Steven Santos - The Culling

“Gotcha,” he says.

I pause for a moment, my hand gripping the back of my knee, riding out the pain like a receding wave. “I’ll be okay. Just took a bad step.”

He leans in close. “Don’t push yourself.”

Taking a deep breath, I straighten up, suddenly very conscious of how close our bodies are, how solid he feels against me, his breath hot and tingly against the hollow of my neck. A rush of energy surges through me, invigorating me more than any medicine ever could. A hot stream floods my face. For a panicked second I think I’m having a relapse, that the fever’s starting to rage again.

Then I pull away. “I’m fine. Really .”

He nods. “I’m here if you need me. Always.”

I’m trapped by his gaze. “Thanks.”

His eyes seem to want to say more, but I look away before they can drown me in their undertow.

Slowing my pace, I let everyone pass me.

Gideon and Cypress have fallen into step. At one point, her hand brushes against his and he clutches it, neither one looking at the other. Their steps synchronize as if their shared experiences have linked them in a tragic symbiosis, each feeding off the other’s pain like emotional scavengers.

“Look! Up ahead!” Digory’s shout shatters the quiet. “We’re here!”

Despite my weariness, I jog to catch up to the others.

Looming ahead is a stone wall about twenty feet high, extending in both directions as far as the eye can see. Embedded in its center is a thick iron gate with a large number emblazoned above it, flashing like a beating heart: III.

My pulse accelerates. My eyelids stretch so wide I can almost feel the skin tearing at the corners of my eyes. This is it. The Third Trial. Is this where the ironies of my nickname will finally catch up with me?

We crowd next to each other, Cypress on one side of me, Digory on the other, with Gideon and Ophelia next to him. This time I’m in no hurry to move away from Digory. Instead, I find myself leaning into him, trying to siphon his strength into my veins. What if I can’t pull through this time?

A burst of static.

Greetings, Recruits. Unlike with your previous Trial, the order in which you placed will have no bearing on this specific task.

At Slade’s words, Cypress’s shoulders slump. I understand exactly how she feels. She came in first in the labyrinth, and I was hoping my third-place finish would give me some kind of advantage for this Trial.

I glance at Digory, who’s nodding. At least he’ll get the chance to pull away from a low-ranking position. I breathe a little easier.

Understandably, Ophelia’s eyes spark, faint embers turning into a steady glow. Now she has the chance to overcome her last-place slump and ensure her sister makes it through this round.

But Gideon, who came in second and should be crushed at the news, remains unfazed, his eyes fixed ahead, the blinking numbers reflecting through his glasses onto unblinking eyes.

When the gate opens, you will all commence at the exact same moment. This particular Trial will test strength, endurance, and speed. Once the Trial is underway, you will be required to overcome several obstacles by working together as a deployment team, set down in enemy territory.

I survey my fellow Recruits. After a near-catatonic Gideon came in second place during that last Trial, I can’t afford to underestimate anybody . A false sense of confidence can turn out to be any of our undoing.

Be warned. Although you will need to cooperate to make it through the obstacles, in the end it will come down to a race to cross back into ally territory. The last one to arrive will be the one to participate in the Culling.

I try to swallow but my mouth’s dry.

Good luck, Recruits.

CLANG!

The gate rumbles open with a grinding of gears, and I bolt through it.

The first thing that surprises me as I dash through the gateway is the fact that we’re on a hill. High above, on the ceiling of this artificial landscape, there’s a circular opening-a patch of night sky in the form of hundreds of twinkling stars shining down upon the sloping field. After being entombed in the Skein for what seems like a lifetime, I’d lost track of whether it was morning or evening. The sight fills me with dread.

Another solid wall looms in the valley below, its smooth surface brushed with moonlight. The only pathway to it is a thin slice of terrain with a sheer drop into darkness on either side. It looks to be barely wide enough for six people to fit across standing elbow to elbow.

I sprint down the hill, jostling against the others as we reach the strip of narrow grass. They’re nothing but a blur in my peripheral vision. My breaths clog in my throat-it’s like the darkness is folding in on itself, suffocating me in a claustrophobic haze. Fueled by pure adrenaline, I pull ahead of them, needing to break free … to breathe …

SPROING!

A cylindrical object sprouts from the ground just to my left, startling me.

WHIRRR!

A gun turret swivels in my direction. I lose my footing and stumble, just as the weapon begins to fire.

RATATATATATAT!

Screams fill the air. I can’t tell whose.

“Everyone stay low to the ground!” Digory cries, somewhere to my right.

I roll farther down the slope as bullets whiz past my cheeks. One nicks the tip of my right ear. Digory crashes into me, smothering my body with his weight. All around us the sod explodes, spraying through the air like gritty rain.

“You hit?” Digory yells.

I squirm out from underneath him. “Just a nick.”

Ophelia rolls past us without a word.

SPROING!

Another turret juts through the earth in front of her and unleashes a volley of firepower. She flattens herself on the ground about ten feet from us.

“Ophelia! This place is rigged. Hold your position!” Digory tugs my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Any ideas?”

More shots ring through the sky.

“Ah!” This cry comes from behind me. I whip around just in time to see Cypress tumble to the ground.

“Cypress!” I tear out of Digory’s grasp and stumble toward her.

Her face is twisted into a grimace. Her right hand is tucked under her left armpit, and even in the dim light I can see the dark trail oozing down.

I wrap her in my arms. “How bad?”

She clutches me tight with her other hand. “Flesh wound.”

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

More blasts hit the ground beside us. I pull her away, hugging her tight.

Digory darts toward us, dodging a spray of sparks and smoke that nip at his heels like an unrelenting shadow. He swerves to a stop beside us. He jabs a finger toward the base of the hill. “We need to get over that wall now !”

I prop Cypress up against my shoulder. “She’s been hit. Her hand .”

Trying not to hurt her further, I ease her injured hand out. It’s covered in blood. Near the center of her palm is a ragged hole outlined by scorched flesh.

“Looks like it went straight through.” Digory tears off a piece of her sleeve and wraps it around her hand, ignoring her winces.

A steady hum fills the air, getting stronger and stronger. Ophelia looks up. “Something’s coming.”

Cypress grabs my collar. “ I’m okay ,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “We have to get out of here. It’s not safe in the open.” Her body slumps back against mine.

Digory nods. “She’s right.” Then he moves in close and lifts her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” She makes a fist but it barely glances off his shoulder. “Put me down, Tycho!”