The Culling (The Torch Keeper)

  “Don’t hurt him! Let him go!” Digory’s voice echoes through the hall.

  “Bring Tycho over here.” Cassius’s voice penetrates the painful fog clouding my brain.

  Style’s rough hands grab me on both sides. He drags me to my feet. I manage to open my eyes. Everything’s a blur, but Cassius’s face comes into focus. He smirks at me and leans in to whisper in my ear. “You should thank me. When the time came, you’d have chosen to end the Bledsoe witch’s life yourself before your precious little brother’s. I just expedited the process and took the decision out of your hands. Now you can go into the Trials guilt-free.”

  “Murderer … ” I hiss at him.

  Renquist and another Imp shove Digory toward me, his arms pinned behind his back. His eyes are choppy blue rivers. “Lucian, are you hurt?”

  There’s not a part of me that doesn’t hurt, both inside and out, including the parts of me that he’s touched. I drop my gaze to the broken urn and the scattered ashes.

  Cassius clears his throat and raises his hand to silence the crowd’s stirring. “I apologize to all of you who had to witness that. But it will help you to understand the dynamic that sets these Trials apart from any others we’ve ever held.” He holds a hand out, indicating Digory. “Here we have one Recruit, who aside from his husband, has no other discernible family or close friends our research was able to discover. Of course, as in rare cases such as this, Tycho could be assigned an orphan as one of his other Recruits. But … ” He points to me now. “Here we have another Recruit, who through no fault of his own has lost one of his Incentives before the Trials have even begun.” He shakes his head. “What to do?” A smile flashes across his face. “Observe.”

  3-D holograms appear throughout the chamber, the largest of which towers right behind Cassius on the dais, all projecting the identical images.

  Digory and me.

  It’s footage of us on the Observation Tower, sitting on the railing, gazing at the stars.

  I wonder what it would be like, Lucian, to love someone so totally, so … you know, so powerfully, that even the stars can’t contain themselves from proclaiming that love for everyone to see. Digory’s voice blares through the audio system.

  The image switches to the raft during our first Sim exercise, me slung over Digory’s body, both of us half-naked, me whispering into his ear.

  Listen to me, Digory. You’re going to be okay. I promise.

  Other images flash by in quick succession—Digory defying Slade and standing up for me when we first arrived at Infiernos … him feeding me breakfast at the mess hall during our first day of training …

  The images fade into our moment earlier tonight. Digory and me on the terrace, his head nuzzled against my neck.

  Let’s just have this one moment, just you and me, no one else … one moment where we don’t talk about any of that … where none of it exists … where we can pretend tomorrow is a lifetime away …

  Footage of us dancing, swirling in each other’s arms …

  All the holograms fade. The lights come up.

  The crowd is silent. And then the murmuring begins.

  “May I have your attention, please.” Cassius calls out above the clamor. The muttering fades. “As you can see, Digory Tycho has demonstrated strong emotional ties toward Lucian Spark. All of you witnessed yourselves his concern for Spark just a moment ago, casting protocol aside to try and protect him despite the fact that he’s already married to another. And Lucian Spark, likewise, has strong feelings for Digory Tycho, stronger than any other living person other than his own brother, now that his poor unfortunate surrogate mother is no longer with us.”

  The audience begins buzzing again. Cassius allows it to continue for a moment before raising a finger. A hush falls through the hall. “So, for the first time ever, two of the Recruits shall also serve as each other’s Incentives. Both their lives now hinge on each other’s progress during the Trials. Should one falter, he will have to choose between his competitor’s life and the life of his regular Incentive. Note that if he chooses his competitor, this decision will also have repercussions on his competitor’s regular Incentive. Without anyone to fight for him, that Incentive’s life will be forfeit as well.” Cassius nods. “As of tomorrow morning, you will be witnesses to one of the most interesting Trials ever, where the question of self-indulgent love versus love of country will take on an even more significant meaning. Let the Trials begin!”

  The applause swells into a thunderstorm.

  “No! You can’t do this!” I shout over the roar.

  “Lucian!” Digory calls. The Imps are already hauling him off stage.

  Cassius signals the Imposers and they drag me past him. “I’ll kill you for this,” I hiss at him.

  Soldiers point at me, some laughing, others waving their fists, as I’m towed by, down the aisle and out of the hall.

  I guess I gave them their little scene after all.

  Twenty-Two

  I’ve spent the entire sleepless night locked in solitary, thanks to my outburst at the Graduation Ceremony. Flight risk or suicide watch? Not that the outcome of either would be any different.

  It’s the first time at Infiernos that I’ve craved the sagging mattress of my bunk, back at the barracks. I don’t know how many hours I’ve done nothing but stare into the suffocating darkness, wondering when the night will end—and dreading the moment when it will.

  My cell door wooshes open.

  Captain Valerian, the female Imp I haven’t seen much of since she sicced the Canid on the kid in the alley, stands there, weapon aimed at me.

  “It’s time, Recruit.” She tosses a bundle at my feet.

  Black combat fatigues and boots.

