traces its way down her cheeks. “Yes. I know what it’s like, Spark. Being dragged away from your family and locked in that hellhole Purgatorium. Wondering if someone loves you enough … enough to … choose … ”

“But you survived. That means there’s hope.”

Her eyes fill with venom. She leans in close until we’re practically nose to nose and jabs her finger in the center of my chest. “If you tell anyone else what you’ve seen and what I’ve told you, I’ll kill you myself.”

She shoves me out of her way and heads back toward the barracks without ever looking back.

Alone, I stare into the darkness long after she’s gone.

The only good thing about Phase Three training is that it keeps me too stressed and exhausted to dwell on the fact that both Digory and Cypress have been virtually ignoring me for the past couple of weeks. Whenever I cross their paths and they give me the silent treatment, I keep telling myself that it’s fine, because I can’t afford to lose sight of what’s at stake here.

But every time Digory turns his back on me, it takes a bit to shake the dull ache inside.

In between waking up at the crack of dawn for target practice with actual Pulsator guns firing live ammo and spending the entire day under the scorching sun enduring our final physical training tests, there’s not much time to dwell on anything else- anyone else-and I slump into bed exhausted every night, too tired to even scrounge up a mild nightmare for a change.

But this morning’s different.

Right after breakfast, the five of us are herded by Styles and Renquist to the East Landing Platform as a hovering Squawker touches down.

My pulse quickens. Today’s the day basic training comes to an end with the last of our Field Training Exercises. Earlier this week, they had us facing a mock group of rioting insurrectionists during nighttime combat operations. “Urban Terrain Crowd Control,” they called it. I couldn’t help notice the wince on Digory’s face as we were forced to fend them off with shields and jolt sticks.