The Culling (The Torch Keeper)

  As we scramble out of the briefing hall, I can’t help but think the next two and a half months are going to be the worst of my entire life.

  Thirteen

  The first night in the barracks seems endless.

  All of us Recruits are crammed into the same small quarters, barely large enough to fit five beds. Cypress and Ophelia’s cots are on the opposite wall from mine, which is sandwiched between Digory’s and Gideon’s. Through the gloom, I can make out the peaceful expression on Digory’s sleeping face, hear the gentle purr of his breath escaping his slightly parted lips in time with the rise and fall of his chiseled bare chest.

  Can I really trust him?

  I force myself to turn my back on him.

  Despite surrendering to exhaustion, I end up tossing and turning for hours, waking up several times bathed in sweat, my mind filled with nightmare images that haunt long after I’ve opened my eyes.

  The Culling. Before I was recruited, the phrase had little meaning—two words shrouded in vague foreboding, like a half-remembered dream. Now, the term’s sharp as crystal, stabbing me deep, shocking each nerve ending as I fight to control the spasms. What horrible trials can they have in store for us, worthy of such an unthinkable decision? And how will I be able to pass them all? We were told there are at least six rounds … SIX whole rounds to make it through. Just one mistake and Cole … Mrs. Bledsoe … My eyes squeeze shut, but the what ifs just batter through my brain, pounding against my skull … screaming … crushing …

  Moaning from the other side of the barracks.

  I snap back to the now.

  Gideon writhes, half out of his cot. Like me, he’s covered in sweat. It seems I’m not the only one who can’t get any shut-eye. I slip out of my own bed and kneel down beside his, grateful to focus on someone else’s tortured mind.

  During his thrashing, I catch flashes of something snaking up his bare back—a thick band of knotted flesh.

  Scar tissue?

  Then he rolls over and it’s gone.

  I reach out and tap his shoulder. “Gideon, it’s just a bad dream,” I say softly.

  He’s mumbling something. I lean in closer so I can hear.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. “Please don’t … I promise …

  I’ll be good … ”

  I slump on my haunches.

  His thrashing ebbs and dies. I pull the threadbare blanket over his still form. I’m not sure how long I stay there, but I watch him, listening until his breathing becomes a light snore.

  Eventually, the door to the barracks bursts open and the lights flare on in a blinding burst.

  “Rise and shine, maggots!” Slade’s blurry silhouette calls from the doorway. “Time to get your lazy asses out of bed.”

  Ophelia moans. “Five more minutes, please.”

  Slade rips the blanket off her. “Move it!”

  The five of us practically fall all over each other, scrambling to hit the communal showers in the adjacent building. Ophelia, especially, makes sure to give Slade a wide berth.

  Digory catches my eye as he jogs alongside me.“Mornin’.”

  I nod and pull ahead of him into the showers, picking a spot at the opposite end.

  If Slade’s gentle wake-up call didn’t do the trick, the ice-cold water jetting from the spigots sure does.

  “Holy crap!” Gideon wails from under his showerhead. He’s trying to keep his back to the wall so no one will see what I saw last night. “This is colder than the water back home.”

  Cypress snorts. “You don’t know what cold is.”

  Fortunately, the shower’s mercifully short. In a matter of minutes, we’re dressed in our uniforms and lined up in the Company area, a paved rotunda just outside the barracks.

  Slade’s waiting for us with a reptilian grin. “Welcome to your first day at Infiernos.”

  “Doesn’t that mean hell ?” Gideon mutters under his breath.

  Cypress smirks. “You got that right.”

  Ophelia raises her hand. “Excuse me, but what time do we eat breakfast, again?”

  Slade’s grin widens. “Why, right now.” Her eyes ignite with fury. “Drop and eat the pavement. All of you. Twenty push-ups. Now.”

  The next hour is a grueling workout, starting with an upper body warm-up consisting of push-ups and jumping jacks. This is followed by a lower-body regimen of squats, and then an upper and lower body cardio-combo featuring pull-ups, squats, lunges, crunches, and running, with barely any resting time in between.

  Slade’s shrill whistle pierces my ears, signaling the end of morning calisthenics. I’ve never heard such a beautiful sound. “That has got to be the most pathetic display of Recruit performances I’ve ever seen,” she bellows. Her face wrinkles in disgust. “Hit the DEE-Fak.”

  “DEE-Fak?” I grumble, trying to push up from a kneeling position.

  “Short for Dining Facility.” Digory’s holding out a hand to me. If it weren’t for the sweat glistening on the muscles barely contained by his tank top, you’d never guess he’d participated.

  I shake my head and wave him away. “That’s okay. I can manage.”

  He sighs. “Suit yourself.” Then he stomps away after the others.

  After a couple of tries, I finally get my bearings and limp after them.

  The breakfast spread is more food than I’ve seen in my entire life. The five of us sit at a small metal table in the mess hall, segregated from the other Imps, barely talking while we gorge ourselves on eggs, sausages, grits, oatmeal, toast, juices, milk, and coffee. Chewing and slurping. All too soon the spread starts to dwindle and I find myself shamelessly picking crumbs off my plate, staring at the empty surface longingly.

