Read The Culling Online

Authors: Steven Dos Santos

Tags: #teen, #Young Adult, #Dystopian, #Speculative Fiction, #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #sci/fi, #Military, #totalitarian government, #male protagonist, #sci-fi

The Culling (10 page)

BOOK: The Culling
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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 barks.

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
.”

Cypress shoots me a look of disgust.

Finally, it’s Digory against the only remaining Recruit, Ophelia. He leans in to her just as their match is about to start. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

As soon as Renquist gives the signal, Ophelia hooks a foot around Digory’s ankle, grabs his arm, and flips him over. He crashes to the ground, his head barely contained within the yellow perimeter line.

Digory twists his head and ogles the line, mere centimeters away. His eyes bulge. The sound of crackling and the stench of singed hair fills the air …

Ophelia’s boot presses into Digory’s chin, pushing him closer to the yellow barrier. Her eyes have that same vacant expression I saw in them before.

“Ophelia … ” Digory groans through the pressure on his windpipe. “I give up.” His hand slaps the platform’s surface.

“Good job, Recruit Juniper,” Styles grunts.

Ophelia lifts her boot from Digory’s throat and steps back, her eyes glowing with satisfaction. “I did
good
?” Then she’s giggling, a sound that pours down my back like ice cubes.

I rush past her and crouch beside Digory. “Are
you
hurt?”

He sits up, rubbing the red welt on his throat. “I’m fine.” He musters a smile. “She just caught me off guard.” His shakes his head. “Won’t happen again.”

As exhausting as the training is, I find that each day my endurance increases bit by bit, the soreness in my body easing off a tad as it becomes more solid and toned.

Maybe I’ll make it to the Trials after all.

If anything, channeling all the physical energy has kept the nightmares at bay—at least for now.

After a particularly arduous day of training, as I’m just about to slip into sleep after lights out, the barracks door crashes open. Half a dozen hulking Imps clad all in black, wearing masks that cover everything but their eyes, swarm inside, carrying flashlights.

I bolt up in bed. “What’s going—?”

“On your feet!” the lead figure shouts.

The next thing I know, the five of us are being dragged from our bunks by these brutes.

“You’re hurting me!” Ophelia squeals.

I exchange anxious looks with Digory just before a hood is pulled over my face. With no eye slits, I can’t see a thing. Panic surges through me like an electrical current. The coarse material feels like it’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.

“Wait! I need my glasses!” Gideon cries.

Then I’m being dragged and shoved outside, I think. “Is everyone okay?”

“Lucian!” Digory’s voice, a few feet away.

“Keep your mouths shut!” my captor hisses into my ear. “Inside!” A large hand shoves me. I trip over my own feet and land on my knees.

“Strap them in,” another voice calls to my right.

I’m yanked to my feet and shoved into a seat. A harness comes down over me and locks into place.

My heart’s thumping out of control. What are they going to do us? What if they’ve decided we’re not working out and they’re going to kill us?

“Cole … ” I whisper to the dark.

“Lucian?” Digory whispers back, right beside me.

His fingers grope for mine and his touch is just enough to keep me from going over the edge.

A metal door clangs shut. “Let’s move!” one of the Imps shouts.

There’s the grind and whir of engines and then a deep vibration as whatever vehicle we’re in begins to move.

The next hour is agonizing. We’re jostled to and fro for what seems like forever. Then at one point we stop and are transferred to some other vehicle. This time it feels like we’re airborne.

“Hang tight!” an unknown voice calls through a loudspeaker. “We’re in for some chop!”

The craft is buffeted by turbulence and I lean closer to Digory to steady myself.

I can hear muted sobs coming from close by. Ophelia? Gideon?

When it’s finally over, the craft comes to a rocky stop and the engines cut out with a long whine. A loud clank like the opening of a door—a hatch?—then the harnesses click open and we’re pulled from our seats and prodded down a slope, some kind of ramp I imagine.

The first thing I notice is a biting cold wind that sets my half-naked body shivering. The last time I felt like this was when—

My hands are uncuffed and the hood is ripped off my face.

Of course. We’re standing on the deck of a ship, much larger than the freighter that brought us to Infiernos. An aircraft carrier, by the looks of it. Before us, Sergeant Slade stands alongside the goons who kidnapped us from the barracks. They’ve removed their masks and I recognize Styles and Renquist among them, grins plastered on their faces.

“Welcome to your first impromptu FTX, Field Training Exercise,” Slade announces. “For the past several weeks, your training has concentrated on increasing your fitness and endurance, as well as learning basic survival and combat skills. Now the time has come to put your newly acquired proficiencies into play.”

There’s an audible shift in our stances. Our eyes dart to each other, and then back to Slade and the Imps.

Slade gestures to the dark horizon. “Out there is a communications station.” She points to the rear of the platform we’re standing on. “The life raft behind you contains a map with coordinates to the radio tower, along with a compass and emergency supplies. Your mission is simple. Arrive at the station in one piece.” Her tongue traces her lips. “But I do suggest you spend as little time in the water as possible, what with the hypothermia factor, not to mention the aquatic predators that roam these seas.”

