Steven Santos - The Culling

The blade springs forward and arcs into Mrs. Warrick’s throat, slicing clean through to the other side with a loud thwack . For a second she just sits there, her eyes looking confused. Then a red line fades in around her neck and her head topples off, rolling down her body and across the ground until it stops, pressed against the glass at Gideon’s feet.

Mr. Warrick’s horrified eyes take in the sight of his wife’s body, still sitting in the chair, gouts of blood pumping from the severed neck. A deep moan stretches out from his throat and turns into garbled sobs.

“I just wanted to scare her, that’s all,” Gideon says with an eerie calm. He slides down the panel and traces the glass as if he’s trying to caress his mother’s face. “How does it feel, Mom? Huh? How does it feel ? Tell me. How does it feel ? How does it-?”

He repeats the mantra over and over again, rocking back and forth.

This Trial is now complete. Recruits will now proceed to the next station where you will have a rest period before receiving instructions and proceeding to your next Trial.

Slade’s voice fades into nothingness.

None of us move. If the others are feeling anything like I am, they’re too stunned to even speak.

A swarm of drones buzzes overhead and hovers over us, their glistening pincers providing the motivation we’re lacking. Slowly, we slog single file toward our next horror.

All except one of us.

I look back.

Gideon’s still rocking and chanting, even after the chamber’s lights have dimmed and faded to black.

Everything’s dark. For a terrified second, I feel like I’m back in the Fleshers’ Lair …

“Lucian. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Digory’s voice buffers the throbbing in my head. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Each pound reminds me of that sharp blade lopping off Mrs. Warrick’s head, over and over again, until it’s not just her head, but Ophelia’s, Cypress’s, Gideon’s.

Digory’s …

“What?” My eyes snap open, burning despite the chill rattling my bones. I try and sit up and I’m overcome with lightheadedness. A firm hand on my back steadies me until I’m able to sit upright on my own.

“It’s about time you woke up, sleepyhead.” Even though Digory tries to smile, a translucent veil of fear clings to his face. Tiny red veins mar the whites of his eyes.

It doesn’t look like he’s gotten any sleep. Has he been awake since we reached this holding station? Watching over me?

He presses his large palm against my forehead. It feels cool, soothing against the heat baking my face. “Fever’s worse. You’re burning up.” His lips curl in. The muscles in his jaw flex.

“H-how l-long have I–I b-been out?” I force the words through chattering teeth.

“It’s been about five hours, I guess. Hard to say without a real sky.” He glances at the sterile artificial light shining down into the holding station.

I glance around the cramped, concrete dome that re-minds me of a beehive. Except in this case it’s what’s outside that can sting you dead.

Ophelia is pressed against one of the curved walls, doing some kind of stretching exercise. When she sees me, her eyes narrow and a long breath hisses out, as if she’s disappointed I’ve regained consciousness.

It’s a good thing the rules say we aren’t allowed to kill each other, otherwise I’d never get any rest.

On the opposite wall, Cypress sits cross-legged on the floor next to Gideon. She’s murmuring to him, stroking his hair.

Everything after that first Trial is a blur. All I remember is stumbling after the others through the dark metal catacombs of the Skein, trying to escape the horrors of the battle zone.

“You collapsed just after we got here,” Digory says. “I figured it was just exhaustion and stress after … ” He drops his gaze. “After what happened.” His eyes meet mine again. “But I saw you trembling, and when I came over to check on you, I realized it was a fever.” His fingers graze the crimson-stained bandage around my thigh. “How does it feel?”

I inhale sharply. Even his light touch sends electric pain rippling through me. “I’m … okay … just a little sore … ” Another chill rattles me. I press a fist against my lips to stifle a cough. Now it’s my turn to look away from him.

He lifts a corner of the bandage, careful not to touch the swollen skin beneath it. “I tried dressing it as best I could, but there aren’t any medical supplies here.” He tucks the bandage back. “Actually, there’s not much of anything here except a hard floor. No water, no food, not even a damn blanket. How do they expect us to keep going without any provisions?” He yells the last above him, for the benefit of Slade and whoever else is probably eavesdropping. When he looks at me again, his face is flushed, as if he, too, is suffering with fever. “I figured I’d try and keep you warm as best I could.”

He pulls the zipper of his jumpsuit up the rest of the way, hiding his bare chest.

All this time he’s been lying next to me, sharing his body heat to keep me warm.

Another shiver ripples through me.

“Anyway.” He stands. “You need to conserve your strength. I tried to let you get as much rest as possible, but you slept through the Sarge’s latest warning announcement.” His lips form a thin rigid line. “They’re about to cart us off to the next Trial, in the order we finished the last one.”

I nod. “Which means you’re first.”

“Yes.” He looks disappointed, despite the advantage.

“Did they say what this next Trial’s all about?”

He shakes his head.

The speaker system crackles to life.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” he says.

Attention Recruits.

We all gaze above us as if we’re trying to pinpoint Slade’s whereabouts.

One by one you will pass through the barrier on the other end of this pavilion in the order you completed your first Trial. The goal of your next mission is to simply make your way through a labyrinth until you find the exit.

“Sounds easy enough,” Digory grunts. He smiles and squeezes my hand.

Along the way you will find supplies that will aid you through the next Trials. These include food, medicines, tools, and weapons.

I squeeze his fingers. “Guess your speech made an impression after all.” My hollow laughter becomes a raspy cough. Digory pats me on the back until it subsides, his eyes worried slits.

You are urged to appropriate as many of these provisions as you can carry, as they will not be made available at any other time and are vital to your continued participation in the Trials.

Digory shoots me a nervous look. “Sounds too simple.”

But you are cautioned to be as efficient as possible, balancing your needs with your speed. The locator wristlets you are all still wearing have now been programmed to act as chronometers, monitoring and timing your progress. You will only have fifteen minutes to navigate the labyrinth.

I study my now-flashing wristband.

00:15:00

The Recruit who takes the longest to make it all the way through shall be the next to participate in the Culling. Anyone that does not make it out at all will be immediately shelved, along with their Incentives.

“There’s your catch.” I sigh.

Recruit Tycho. Prepare to depart for your next Trial in one minute.

He kneels down beside me. “I can’t go and leave you like this.” His head turns toward the others, who seem to be oblivious to us, caught up in their own anxiety no doubt. He nudges his chin toward Ophelia, who’s now doing push-ups. “I’m sure she’d switch places with me if I can get them to allow it-”