Steven Santos - The Culling

As heartsick as I feel, I heave the miner across the line with me and he drops to the ground.

The audio system crackles to life with Slade’s voice.

Gideon Warrick. You are the last Recruit to complete this Trial. Enter the safety zone and prepare for the Culling.

Gideon crosses the finish line, carrying the old woman in his arms. He sets her down gently, his face a mask of eerie tenderness. “Sorry I took so long.”

Her trembling finger traces his cheek. “Thank you, young man.”

Ophelia glares at me and then at Gideon. “You could have beat him, Giddy. I expected more from you. I thought we understood each other. You really let me down.”

He reaches out for her. “Ophelia-”

But she brushes his hand off and moves away to sulk.

“Lucian!” Digory has run over and gathered me into his arms. “Your leg.” He turns. “Cypress! Gimme a hand!”

Cypress joins us. “Got ’im.”

The two of them set me down. Cypress clears the tattered fabric from the wounded area on my leg while Digory fixes a strip of cloth he’s torn from his own sleeve over it. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to be okay.”

I smile. “Without a disinfectant or any meds I’m not so sure.”

The lights in the battle zone dim.

Initiating whitewash procedure.

At Slade’s command, a panel opens in the simulated sky. Hundreds of small, steam-powered spherical drones, no more than two feet in diameter, swoosh through the opening like angry hornets. They swarm across the battle zone over the remaining survivors, spewing them with a substance from stinger-like cylinders that jut from their surfaces.

Only their venom isn’t some poisonous toxin. Whatever the substance makes contact with begins to sizzle and melt away.

Acid .

The entire chamber fills with the screams of people being melted alive.

Just over the line, a young woman holds out a hand, screaming for her life. A drone flies over and sprays her. She continues to shriek, even as her skin curls and peels and her face and body liquefy into bloody goo that congeals into a puddle and dissolves into nothingness. The lights in that sector go out completely.

There are a few stray screams, then nothing but deafening silence.

A new horror fills my thoughts. I scramble to my feet. “Slade!” I point to the huddle of suffering humanity we’ve rescued. “These people need medical attention right away!”

BLAM! BLAM! Ratatatatatatatatatatatat!

Instead of more acid, the drones spit gunfire all around us.

“Take cover!” Digory pushes Cypress and me to the ground and shields us with his body.

I can’t breathe. The air’s filled with thick acrid smoke and the cloying stench of spent weapon casings.

Sterilization is complete.

None of them ever had a chance. Despite the burning in my leg, I crawl out from under Digory. Where the survivors once squirmed, there’s nothing left but a pool of crimson soup. Chunks of body parts riddled with ragged punctures bob on the liquid surface. Smoky tendrils of scorched flesh and fresh blood waft into my nostrils, violating them. I choke on the stink.

“Is anyone wounded?” Digory cries behind me.

“We’re still in one piece,” Gideon answers in a voice that’s quiet, hollow. He tries to help Ophelia to her feet but she pushes him away, leaving him standing there with his eyes glued to the red spattered spot that a moment ago was the old woman he rescued.

Cypress brushes against me, staring at what’s left of the little girl she rescued. Tears forge a path through the grime coating her cheeks. “She was about my … my children’s age.”

A low rumble drowns out the sound of my breathing. A platform rises out of the ground, containing a darkened glass enclosure the size of a small room. From the rock just beneath it, a series of metal steps slides out.

Recruit Warrick. Approach the podium.

If my heart’s pumping a million beats per second and I can barely catch my breath, I can’t even imagine what Gideon must be feeling when he hears Slade’s latest orders.

He stares at the dais. The nub of his throat bobs up and down. Then he moves forward.

As he walks past all of us, Digory squeezes his shoulder. “Stay strong.”

When my eyes meet Gideon’s, I’m surprised by a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction there. Then it’s gone and he’s past us, climbing the stairs, his gait as delicate and measured as if he’s maneuvering through a mine field.

The moment he’s standing in front of the dark chamber, the lights inside it come on, revealing Mr. and Mrs. Warrick.

My breath lodges in my throat.

Stripped of their formalwear, they’re clad in filthy rags that dangle from their bodies, barely concealing their dignity. Mrs. Warrick’s hair hangs in knotted disarray about her scrawny shoulders, while one of Mr. Warrick’s eyes is practically sealed shut and ringed in a swollen patch of dark purple. Bloody slush fills my veins at the thought of what all the other Incentives must be going through, imprisoned in Purgatorium.

But even more disturbing than the Warricks’ physical appearance is the fact that they’re both sitting on metal chairs on either side of the chamber, strapped down by their wrists and ankles. Just to the side of each of their necks, long metal blades curve toward them like sickles, casting blinding flashes of light.

Recruit Warrick. You have sixty seconds to make your selection.

At Slade’s announcement, the digital countdown display above the podium begins hacking away at the seconds.

Mr. Warrick just sits there, his wide eyes glazed.

In contrast, Mrs. Warrick, despite her frail appearance, struggles with her bonds. “Gideon, honey. Please! I’m your mother ! You have to get me out of here!” Her face contorts into a mask of terror.

Gideon’s face frightens me more than anything else I’ve seen. Tears are flowing like rivers down his cheeks. But his eyes gleam with a twisted fire.

And he’s smiling .

“How does it feel , huh?” His voice is a bitter frost. “Are you scared, Mommy ? Does it feel like you’re all alone and you’re never going to live to see the sunrise? The light?”

Mrs. Warrick’s scream pierces through me.

“Gideon, please ,” Mr. Warrick begs, his voice drained of any strength it might have once had. “Don’t do this to your moth-”

“Shut up!” Gideon spits. “You’re always covering for her! How could you not know what she was doing to me all those years? You saw the marks, heard the screams. You did nothing. Nothing ! You’re a coward, always have been.”

“I was always a good mother to you, Gideon!” Mrs. Warrick wails. “Anything I did was for your own good!”

Gideon pounds the glass. “What kind of a mother beats her child and locks him in the dark for days on end just for crying because he was hungry ?”

Anger flashes on her face. “You’re weak . Always have been. And ungrateful. I was trying to toughen you up. It’s a harsh world-”

“Harsh world?” He flings the words back at her. “It’s not supposed to be a harsh world at home, with the people that are supposed to love you.” He rips his shirt up and turns, exposing his back to her. “I can’t forget. I’ll never forget.” He slumps against the enclosure, sobbing. “I hope you’re terrified, like I was.”

Make your selection.

Gideon raises his head to the sky. “I choose her, Sgt. Slade. My mother .”