The Culling (The Torch Keeper)

  I yank my hand away. “No!” My fists pound his chest. “Come back!” Whomp! “Open your eyes!” Thwack! “Don’t”—slap—“Give”—slap—“Up!” Smack!

  “Spark! Let him go!” Gideon grabs one of my fists in mid-swing.

  Digory’s eyes snap open. Icy water spews from his mouth. He leans forward, coughing and gasping for air.

  “You did it, Spark!” Ophelia holds up the back of Digory’s head, steadying him against her.

  Relief floods me. Pushing Gideon aside, I squat beside Digory, pull the thermal blanket over him, and pat his back. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

  He continues to cough. But eventually it peters out, as does the trembling. Little by little, the pink returns to his skin. Finally, his breathing eases into a normal rhythm.

  His eyes wander around the raft, taking us all in.

  “I feel like a Squawker ran into me,” he says at last. His voice sounds a little weak, but at least it’s not laced with chill. “What happened?” He looks right at me. “The last thing I remember, you took off after … ” His eyes narrow at Cypress. “Her.” He bolts upright. “Warrick! You were drowning—!”

  “Take it easy, Tycho,” Gideon says. “At least you came back.” He glares at Cypress. “Quicker than some other people.” He looks back at Digory. The hint of a smile appears on his face. “You helped us out.” His head swings to Ophelia. “Both of us. We owe you one.”

  Ophelia nods.

  “Don’t worry about it, Warrick.” Digory smiles. “So, what happened to me?”

  “You just passed out,” I say before anyone else can respond. My eyes sweep Ophelia, Gideon, and finally Cypress before relaxing on Digory. “But the therm’s doing its job and you’re better now. And we have a Radio Tower to find.”

  Cypress just stares at me with a crooked smile painted on her face. Her eyes shift between Digory and me. “So much selflessness tonight is gonna make for a much more interesting competition during the actual Trials.”

  Gideon pulls out the map and rattles off the coordinates while I grab the compass, Ophelia and Cypress take the oars, and Digory trains the binoculars toward our destination.

  Behind us, the carrier is just a few specks of flickering light on the horizon. We’re all alone now, adrift in the engulfing blackness.

  I study the faces around me. Digory. Gideon. Ophelia. Cypress.

  No. Not alone.

  We have each other.

  “I see it!” Digory points into the distance.

  Before us, a tiny island looms, with a triangular tower at its center.

  We can barely contain our whoops and hollers. We did it. Together.

  As we approach the shoreline, the island flickers. At first I think it’s lightning from an approaching storm. Then the radio tower shimmers—and vanishes, along with the island, sky, and stars.

  Harsh lights come on. When my eyes adjust, I see that we’re actually indoors, in a vast domed tank, surrounded by huge empty walls.

  Screens.

  Congratulations, Recruits, Slade’s voice booms from the loudspeakers. You have successfully navigated through your first training Simulation without any casualties. This concludes Phase One of your training. Only two more phases to go. But I warn you. No more coddling. Now get your butts to bed. We start bright and early tomorrow.

  The elation on our faces evaporates like the virtual horizon.

  Fifteen

  “We’ve got three minutes before this thing blows sky high!”

  Cypress’s warning ricochets through the circle of fifty-gallon steel drums marked Toxic Waste, which surround us on all sides.

  “I know how to tell time,” Gideon hisses at her.

  Cypress scowls. “Based on your performance the last few weeks, I’ve learned not to assume anything where you’re concerned.”

  I shove past Ophelia to get between them. “C’mon, knock it off, people.”

  Gideon reaches an arm across the nearest cylinder, his glasses reflecting the blinking red light of the timer that’s keeping pace with the rhythm of my heart. “I think I got it.”

  “Careful,” Ophelia whispers. She hands him a pair of wire cutters as if they were a delicate piece of glass.

  “No sudden movements,” Digory says, right behind me.

  The sound of his voice ignites something inside me. He’s barely spoken to me these past two weeks—ever since I revived him during that Sim.

