Steven Santos - The Culling

There’s a desperate hunger there. The first time I’ve seen it since we were recruited.

He wants to win this time. Just as badly as I do.

And every agonizing second he’s pulling further and further into the lead …

Digory’s a blur as he swoops past on my other side and catches up to Gideon. They race neck and neck, leaving me trailing in last place.

My lungs chug like a steam engine. They’re almost at the finish line. No way I can catch them, much less win-

Gideon stumbles into Digory, whether on purpose or accidentally, I can’t be sure. The two tumble to the ground just shy of their goal. I leap over their bodies and sail across the finish line. My chest heaving, I whirl.

Gideon’s crawling over Digory’s body, inches from the finish line.“I’m … sorry ,” he sobs.

Digory’s eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry too.”

He lifts his torso up, thick chords bulging from the sides of his neck. Gideon’s eyes stretch wide. Then Digory twists around, grabs Gideon by the throat, and tosses him backward.

Gideon lands with a loud thud on his back.

And Digory crawls over the finish line and into my arms, burying his face against my chest.

I’m too stunned to speak and can only hold him, rocking him back and forth even as tears stream from my eyes and into his golden hair.

A few feet away, Gideon rises to a sitting position. The life that had returned to his eyes is gone again and he just stares, his lips moving soundlessly.

Recruit Warrick. You have ranked last in this Trial. You will now step forward onto the podium as there is still a selection to be made.

Still a selection? What the hell is Slade talking about? What else could he possibly choose? I thought that once you lost your second Incentive, it was just a matter of watching them be executed before you were condemned to the work camps. What new level of depravity are they sinking to now?

The familiar hum of a platform rising to the surface fills the quiet. It lifts all the way, then is as silent as it’s dark.

Gideon trudges across the finish line like a sleepwalker.

A long sigh hisses from Ophelia’s lips. “Oh, well. One down … ” She shakes her head and turns away.

Digory steps forward. “Gideon. I had no choice.”

“I forgive you.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”

His tone … the look in his eyes … sadden and terrify me.

Cypress wraps her arms around him.

He kisses her on the forehead and traces a tear down her cheek. “You’re supposed to be the tough one, remember?”

Her face contorts. “Y-yes, S-Sir .”

He smiles at her and pulls away.

Then he turns to me and takes off his glasses, placing them in my palm, and closes my fingers over them. “Can you hold these for me?”

A lump wedges in my throat. “Aren’t you going to need them?” My voice cracks.

He squeezes my hand. Then he walks past all of us and up the stairs until he’s standing right next to the chamber.

The lights in the enclosure grow bright.

Mr. Warrick is standing on one side of the structure separated by a partition from the other, darkened side. His arms are strapped to the wall behind him. He looks even more haggard, his hair scraggly threads, his eyes sunken and hollow. It’s as if he’s already died inside.

The outer door to the chamber hisses open.

Recruit Warrick. You will now step inside and make your selection.

Gideon walks past the threshold. He stumbles and braces himself against the glass, staring at his father.

The door hisses shut behind him and the lock engages with a sharp click .

Cypress’s bandaged hand trembles against mine. “What are they going to do now?”

I can only shake my head, terrified at what’s to come, unable to tear myself away.

Recruit Warrick. The time has now come for your second Incentive to be shelved. But you still have a choice in the matter.

The other half of the chamber lights up at last. My insides turn to liquid.

The entire side is jammed with rodents-large rats, larger than any I’ve ever seen in the Parish, at least three feet in length not counting their sickening pink serrated tails. They’ve obviously been bred as weapons, just like the bees that devoured Mrs. Juniper. Glowing orange eyes glare at us. The mutant rodents snap at each other with bared teeth, some chomping into the bodies of the others with razor-sharp fangs that drip with drool, greenish against the dark crimson wounds. Claws that are more like talons scratch against the glass of their prison. And to make things worse, the sound of their screeching, now amplified through the sound system, makes every hair on my body prickle …

Recruit Warrick. Either you allow your Incentive to be shelved in the manner prescribed … or, should you elect, you have the option of shelving your Incentive in a more sedate manner. One which you must carry out personally.

A pedestal rises from the floor.

On it lies a solitary object, reflecting the bright light in its smooth silver finish.

A gun.

Be warned. The weapon’s firepower will not penetrate the reinforced glass surrounding the chamber. You now have sixty seconds to make your decision, Recruit Warrick.

Gideon walks up to his father’s side of the tank and splays his fingers against it.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he says. “I guess I am a real loser, just like everyone says.” He shrugs and drops his gaze, his shoulders heaving.

Mr. Warrick’s eyes stream wetness down the concaves of his cheeks. “I’m the one that’s sorry, son. For not protecting you, keeping you safe. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But please, son, I beg you. Show me mercy.”

He nudges his head toward the rats without looking at them, his face flinching against the sounds of scratching and screeching. “I don’t want to go that way.”

Gideon lumbers toward the pedestal and stares at the gun. He face is a mask of indecision and anguish as he traces a finger over the barrel.

“You’re a better person than your mother and I ever were.” Mr. Warrick’s words quaver.

One of the rats screeches so loudly I fight not to cover my ears.

Recruit Warrick, carry out the sentence.

He grasps the gun in a trembling hand and slogs back toward Mr. Warrick. When the glass separating them slides into the floor, Gideon runs to his father, throwing his arms around him.

“I’m so sorry, Dad. I wish things could be different … ”

Mr. Warrick closes his eyes. “So do I, son.”

BAM!

Gideon kisses his father’s cheek and moves away. Blood gushes from a wound right over Mr. Warrick’s heart. For the first time since I laid eyes on him at the Graduation Ceremony, Mr. Warrick looks serene, as if he’s merely taking a well-deserved nap.

The suffering’s over for him.

Recruit Warrick. You have accomplished your task. Now return the weapon to its proper location and prepare to be transported to the work camps.

But Gideon doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he staggers from his father’s lifeless body and presses against the glass that’s overlooking us.

We all rush up to face him, even Ophelia.

Recruit Warrick. Return the weapon at once. This is an order. Failure to do so will subject you to immediate shelving protocol.

My heart’s running an obstacle course of its own at Slade’s warning. I’m pressed against the glass trying to will myself to melt through it somehow. I need to touch Gideon. Now … before …