  Digory’s arm grazes my own and I involuntarily shudder.

  He’s holding out the last two pieces of singed bacon, one slice slightly bigger than the other. He grins. “Saved you a piece.”

  My eyes bob between the two. “Any preference?”

  “You take the bigger slice.”

  “But—”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He stuffs the smaller slice into his mouth and holds the larger piece to my lips. He chews quietly, his square jaw pistoning his portion into a bulge on his left cheek. Twin oceans of blue stare at me, looking almost amused.

  My hand breaks free of its paralysis and reaches up to grab the other piece he’s offering. Our fingers brush. A jolt-like static zips through my skin. For a moment, his hand engulfs mine as I take a bite, our eyes never breaking contact.

  Then guilt overwhelms me.

  “What’s the matter?” Digory’s eyes are now turbulent seas. “You thinking of your brother?”

  I nod and push my plate away.

  “Oh, sweetie, don’t fret,” Ophelia coos. “I’m sure they wouldn’t hurt your little brother. He’s just a baby.”

  “You’d be surprised what some people will do to their babies,” Gideon says in a flatline. He chews off a piece of cornbread. “You know what they call the Complex, where they keep the Incentives stashed?”

  “Purgatorium.” Cypress stabs at her eggs with a fork, her eyes glassy.

  “That’s right.” Gideon’s lips curve into a vacant smile. “Pretty intense sounding, huh?”

  I fight the sudden urge to lunge across the table.

  Digory glares at him. “Shut it, Warrick.”

  When Gideon looks up from his own plate, he seems genuinely surprised. His eyes flit between Digory and me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—no. They wouldn’t hurt him … ”

  “Uh … this is the Establishment we’re talking about, right?” Cypress asks. She takes a last swig of juice and looks around to make sure none of the other Imps sitting nearby are listening. “The Recruitment … killing our loved ones … ring any bells?”

  “Thanks for making my point.”
Digory sighs.

  Confusion elbows the sarcasm out of her expression.

  Digory grips my hands. “Goslin’s right. It’s because of the Establishment’s cruelty that you can guarantee they’re making sure all of our families are being well-nourished and taken care of. They’d never risk anything happening to them and spoiling their sadistic psychological torture.” He leans in closer, drowning me in his eyes. “Cole’s fine right now, Lucian. If you trust anything, trust that.”

  I squeeze his hands back. “Thanks,” I whisper.

  Ophelia rests a hand on my shoulder. “During the Re-cruitment. That woman up there with you and your brother, Spark … that wasn’t your mama, was it?”

  I shake my head. “Mrs. Bledsoe. She’s like a mother to

  me. To me and my brother. She’s looked after us ever since … ”

  I swallow. “For a while now … ”

  Ophelia smiles. “Mamas are so important.” Her eyes pool. “Heck, mine’s sacrificed everything for me.” The pools dry up. Her eyes are somewhere else again, just like during Slade’s “welcome.” “Mama’s made me who I am today.”

  And just who are you? I wonder.

  She laughs, almost as if she’s read my mind.“Me and my sister, both.”

  “The two of them, your mother and your sister … they’re your people, I take it?” I ask.

  “They sure are! I’d do anything for them!” She giggles. “So you see, Spark. We have a lot in common. I have my mama and sister. And you have your brother and that darling that’s like a mama to you.” She gives me a hug and leans into my ear. “I’m sure you’d just be totally crushed if something happened to that sweet little brother of yours.”

  A chill slithers down my spine. I break free of her embrace and stare her down. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  She beams. “One can only hope.”

  Then she turns to Gideon. “As long as we’re talking about family, who are you making a stand for?”

  Gideon mumbles something unintelligible.

  “What did you say, Giddy?” she squeaks.

  He swallows the last of his cornbread. “My parents.”

  “Parents?” Cypress grumbles. “I would have thought you sprang from a test tube or something.”

  I’m expecting Gideon to fire back, both barrels blazing. But he doesn’t. Instead he just looks at her. “Nah. I’m one of the ones lucky enough to have both a mother and a father.”

  “You must be so excited!” Ophelia squeals. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to them when you see them again?”

  He smiles. “I’ve thought of nothing else ever since I heard my name get called in Town Square.” He shrugs. “Guess I won’t know exactly what I’m going to say until the time comes.”

  For the first time, I realize that there’s so much about them I don’t really know.

  Including Digory.

  I opt for the easier target. “What about you, Goslin?”

  Cypress looks up from picking at her teeth. “Me? What about me?”

  I roll my eyes. “Who are your Incent—family? Who are you fighting for?”

  She bolts upright. “None of your business!” She grabs her duffel bag. “You guys are really annoying with all your prying. Besides, tactically, it makes no sense to give away all your weaknesses.” She shoves her empty chair against the table. “Morons.”

  I shake my head. “Maybe we’re just trying to get to know each other bet—”

  “Get to know each other better for what?” she snaps. “So we can say, I really like that girl or that guy, even though they forced me to pull the plug on my mother? Sheesh!”