  I turn to him. Flashes of crimson dance in his eyes, thawing the ice into fluid blue. As our eyes meet we spark for a second, but then he looks away and the moment dies like a fading ember.

  As Gideon struggles to access the control panel, no one makes a sound.

  Finally, he turns and shakes his head, not looking any of us in the eye. “No use. I can’t reach it.”

  A sigh escapes Cypress’s lips. “Surprise.”

  Gideon thrusts the wire cutters at her. “I’m sure these’ll work on vocal chords.”

  She smirks. “It’d be fun to see you try, anyway.”

  I grip the drum myself. “There’s a lot riding on this. This bomb’s not going to diffuse itself.” I try to twist it around as carefully as I can, but it must weigh a ton.

  Without saying a word, Digory pulls me aside and grips the metal cylinder himself, lifting it a couple of inches off the ground. Thick cords bulge from the sides of his neck. His biceps threaten to burst through the sleeves of his damp T-shirt, which clings to his body like a second skin.

  “You’re going to set it off, Tycho,” Cypress growls through clenched teeth.

  Ignoring her, he pulls the drum out and away from the other ones, turning it enough to expose a silver box attached to its side.

  He’s been exerting himself way too much since we started Phase Two, especially given what almost happened to him on that raft, but I’ve learned it’s pointless to try and talk him out of anything.

  “Easy … ” Gideon mutters under his breath.

  Digory sets the drum back down with a low thump, which still manages to stir up a gritty shroud of dust that prickles my skin.

  “Two minutes … ” Ophelia’s hands are clasped in front of her mouth and she’s bouncing on her boot heels.

  “I know. I know.” Gideon’s already on his knees with the screwdriver, fiddling with the control panel. In seconds, he’s unscrewed it from its moorings and detached it from the drum. He stands, cradling the bomb’s canister like a baby.

  We all back away, giving him plenty of room to maneuver.

  One of his feet tangles in some cables and he lurches—

  Our collective gasp drowns out the steady bleeping of the countdown clock as Gideon teeters for a few agonizing seconds—

  Before Cypress reaches out to steady him.

  “Don’t drop it,” she whispers.

  His only response is the wisp of his breath, which fogs up the clear display of the bomb’s throbbing innards as he pries the panel open with the screwdriver, exposing several black cubes connected by red, blue, and yellow wires.

  “That’s it, Warrick. You got this.” I’m already warming to the idea that we may just make it through this latest ordeal of Slade’s.

  Digory and I crowd together, avoiding each other’s faces. The frigid air pumping through the overhead vents pecks at my flesh and gives me the shakes. There’s an awkward second when our shoulders graze. I steal a quick, shallow breath. Part of me wants to stare him down, ask him how he’s feeling, both physically and otherwise. But I trash the impulse and bury it deep. I can’t let him know how I really feel.

  Especially since I don’t know myself.

  Gideon’s eyes are bouncing from one wire to another, the wire cutters trembling in his hand.

  “You’re wasting too much time. Let me do it.” Cypress reaches out for the explosive canister.

 
“Let him alone, Goslin.” Digory blocks her. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  Ophelia tugs my arm. “Only thirty seconds to go!”

  Cypress looks like she wants to strangle her. “Thanks for the update.”

  My heart’s a drum roll. “Gently … Warrick … yeah … nice and slow … ”

  Gideon hesitates, closes his eyes for a moment, then snips the blue wire.

  Nothing happens.

  Peals of nervous laughter fill the air. We’re still in this.

  “Ten seconds!” Ophelia squeals.

  With only two options remaining, Gideon grins and shifts the wire cutter over to the red wire—

  That can’t be right. He’s supposed to cut the reactor wire before he cuts the ignition feed. I spring forward and wrench the tool from his hand.

  “Spark!” he yells. “What the hell are you—?”

  Snip!

  I cut through the yellow wire instead—

  An alarm blares through the room, cleaving my eardrums. The overhead florescent lights blink out, replaced by the swirling reds and yellows of twirling emergency beacons engulfing the chamber like wildfire.

