Steven Santos - The Culling

I reach into my nightshirt and clasp Digory’s ID tag to my heart.

I won’t ever give up until I bring them down.

Somewhere out there is a group of freedom fighters that I’m going to make contact with. And then there’s the Fleshers. I need to find out what they are, and why they terrify the Establishment so. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can on my own-sabotage munitions depots, penetrate defense grids, destroy supply lines- anything I can to hasten the day when people can be free and dare to dream.

Cole’s feet pad on the creaky floorboards.

I smile. “You ready for bed?”

“Yup.” The springs of his mattress squeak as he sinks into his cot and I tuck him in.

The light from the gas lamp flickers across his face.

I kiss his forehead. “G’night, buddy.”

I’m about to turn out the light when his hand stops mine.

“Lucky. What happened to the Magic City? Did it disappear when the Lady’s fire went away?”

I clasp his hand in mine. “Her fire didn’t go away Cole. It’s still around. Inside all of us.” I tap his chest. “Right here .”

His laughter’s like soothing music. “Can you tell me more stories about the Lady?”

“Don’t worry. I will. And I’ll also tell you stories about her friends.”

“What are their names?”

“There’s Gideon, and Cypress, and … ” My eyes well and I turn my head so he can’t see. I tweak his nose instead.

He tweaks my nose back.

I clear my throat. “And then there’s a very special little girl named Maddie, and her poor big sister Ophelia who got lost in the dark, but found her way back again by the light of the Lady’s torch.”

“I think I’m gonna like that story.”

My throat tightens. “The last friend is very special. He helps the others along on their adventures. And he brought me to you.”

“What’s his name?” Cole asks.

I swipe my eyes. “His name’s … Digory .”

He smiles. “He sounds nice.”

I smile back. “He is.”

Cole’s eyes cloud over. He cups my cheeks in his hands. “I don’t want to keep the stories a secret anymore,” he whispers.

I nod. “You don’t have to. We’re going to pass on the stories to others-as many people as we can-so that no one will ever forget the Lady and her friends.”

Cole claps his hands. “Oh, I like that!”

I ruffle his hair.

My nose touches his. “I love you, Cole. Always have. Always will.”

His face breaks out into a broad grin. “I love you, too.”

Then we’re hugging each other.

“There once were five friends who went to visit the Lady,” I begin.

The stories go on long into the night, and don’t stop even after the flame goes out and the first rays of a new day filter through the window.