  This is it. The moment that everything’s led to, ever since my ill-fated reunion with Cassius on Recruitment Day. The point at which all of our fates converge, for better or worse—Digory’s, Cypress’s, Gideon’s, Ophelia’s, mine, and those of everyone we love. For months I’ve forged new friendships, only to have to tear those bonds apart now for Cole’s sake.

  I tear off my formal wear, still smudged with Mrs. Bledsoe’s ashes, and slip into my new skin. Without waiting for a verbal prompt or the butt of Valerian’s weapon, I take a deep breath and stride past her. Styles and Renquist are waiting out in the barren steel hallway.

  “This way,” Renquist grunts.

  I march down the corridor after them, toward a bright opening on the far end. An elevator, by the looks of it. Gritting my teeth, I step in, past two more Imps flanking the doors.

  The others are already waiting inside. Digory tries to make eye contact, but I drop my gaze. I can’t. Not now. Instead I concentrate on the others. But none of them seem to notice me. While they all look a little more kempt in their identical combat fatigues than I’m sure I do, the one thing they all share in common is the look of dread splattered across their faces.

  The elevator doors slam shut.

  It’s difficult to swallow as the car plunges. I almost reach out and grab Digory’s arm to steady myself, but catch myself at the last second, opting for one of the handrails against the wall.

  The floor vibrates with the speed of our descent.

  Welcome Recruits!

  Sergeant Slade’s voice startles me, seeming to come from every direction.

  Congratulations on being inducted and honored with the opportunity to join the Imposer Task Force.

  Honored?

  The Trials will take place on the lowest level of Infiernos, in a facility known as the Skein, an intricate series of connected corridors and doorways, each leading you to one of the challenges you will face.

  My body tightens with a surge of claustrophobia.

  At the completion of each mission, the Recruit who places last will make his or her selection during the Culling. You will all then be given variable rest periods
at one of the holding stations before you proceed along the accessways to the next Trial, and so on and so forth until the final mission.

  Yeah … we move on after effectively murdering one of our own …

  Once both of your Incentives have expired, you will be eliminated from consideration and immediately shipped off to the work camps in the western provinces until your services are no longer required.

  Unless you drop dead from exhaustion or disease first.

  The Trials shall continue until there is only one remaining Recruit with at least one viable Incentive. That Recruit shall earn a place in the elite Imposer training program.

  If you’re fortunate enough to have any surviving family when this is all over, you’ll live out the rest of your days in servitude to the monster.

  Any questions?

  The sounds in the elevator are a mix of clearing throats, grunts, and muttered nays.

  Another jolt and the car grinds to a halt.

  I can’t swallow.

  A slot by the doors springs open to reveal five black bands, each encompassing some kind of metal device.

  You will each take a locator and place it around your wrist before exiting and awaiting further instructions.

  One by one, we reach in without saying a word or making eye contact and pull out a locator, clamping them around our wrists like manacles.

  The doors tear open—

  And my eyes nearly leap from their sockets.

  A vast field spreads out before us, strewn with smoking debris and collapsed buildings, simulating a war zone. Countless bodies litter the horizon, sprawled out in contorted poses—just more gritty scenery in this horrific mock-up.

  It can’t be real.

  Except these bodies are twitching and writhing, filling the air with a chorus of moans that no actor or automaton could ever imitate so convincingly. The wails penetrate deep and cover every inch of my skin with goose flesh.

  Where did all these people come from?

  But I know the answer without having to be told: they’re our friends and neighbors from the Parish, the innocents dragged from their homes in the dead of night to be questioned under the flimsiest of evidence, never to be seen nor heard from again. People with families just like ours, reduced to grisly props.

  You will now take your places at the edge of the battle zone, just behind the energy barrier at the amber starting line.

  Following Slade’s instructions, I trudge toward the starting line just outside the crackling energy barrier. Filing after Gideon, Cypress, and Ophelia, I take my place beside Digory at the far end.

  Cypress sighs. “All those people … ”

  “Them?” Ophelia whimpers. “What about us? I mean they’re just lying around. Why haven’t we started yet?” She’s bouncing from one foot to the other. “I can’t take much more of this waiting! Mama and Maddie are counting on me. If I don’t come home soon, Mama’ll get all flustered with Maddie and—”

  “Shut up, Ophelia,” Digory mutters.

  Her jaw drops.

  “Digory’s right,” I say. “It’s not all about you.”

  Ophelia glares at us, then whirls on Cypress and Gideon. “You two were there last night. You saw. You heard.” Her finger stabs at Digory and me. “These two are in this together.”

  “That’s not true,” I hurl back.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Digory says.

  Ophelia’s eyes pounce on him. “Interesting, but the fact is, you are not to be trusted. You’ll turn on anyone—use anyone—to get what you want. After all, for someone who’s married, you seem a lot more concerned with the welfare of Lucian Spark.”

  Her words sting. Last night floods my brain. She’s right. He is married.

  I move aside, leaving a wider gap between myself and Digory.

