Steven Santos - The Culling

Just as I grab the lower rung, a heavy weight slams into me, knocking me to the ground, smothering me.

My eyes snap open.

But it’s not a Flesher.

It’s the fallen Recruit.

There’s something different about him. I search his eyes but don’t find madness. Only fear, and sadness.

The monstrous chorus of the Fleshers approaches all around us …

The Recruit looks behind, then back at me. Liquid fills his eyes. “My name’s Orestes … ” he whispers. “Please take me … home … ”

His words are a vise to my throat. My heart crumples. No matter what he’s done, he’s still a human being, broken by the Establishment like so many others before him.

“Yes. Come with us,” I say, barely squeezing the words past a sob. “You’ll be safe. We’ll take care of you.”

He smiles-

His throat bursts open. Dark crimson sprays onto my face, into my eyes, and runs down my cheeks in hot rivulets.

Metallic gore fills my mouth. I spit it out. Every nerve-ending sizzles with shock.

The young man stares at me. He doesn’t look like he’s in pain. More like he’s confused. Soft gurgling noises purr from his lips. He convulses, choking on his own blood, still staring as it fountains from the ragged hole in his neck, dousing me in its warmth. His eyes flutter and roll back into his head. Then he pitches forward onto me, each shudder pumping more blood over me until he’s still at last.

The chain of his ID tag snaps off his neck as I clench it in my fist.

Then I push him off me and he rolls onto his back with a thud. I wipe the mixture of tears and blood from my eyes. A blurry figure comes into focus.

It’s Ophelia, standing over me, still clutching a sharpened bone fragment in her hand. The white bone is coated in red. Its sharp end still drips chunks of the Recruit’s throat onto the ground, plop, plop, plop . Her face is spattered with red flecks that stream from her eyes down her cheeks like bloody tears.

She grins, chilling the blood flowing both inside and outside my body.

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you,” she giggles. Her voice sounds muffled, as if I’m listening to it underwater, slow, warped. The dark fires of dusk blazes in her eyes.

“Lucian, come on!” Digory’s muffled voice shouts down from the carrier’s hatchway as it hovers above.

The next few seconds feel like a dream as I somehow haul my numb body up the ladder, after Ophelia and into the aircraft.

The hatch seals.

“There’s just enough juice to make it back to base,” Cypress grunts from the pilot’s chair.

“Punch it!” Gideon yells.

Then Cypress is gunning the ship toward Infiernos. Below us, the Fleshers are a vague blur of nightmares carving a dusty path right toward our base.

Digory grabs me by the shoulders, his eyes wide as he stares at my blood-soaked body. “Where are you hurt?”

“It’s not mine,” I hear myself say.

The cockpit speakers crackle to life.

“Attention! Red alert! All troops return to base STAT. The perimeter fences will be activated in T-minus one minute,”a computerized voice blares through the encroaching night.

On the cabin monitors, we see the pillars of the closest fence blinking yellow, signaling that they’re preparing to power up and seal off the base.

If we don’t make it to the fences in time, we’ll be trapped outside in the open … with them .

The only sounds in the cabin are the thrum of the engines mingled with our breathing and the blaring of the alarms.

The emergency lights blink faster and faster until they’re a solid yellow. There’s not much time left and we’re still about a mile away …

I clench my fist, feeling the Recruit’s ID tag digging into my skin as Cypress banks the carrier in between two of the sonic pylons, just as the lights go from amber to bright red-

“Perimeter fences activated. The base has been sealed.”

Turbulence rocks the cabin and, for a split second I brace myself to be torn apart. But then we’re gliding down and landing on the roof of our barracks, roughly, but all in one piece.

Once the hatch is opened, we limp down the gangway. The faces around me are a mixture of tears and relief. We cling to each other, hugging, squeezing. We did it. We made it through. Staring at the bloodied ID tag still clutched in my hand, I find it hard to feel anything.

I’m not sure how long we stand like that, but when we finally pull apart, we’re ringed by Slade and a dozen other Imps.

Her eyes look anxious. “Did you find anything?”

Digory pulls out Cordoba’s blood-stained badge and thrust it into her hand. “He didn’t make it. None of them did. But we’re fine, thank you, Sir .”

The Sergeant swallows hard and hands the badge off to one of her subordinates. “Congratulations, Recruits.” Her usual disdain is replaced by a cross between disappointment and surprise.

She never expected to see us again.

Alive.

Slade’s smile is devoid of mirth, malice, or any emotion whatsoever. “You’ve successfully completed your orientation period and survived Basic Pre-Trial Prep. Tomorrow you graduate-and, as a reward, you will have the opportunity to visit with your Incentives one last time before the Trials begin.”

Graduation Day. On this last day before the Trials, the Establishment has moved us from our cramped and sparse barracks to the Officer’s Lodge. Each of us has been provided with a private luxury suite-in honor of our accomplishment .

I barely recognize myself in the floor-length mirror. I’m not used to seeing such a crisp reflection, especially one that’s decked out in fancy clothes I’d never expect to wear in a million years. My dress uniform is made up of a stark-white, long-sleeved shirt; cobalt-blue pants with a complementing vest; and a long-tailed coat that’s embroidered with silver brocade the same color as the buckle on my leather belt. A white silk scarf is neatly coiled around my neck, matching the gloves on my hands. I shift my weight in a pair of gleaming black boots.

The garments feel strange, constricting yet cushy against my skin. I sigh. When I first arrived at Infiernos, I wouldn’t have had any idea how to put this stuff on. I turn my head from side to side. Whatever was in those cleansers in that biometric voice-activated shower I just took has left my hair a shiny, wavy black. My skin seems healthy and tanned, not burned. I actually look … well … not too shabby. A wide grin spreads across my face.

After what’s seemed like forever, the moment I’ve been longing for these past few months is here.

I’m finally going to see Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe again!

I let loose a chuckle. They probably won’t even recognize me.

Neither will Digory.

My elation evaporates, along with my saliva.

This isn’t just a graduation ceremony. It could very well be the last moment I share with the people I love most in this entire world.

By the time the bullet-shaped Trans-Cab shuttles me over to the steel-domed Academy Pavilion, there’s already a procession filing into the building in full military regalia, complete with marching band. But despite the legion of soldiers, the only sound I can hear is my heart thudding in my ears.

My eyes scan the troops as I pass them. They’ve stopped marching and are frozen like statues. Hundreds of eyes creep over me, like a swarm of cockroaches devouring a piece of bread, as I make my way up the steps and through the front doors of the Pavilion. Even the trumpeters have stopped playing their procession march, the last notes trapped by the atrium’s vaulted ceiling and bouncing back in discordant echoes.