  Ophelia’s eyes supernova. “So one of them’s your mama, too!”

  “No. Neither one is my mama.” Cypress walks a few steps away, then turns. “If it makes all of you feel any better, I’ve never even laid eyes on the ones I’m fighting for.”

  All too soon, Slade appears at our table licking her lips. “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast. Now’s when the fun begins.”

  With the exception of an hour lunch break, the rest of the day consists of nonstop training exercises, including Drill and Ceremony training, where we’re issued fake weapons so we can get familiar with their feel and added weight while being instructed on the proper procedures for marching, standing at attention, facing right or left, and standing at ease.

  After all that, Slade lectures us, and I have to bite my tongue as she drones on and on about the Establishment’s values and code of conduct. Then it’s on to Basic Weapons Marksmanship, including disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling our weapons, with Slade sneering and shouting at us the entire time.

  “Not that way, Spark! It looks like you’re handling a mop!” she barks.

  By the time dinner rolls around, everyone’s looking pretty somber, including Digory.

  “Hope you enjoyed your first day of training,” Slade announces back at the barracks. “Tomorrow I won’t be so easy on you.”

  We’re all too exhausted to take advantage of the one free hour of personal time we have until lights out, so we crash early. Gideon’s tossing and turning again, and Cypress and Ophelia are already snoring lightly. I strip to my underwear and plop onto my cot.

  I glance at Digory. The perfectly symmetrical contours of his body ripple as he takes off his uniform, folds it neatly, and stuffs his gear into his locker.

  He never did say who he was fighting for. He knows all about me and Cole, but he’s never spoken about his people. And part of me’s been afraid to ask. Though I’m not quite sure why …

  He slips into bed. “G’night, Lucian.”

  “Digory,” I whisper. “About the Culling. Who are your

  —?”

  “Get some sleep. We have another busy day tomorrow.” Then he rolls over, and I’m staring at his broad muscled back in the shard of moonlight that cuts through the small window of the barracks.

  Is he really that tired or is it part of some strategy, like Cypress suggested?

  After all that talk about trust, Digory obviously doesn’t trust me.

  There’s too much at stake to let my guard down. Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe are the only people I can afford to think about.

  I can’t afford to trust anything anyone says anymore.

  The last thought I have before my aching body drifts into unconsciousness is that I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the rest of basic training, let alone the Trials.

  Fourteen

  I never get the chance to press Digory on his Incentives. The next three weeks are even more grueling, with Slade piling more and more on us each day. The morning calisthenics become more intense, and there’s added instruction on Ground Fighting Techniques, Map Reading, Land Navigation, Compass Use, First Aid Training, and Dressing Wounds.

  During Basic Combat Training, we’re deposited by a Squawker onto a circular training platform, about twenty-five feet in diameter, that hovers high above the steel dome of Infiernos. We’ve been placed under the tutelage of Styles and Renquist, the two burly Imps who roughed me up in my cell at the Citadel.

  “Whatever you do,” Styles grunts, indicating a yellow line running the circumference of the platform about a foot away from the edge, “don’t attempt to cross the energy field.”

  I stare over the edge of the platform and immediately look away, overcome with vertigo.

  Gideon lets loose a nervous chuckle. He traces the yellow line with the toe of his boot. “I wonder what happens if we do?” he whispers. Without hesitating he kicks a small pebble past the stripe.

  POP!

  The rock sparks and shatters into a dusty cloud.

  He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean. “Guess falling over the edge is the least of our worries.”

  “Let’s go, people!” Renquist bar
ks.

  Styles and Renquist instruct us in unarmed hand-to-hand combat techniques, flinging us around the exercise mats as if we were rag dolls. Then they pit us against each other in bout after bout, the winner of each round taking on the next Recruit.

  Of course, Digory takes Gideon down easily. “Sorry,” he mutters as he lifts Gideon to his feet as if he were a small child.

  Cypress gives Digory a heated tussle, both of them swinging, spinning, and kicking until their breathing’s ragged. But in the end, she pounds her fist on the ground in surrender once he manages to straddle her in a chokehold. “Good job,” he says, offering to help her to her feet, but she just glares at him.

  When it’s my turn, Digory looks pained. “Don’t worry,” he whispers.

  A flash of anger hits me. Does he really think I’m not capable of handling myself?

  I charge at him, but he hooks his foot underneath mine and we both tumble to the ground, rolling across the platform. Before he can get a grip on me, I slither from his grasp, roll onto his back, and pin his arm behind him.

  “Good job, Spark!” Cypress shouts.

  Digory chuckles. “Not bad.”

  “Thanks.”

  Before I have a moment to bask in my victory, Digory wrenches free of my hold and rolls on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. I struggle underneath the weight of his body, but his grip’s like iron. Then he’s staring down at me, breathing hard, his glistening torso heaving from his efforts. He grins. “You’re welcome.”

  I can’t help but grin back. “Next time.”

  When I give the surrender signal, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. The smile’s disappeared. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

  I sigh. “You wish.”