  Ophelia’s eyes dart between Gideon and Cypress like a predator’s. “Tycho and Spark have each other’s backs and will sabotage our chances while we’re forced to fend for ourselves … unless we band together and stop them. It’s our only chance. We have the majority.”

  Gideon and Cypress glance at each other. They don’t say a word, but I can already see the gears spinning in their eyes. She’s getting to them.

  The Trials have barely gotten underway and the paranoia’s already poisoning everyone’s minds.

  Attention Recruits. At the end of the countdown, the first leg of the Trials shall commence.

  On a screen on the far side of the carnage, a digital clock’s already hacking away at the precious seconds before this nightmare gets underway.

  One minute and thirty seconds … twenty-nine seconds …

  twenty-eight seconds …

  Your task is simple. You must proceed across the battle zone to the safety zone on the other side.

  Across the way, a yellow beacon flashes in time with my ragged breaths.

  Scattered throughout this containment area, random collaterals have been fitted with beacon bracelets that match the individual frequencies of the locator wristlets you all now wear.

  I study the locator that’s snug around my wrist. Random collaterals? What the hell does Slade mean by random col—?

  A few feet ahead of me, just past the starting line, a glint of metal on the wrist of one of the writhing bodies catches my eye. My eyes dart through the field. From what I can see, they all are wearing beacon bracelets—the wounded, the sick, the dying …

  The Establishment’s random collaterals.

  My own locator feels like it’s cutting off the circulation in my hand.

  If you come across one that’s a match, a green signal will confirm it and you must transport that beacon to the safety zone on the other side.

  In unison, our five wrists blink green.

  If you come across a beacon that’s not a match, you will receive a red signal and must continue your search.

  Our wrists flash bright red before going dark again.

  You are free to utilize any tools or equipment you find along the way to accomplish this goal, but we caution that you may encounter certain variables in your mission, such as taser mines, nerve scramblers, stun rifles, pain inducers …

  Variables. Slade’s sterile word for booby traps and who knows what else …

  The object of this Search and Retrieve Trial is to collect your one matching beacon and transport it to the safety zone. You will commence the next Trial in the order you finish this one. The last Recruit to collect his or her beacon must partake in the Culling and choose between his or her Incentives.

  Incentives. Cole—and now Digory. I glance at him. He’s as pale as stone. Even the tide in his sea-blue eyes has ebbed. His eyes meet mine and I look away. There’s no question who I’d choose first. But despite everything that’s happened between us, I can’t even think of letting it get to that point. And I have to make sure Digory doesn’t falter either, or Cole’s as good as gone. Cassius has really linked our fates with his chains.

  Good Luck, Recruits. Until we reconvene at the next launch point.

  Slade’s voice fades and the lights grow dim …

  The starting siren blasts away.

  twenty-three

  Air rushes around me. Someone slams into my shoulder, knocking me across the starting line. My eyes saucer as I brace myself for the blast of the energy barrier. But the only impact is my face thudding against the hard earth. I look up in time to see Ophelia smirk before sprinting off into the fray.

  I spit blood and spring to my feet, ignoring the spasms in my wobbly legs.

  A hand grabs my shoulder.

  I whirl into Digory’s gaze. “You okay?” he asks.

  I tear away from his grasp. “I’m fine.”

  Then I’m off, wading through a sea of bodies. I gag at the stench. The entire place reeks of blood, festering wounds, and death.

 
Clenching a palm over my nose and mouth, I squat over the first body I come across, a teenaged guy not more than a year or two younger than I am. His scraggly dark hair is matted to his ashen face. The whites of his eyes are visible through half-opened lids. The beacon’s draped over the wrist of a bony hand, which is pressed against a gurgling wound in his abdomen as if trying to keep something from spilling out.

  Shooing away the buzzing flies swarming over his lesion, I press my locator next to his beacon.

  There’s a harsh buzz and the locator’s light turns the same color as his soaked shirt.

  Not a match. What a horrible way to die, out here, alone in such filth.

  His icy hand locks around my wrist. Bloodshot eyes spring open the rest of the way.

  My heart nearly erupts through my gullet.

  “Please … ” The word flows from his lips through a gout of blood. “Help … me … ”

  I pull my arm from his wrist and clasp his hand. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Then we’re torn apart. Cypress shoves me out of the way so hard that a bolt of pain jolts through my arm. Her dark hair’s pasted wildly across her dirt-streaked face like poisoned veins.

  One look at her eyes snuffs out my anger. Stark naked desperation, the kind bordering on crazy. She eyes the boy’s tracker and grabs it with muddy hands that smell of rot. This isn’t the first body she’s come across.

  The moment her locator connects with his bracelet, there’s another harsh buzz and red flash.

  She flings his hand down as if it’s shocked her. Her engorged eyes turn on me. “Not him either.”

  Then she’s bounding off, crouching over another victim.

  The boy coughs up another mouthful of blood. “Please … don’t leave me. I don’t want to die … alone … ”

  The weight of what’s at stake crushes the air from my lungs.

  I can’t help him.