  The intercom crackles to life with a burst of static: “Detonation Activated. Mission Failure. Repeat.

  Mission Failure.”

  But I don’t need any warning announcement to tell me how badly I screwed up. The glares in everyone’s eyes are much more potent. The wire cutters slip from my fingers and clatter to the floor, disappearing along with the steel drums when the ground beneath opens up and swallows them whole before resealing.

  Wish that were me.

  Gideon shakes his head at me.“What’s wrong with you? I had everything under control. All I had to do was clip that red wire … ”

  A wide grin stretches across the canvas of Ophelia’s face. “So what if Spark messed up. We all know you knew what you were doing.” She moves toward Gideon with open arms, but he backs away.

  “I’m real sorry.” I grab his shoulder from behind.

  He whirls on me, fist raised.

  Digory squeezes between us, palms thrust outward. “Whoa! Easy, Warrick.”

  Gideon’s eyes are feral, the look of a cornered animal ready to fight to the death.

  No one says a word, not even Cypress. We just stare, listening to this stranger’s panting breaths, wondering if he’ll strike.

  He finally blinks. In that instant, he’s Gideon again. He lowers his fist, looking confused as to why it was in the air to begin with. His index finger nudges his glasses back up his nose.

  “Forgive me.” His face is redder than the light’s glare. “I guess you just spooked me.”

  Cypress snorts. “We spooked you?”

  Digory lowers his own hands. “It’s all right. We’ve all been on edge. And with good reason.”

  I step from behind him. “Digory’s right. You did a great job, Warrick. Sorry I screwed things up.”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets. His eyes drop to his fidgeting feet. “Thanks. Any of you could have done it.”

  “Agreed.” Cypress sighs.

  Ophelia glares at her. “But none of us did.” Her face softens and she takes a tentative step closer to Gideon. “I think you’re the best!” She lifts her hands so he can see them, and slowly wraps them around him.

  Gideon awkwardly pats her back. He doesn’t seem to know where to look and chooses the exact moment to look down at her that she looks up at him.

  Their lips meet and she gives him a quick peck.

  Cypress looks away, suddenly more interested in her boots than making some snide remark.

  Digory erupts into whooping and laughter, relieving the tension. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe we have another explosion.”

  Ophelia giggles.

  I get the sense that somehow this is a real special moment for Gideon, and when I think about all the teasing he endured during our years at the Instructional Facility, I’m glad for him.

  His glasses fog up. He removes them and lifts the end of his shirt to wipe the lenses. With his shirt riding up his back, I catch another glimpse of that ugly scar.

  He must feel the weight of my eyes crushing him. He grabs a fistful of shirttail and tugs it down. Our eyes connect for a second, and I glimpse naked fear before he shoves his glasses back down like a barrier to his soul.

  What could have hurt him like that?

  I’m not sure how long I’m standing there squirming, avoiding everyone’s faces, when the sirens finally fade and the lights return to normal.

  The last thing I’m expecting to hear is the sound of clapping from across the room.

  Slade’s staring at us, hands now crossed behind her back.

  “Congratulations.” Her face is a mask of disgust. “You are now all officially dead, thanks to the recklessness of Recruit Spark. “It appears someone hasn’t been paying attention to his instructors.” Despite Slade’s usual condescending manner, there’s something different about her today. She looks … tired. Her usually pristine uniform is kind of wrinkled, as if she slept in it. Something other than my screw-up is pissing her off.

  I stand at attention and salute her. “I’m sorry, Sir. But I thought—”

  “That was your first mistake, Recruit, and, given the failure of your mission, your last.” Slade’s eyes reflect the light like molten steel. “If this had been an actual Op instead of a training Sim you could have been responsible for not only the loss of countless personnel, but inflicted devastating consequences on the foundation of the Establishment itself. As such, there must be consequences.”

  “Agreed, Sir.” I step forward. “The failure was all my fault and any punishment should be mine alone.”

