Steven Santos - The Culling

I release my grip and the child slips into Cypress’s arms. “Take her, and make sure she’s tended to right away.”

“Thanks,” Cypress whispers.

“ What are you doing?” Ophelia lunges at them.

I shove my body in front of Cypress and the girl. Ophelia rams into me, fingers raking my back like talons. Her bloody claws reach out and clamp onto the frail little shoulder.

The child screams.

Cypress’s fingers dig into Ophelia’s hand, ripping, pulling, but Ophelia won’t let go. Her head plunges down and her teeth sink into Cypress’s wrist.

“Ah!” Cypress’s face contorts in agony.

With every ounce of strength I can muster, I try to pry Ophelia loose. I twist and lock my arms around her, but it’s like trying to hug fire. Finally, I wrench her free. But her body bucks and kicks, jaws snapping like a rabid Canid, spraying me with a mixture of burning spittle and Cypress’s blood, which is dripping from the bits of flesh lodged between her teeth.

Cypress’s face is drained of color. Dark blood oozes from the missing chunk on her hand. As she whisks the child away, large dark eyes peer over her shoulder at me like shards of guilt impaling me where I stand.

Ophelia’s arm squirms free of my hold, and she jams a thumb into my eye.

Blinding pain shoots through my socket. I swing her away from me, hurling her into the ground. I clutch a palm against my eye, half expecting to feel the molten gore of a shattered eyeball squeezing through my fingers. But the throbbing and blurred vision confirm there’s still something there.

There’s a flash of her boot. Then a searing pain in my groin. I curl up into a ball, knees pressed against my stomach. Tears stream from my eyes, seeping down my cheeks and between my lips. The salty taste mixes with the blood where my teeth have bitten into my upper lip.

She looms over me, a dark blur. “Guess we’re about to find out who you love more, your brother or Tycho.” She hunches down. “Personally,” she whispers, “I’m counting on it being your brother. After all, he looks so sweet and adorable.” Her smile is laced with blood-stained teeth. Then she takes off.

Adrenaline surges through me, mixed in a whirlpool of anger, desperation, and fear that propels me up. The months of intense training kick in. I tear after her, leaping over the bodies I’ve already rummaged through, dodging the taser mines, holding my breath as I pass through the clouds of smoke, avoiding the fire of the automatic stun rifles. Faster and faster. Everything’s a blur.

Soon, I’m gaining on Ophelia. She’s reached the far end of the battle zone and is digging through the last cache of victims, a tangled heap of arms and legs about ten yards away from the safety zone. When she glances up at me, I can see the beads of sweat trickling down her forehead.

Good. She’s scared.

She’d better be.

I dash up to the opposite side of this miserable pile of humanity and start pulling out arm after arm, pressing my locator against them, ignoring the blood, the smell, the countless moans that rise upward and fill the air with a chorus of doom. Flashes of red and the crackling buzzers from the locators bombard us with light and sound, giving the entire scene the appearance of a human bonfire.

Despite the din, one small sound rings through my ears like a clap of thunder, accompanied by a flash of green lightning.

Bleep.

Ophelia’s found her beacon before I have.

I can’t feel my fingers as they fumble from one beacon to the next, rewarded with one sharp buzz after another. I chance a look through the wailing mound. Ophelia’s bathed in green strobes that fragment her face as if I’m flipping through hundreds of images of different people. Her eyes connect with mine, conveying one clear message:

I’ve beat you. Now you get to watch Cole or Digory die.

Something’s wrong. Her triumphant expression scrunches into frustration. She tugs on the arm she’s clutching, trying to pull it free of the writhing mound.

“No! Let go of me!” A girl’s voice. Her wail pierces the air, a sobering reminder that these aren’t just things we’re digging through. I drop the wrist I’m holding and grab the next one, trying not to squeeze too hard in my panic.

Ignoring the screams, Ophelia continues to yank. But despite the sound of unsettling squishes , the girl won’t budge. The thought of what she might be stuck in makes my stomach heave and I stifle a gag, reaching for the next beacon.

Ophelia cups the pale face. “Hush now.” She runs her fingers through the girl’s gore-matted blonde head.

But the moans continue.

A long sigh escapes Ophelia’s lips. “You know, this whole thing might go a little easier if you just SHUT UP!” She grabs a fistful of hair and slams the girl’s head down into a protruding leg, over and over until the cries degenerate into garbled whimpers.

Ophelia shakes her head. “Much better.” She giggles. “ Now I can concentrate.”

A flash of green and a loud bleep nearly stop my heart mid-pump. I stare at the locator pulsing in my hand as if it’s some strange artifact. Then it sinks in. I found it. I found my beacon.

I dare to stare at the face of my lifeline to Cole and Digory, a burly, middle-aged man covered in pustules who gazes at me through yellow-tinged eyes. He’s wearing the gray uniform of a miner, with the name Martino stitched into the breast pocket.

“It’s going to be okay, Martino,” I lie to him through a forced smile.

His mouth opens. “M-my … w-wife … ”

Dark green and brownish phlegm oozes from his mouth, choking off the rest of his words. My father’s face flashes before me, but I allow that mental tunnel to collapse and seal off that painful memory.

“C’mon, I have to get you outta here!” Gripping both his arms, I heave with what little strength I have left. Inch by inch, his huge frame slides from the tangled mass until he’s free and clear.

I wipe my brow and glance up to check Ophelia’s progress. Her glee has turned to pure venom. She tugs on the girl, her teeth clenched, her face burning like a vibrant sunset. She’s trembling from the effort. One of her feet is braced against some poor soul’s face for leverage. Suddenly, the body gives and the girl slides out to her waist. Ophelia lets out a sound that’s half sob, half laughter. Then she’s pulling again.

My knees wobble as I haul the heavy man to his feet. He must outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds. Something in my lower back pops . “Uuuunh!” Electricity sizzles every nerve-ending. I inhale deep. Placing one of Martino’s arms around my neck, I stagger against his weight, lumbering toward the safety zone.

In the distance, I can see someone waving.

Digory?

Not that much further to go. If I can just hold it together a little longer, I’ll make it through this round and Cole and Digory will be safe.

“Don’t worry,” I rasp to the miner. “We’re almost there .”

He grumbles a reply that consists more of hot drool trickling onto my neck. I should be disgusted, but for some reason I’m elated. I’m going to get through this. And maybe this poor guy’ll be able to rebuild some kind of life for himself after all this is done.

Despite the aches, the hammering in my chest, my starving lungs and dry mouth, I speed up.

Digory and Cypress are waiting. It’s hard to tell, with my hair obstructing one eye and the still-throbbing blurriness in the other, but I think that’s Gideon kneeling beside several figures lying prostrate on the ground.

“See?” I huff to my silent companion. “Just … a … little … further … ”