Digory clears his throat. “Excuse me, Sergeant, Sir. Permission to speak?”

Slade’s eyes slash him from head to toe. “Permission granted, Recruit.”

“What if we aren’t able to reach the radio tower?”

Malice edges out the contempt in her face. “Failure is not an option in
my
platoon, Recruit Tycho.” She pulls out a sleek palm-sized device topped with buttons.

In that instant, my eyes have just enough time to connect her words with the hinges on the platform floor, which separate us from Slade and the Imps.

Slade’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Good luck.” Her finger jabs at the black box’s top button.

The floor disappears, sending the five of us tumbling into the roaring abyss yawning below.

The icy water hits me like a thousand syringes plunging into my body.

Something tugs at me, pulling me upward. Then I’m breaking through a barrier. Sounds rip through my ears, muffled at first. I’m not sure where I am. Deep cold slices through the numbness of my skin.

A high-pitched siren unclogs my ears. It blares again, only this time I realize it’s not a siren, but a scream.

I cough up a mouthful of salt water, just in time to swallow another one.

“Lucian! I gotcha!” Digory calls in my ear. He squeezes me tight.

“I’m okay.” I spit ocean.

“Gideon! You got her?” he calls to my right.

I manage to turn my head enough to see Gideon treading water. He paddles toward us, Ophelia clinging to his side.

“She’s good.” Gideon responds through puffs of frosty breath. “But we need to get out of this wa-wa-wat-er fast before we fr—”

“I
know
that!” Digory shoots back. “Where do you suggest we go? The raft’s gone … ”

During their exchange, I’ve been looking past them at a rectangular shape drifting steadily away from our position. The raft. And in it, the silhouette of a girl, her long hair whipping about in the wind.

Cypress has stolen our only chance of survival.

The thought of what will happen to the rest of us jumpstarts my heart. Sucking in a lungful of ice, I break free of Digory and dive into the water after her.

“Lucian! Wait!”

But Digory’s voice is drowned out by the splashing of my flailing limbs and the sound of my heart battering my ears. Every breath is a battle. I can’t feel my arms and legs as they carve into the water. My only focus is reaching that raft. I take in another gulp of frosty air and catch a glimpse of Cypress. I’m almost there.

My strokes are short and fast. Arms dig up the sea. Feet gyrate as rapidly as propellers. Ironically, it’s Cassius I have to thank for becoming such a good swimmer. All those times when we were kids, racing each other in the swamps behind the electrical plant, swimming through all that muck, having to hold our breath to avoid the awful stink infesting our nostrils as we tried to push each other’s heads beneath the surface. And now, years later, he’s holding my head down again. Only this time, he’s not playing, and he’s not going to let me come up for air.

The flash of fury fuels my strokes, faster and faster, until at last I reach the raft. I grab on to the side of the boat, leaning against it as I struggle to fill my aching lungs with air. I’m panting like a Canid. Slower. Breathe slower. I have to stop gulping air or I’ll hyperventilate. Everything’s hazy, and for a moment I feel like I’m going to pass out and slide back into the ocean for good this time.

The panic jolts me into action. Digging my fingers into the rubber rim, I hoist myself up and over the raft’s edge. My left hip slams onto the bottom before I roll onto my back.

I’m so numb, my body doesn’t even ache after that marathon swim. If it weren’t for the pain in my lungs, I might just be taking a little rest, sprawled out on this raft gazing up at the night sky.

The starfield is shattered by a wooden oar that appears out of nowhere. It gleams in the moonlight for a split-
second, then it slices in a downward arc toward my head. My paralysis evaporates like a puff of frosty breath. I roll out of the way.

Thwack!
The blade’s edge grazes my left ear and
whomps
into the raft’s floor.

Cypress raises the oar again. But this time I’m ready for
her. The toe of my boot hammers into her shin.

“Ah!” She stumbles backward, trips over a backpack, and crashes against the equipment canisters strapped into the corner of the raft. Her hand loses its grip on the oar’s handle. She lies there stunned. Her other hand rubs the back of her head.

Chills rattle my body. I force myself to sit up. “Are you
crazy
?”

She doesn’t respond, just continues to squirm. A few moans escape her opened lips. Did she strike her head too hard? I didn’t mean to hurt her. It all happened so fast, with that damn oar coming right at me.

My knees creak their protest. Pulling myself to my feet, I stagger over and squat beside her.

“Cypress,” I barely manage. The wet clothes are taking their toll on me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But why did you … ?” I reach out to touch her cheek, but I’m so numb I can’t tell where my fingers end and she begins.

Her open palm clamps around the oar’s handle. She springs up and knocks me aside, holding the oar’s tip to my throat. Her eyes are colder than the black sea.

BOOK: The Culling
11.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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