  This time she grins. “How noble of you, Spark. Unfortunately, you undertook this mission as a team. The failure of one is the failure of all. As of this moment, all leisure time before lights out has been cancelled for the duration of Phase Two.”

  I cringe at the audible groan from the others behind me.

  “Instead,” Slade continues, “you are all assigned to Fire Guard and Charge of Quarters duties when you aren’t involved in training exercises, including nightly patrol shifts, cleaning the barracks from top to bottom for my inspection—including the latrines as well as the lockers—and running personal errands for me on a twenty-four-hour on-call basis. What this pathetic platoon lacks in resourcefulness it will make up in diligence, until you are the most efficient squad in all of Infiernos.” She pauses. “Oh, and how could I forget the extra hour of morning calisthenics?”

  Even I join in the moans this time.

  Slade’s glee turns into a scowl. “Now get out of my sight.”

  As we scramble out of her way, I’m shocked when I catch a glimpse of the last expression I’d expect to see on her face.

  Fear.

  Sixteen

  True to her word, Slade makes the last week of Phase Two even more of a nightmare by introducing visits to the Tank. During our instructions on Bio Warfare, we’re issued protective gas masks and forced into a sealed chamber while Slade pumps it full of experimental toxins. It’s terrifying enough to be trapped in a coffin-like room, with nothing but the sound of hissing death for company, but we’re forced to take off our masks a few seconds before we’re allowed to leave the Tank, just so we can briefly experience the effects of the toxins firsthand as Slade forces us to recite our name, rank, and ID number to test how well we can focus under the drugs’ effect. Once we all figure out that wrong answers earn you another go around, we really try to focus. The last thing any of us wants is to experience more of those brain-splitting migraines and violent shakes.

  In addition to our already crowded daily training and instruction, we’re also forced to tackle the Teamwork Tower protocol, a series of obstacle courses located on rotating platforms hovering hundreds of fe
et above the ground. We’re forced to depend on one another at these dizzying heights to navigate simulated landscapes of rocky terrain, snow-capped peaks, and desert regions, climbing rope ladders and bridges before rappelling down hundred-foot walls.

  Our next FTX, however, takes place on the ground. It’s an overnighter in the Southwest Quadrant of Infiernos, away from the coast, deep in the interior of the island. In this vast, isolated area of dense undergrowth, we will fend for ourselves, building shelters and hunting for our own food.

  After going the whole day of the FTX without eating, Digory, Cypress, Gideon, and I leave Ophelia behind at the camp to finish setting up the shelters while we spend the evening racing through thick brushwood in search of food. Clutching makeshift spears we whittled from branches, the four of us pursue a floppy-eared lepus. But as sunset approaches we have nothing to show for our efforts, except for the bloody signatures of thorns and branches inscribed on the exposed skin of our sweat-drenched bodies.

  I collapse to the ground with the others, too hungry and tired to swat at a mosquito feasting on the back of my hand. Then a smiling Ophelia steps into the clearing—carrying the lepus in her arms!

  “There, there,” she coos, stroking the creature’s head. The animal squirms, but she holds it by its hind legs and head. “You are just too cute!” She nuzzles its nose with hers. “I finished with the shelters early, so I figured I’d join the fun.”

  Before any of us can say anything, her smile disappears and her eyes turn to glass. She locks her grip around the animal’s ears and tugs, snapping its head backward.

  CRACK! The sound of splintered bone ricochets through the clearing.

  The lepus thrashes in her grasp for a few seconds and then hangs limp.

  Ophelia turns to us, beaming. “I’m so starved. Let’s eat!” She giggles.

  After watching her expertly decapitate the animal, slice into its back legs, rip the skin off, plunge the blade deep into its lower abdomen, and carve up to the rib cage and pelvis with the precision of a surgeon, I’m suddenly not too hungry anymore.

  Instead, I help Cypress gather a mixed bundle of grass, twigs, and bark. Digory and Gideon ignite it by using a sharp rock as a flint, until the kindle becomes a roaring blaze that we can cook the meat over.