The Culling (5 page)

Eight

The lumbering steam coach transporting Cole, Mrs. Bledsoe, and myself back to the Citadel ebbs to a crawl about twenty feet in front of the tower’s massive iron doors. Rods and pistons screech to a halt. Coughing up a final shroud of vapor, the vehicle stops dead. When the haze clears, I almost buckle under the weight of the stares coming from the crowd jammed into both sides of the street for today’s ceremony. Fear and confusion as to why the three of us have been singled out for this special treatment is plastered on most of their faces. But it’s the piercing glares scattered throughout the pack that force my eyes away in shame.

Cole springs from the cab. “Hurry, Lucky! We’re gonna be late!” he cries over the clamor of the throng. He tugs my hand with both of his, urging me from the carriage.

“Take it easy, buddy. We’re just on time. The parade’s about to start. You haven’t missed any of it.” I hop to the ground. “Hey, what say you pretend I’m a caballus and ride me up to the observation box?”

He claps and jumps up and down a couple of times. “Can I, Lucky?
Please
?”

I scoop him up onto my shoulders, ignoring the pain. “Next stop, the Command Center, Sir!”

Cole tugs my ears. “Giddy-up!”

I turn to Mrs. Bledsoe, who’s still sitting in the coach. She looks even paler in the bright afternoon sunshine. “You’re so good with him,” she says. “Reminds me of you and your father.”

I take her hand and guide her out of the transport, into the hover chair that Cassius has so generously provided.

She fidgets in her seat, eyes suspicious. “I really don’t need this contraption, dear. I can walk. I’m not an invalid.”

“Nobody says you are.” I tug the seat belt snug around her. “Think of it as being queen for the day. We’re here to serve your every whim.”

She coughs into her handkerchief. “If I fall off, you’d better
catch me.”

Our Imposer escort punches a button on one of the armrests. There’s a puff of exhaust from the propulsion unit underneath the chair.

“Oh!” Mrs. Bledsoe exclaims. The chair rises a few feet off the ground.

“I wanna ride the flying chair!” Cole’s heels tap against my chest.

My head twists up. “Hey. Behave yourself, or the ride ends now.”

He buries his face in my hair.

I squeeze his foot. “If you’re a good boy, you can ride it on the way back, deal?”

He bounces on my shoulders. “Deal!”

My eyes shift between Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe. “Everyone ready?”

“Yes!” Cole shouts.

Mrs. Bledsoe wheezes. Her gaze crawls up the tower. “Not really, but let’s go.” She fiddles with the controls of her chair and it swerves toward the Citadel.

“This way,” the Imposer commands, then swivels on his heels and marches through the iron gates.

Taking a deep breath, I’m about to follow Mrs. Bledsoe across the threshold when a familiar figure in the crowd catches my eye.

Digory Tycho. His hair is hanging wildly about his face, framing his clenched jaw. The intensity in his eyes causes my heart to race.

I squeeze my passenger’s ankles. “Cole, why don’t you go inside? There’s something I need to do first.”

His heels dig into my chest. “Not fair! I wanna stay with you!”

I hunch down and pry him off me, setting him gently to the ground. “No whining. Mrs. Bledsoe will be with you. I’ll follow right behind, I promise. Don’t I always keep my promises?”

His lips thrust into a pout. “Yup.”

“Okay then. Go on now.”

I slap him on the butt and he runs toward Mrs. Bledsoe, whose forehead has sprouted more creases as she stares first at me, then at Digory. I mouth the words
I’ll be right there
and watch as Cole takes her hand, and then he and the hover chair are gobbled inside.

Before I even have the chance to fully turn around, Digory’s tugging my arm, pulling me into an alcove on the side of the building under the scowl of a stone gargoyle. He eyes me up and down. “You’re okay! I heard you’d been captured by the Imps. But that’s impossible. You’re here,
safe
.”

I poke my head out of the niche and peer around the corner, scanning the crowd to make sure no one’s listening. But they’re all riveted on the procession winding down the boulevard. I melt back into the shadows. “Actually, you heard right. I was taken in for questioning. But everything’s fine now. It was all a misunderstanding.”

Digory’s eyes taper into slits. “How’s that possible? No one gets released on good behavior.”

I shake my head. “It’s a long story and I don’t have time to explain right now.”

There’s a loud whinny from one of the caballuses in the procession, followed by a few screams. One of the bystanders is barely pulled out of the beast’s path by the crowd. Its rider, Prior Delvecchio, gallops ahead without even a look back. I huddle closer to Digory so he can hear me above the commotion. “There’s something more important I need to talk to you about. Remember when you asked me why I was breaking curfew?”

He nods, still looking at me funny.

“There was someone here I had to see. Someone I needed to ask for help.”

His eyes brush the Citadel’s walls, painting them with contempt. “There’s no one inside this … this
place
… who would help anyone.” When he looks back at me, understanding dawns on his face, mixed with fear. “But if you got released, it must mean you’re cozy with one of the higher-ups. And the only person with that kind of authority is the new Prefect, Cassius Thorn.” He slaps his forehead. “Of course!
You
two! I remember. You were always together before he left the Parish … ”

My pulse sprints. “How did you know—?”

He grabs my hands. “Believe me, Lucian. He’s
not
the same anymore. No one who could rise to that position so quickly could ever be.”

I pull away. “He’s
not
like the others. He wants to help.”

Digory backs away. “What are you talking about? What did you tell him?”

“Relax. I didn’t tell him anything. It’s what
he
told
me
. He wants to change things. He really does care about the citizens of the Parish.”

Digory sighs. “And you
believe
that?”

“It’s true. He wants to meet with the leaders of the rebellion, have a face-to-face, hear their grievances, reach a compromise.”

Digory crosses his arms. “How exactly does he plan to accomplish this?”

“Through … ” I clear my throat. “Through
me
.”

“You mean through
me
, don’t you?”

“What?”

He moves close again, squeezing my arms. “You didn’t tell him about what we talked about, did you?”

“Of course not!” I shake myself loose. I notice several onlookers giving us the eye and lower my voice. “All he did was ask me to pave the way. I didn’t promise him anything. That’s why I’m telling you now. I wanted to run it by you before—”

“Before you report back to
him
?” Digory’s face is on fire. “Have you forgotten what they did to that kid in the alley?”

It’s a memory I’ll never forget, no matter how many dams my brain wedges against it. “That wasn’t Cass. It was
the Establishment
.”

Digory clenches his fists. “He
is
the Establishment.”

Now it’s my turn to get angry. “You’re
wrong
.”

His gaze softens. He reaches out and lifts the pendant Cassius gave me, studying the clasping hands before letting it drop back down against my heart. “Lucian. I saw your brother and Mrs. Bledsoe entering the Citadel. If you love them as much as I know you do, you’ll get them out as soon as possible.”

I’m genuinely touched, even if his fears are unfounded. “Digory, I didn’t mean to just spring this on you. I thought you’d be happy there was someone on your side, willing to listen. Someone that could
do
something. I can’t risk anymore. I have what’s left of my family to think of.”

He nods. “It means a lot to me that you thought you were helping, but you’re not. I don’t want any part of Cassius’s deal.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks away.

Seeing the disappointment in his eyes sends guilt coursing through me. “If you’re worried I’m going to tell Cass—anyone—about you, don’t be. It was a bad idea to mention it.”

“Probably worse than you realize.” His eyes dart through the crowd before returning to me, filled with sadness. “Besides, I’m more worried about
you
. Be careful, Lucian. If Cassius Thorn promised to protect you and your brother from the Recruitment, you can bet there’s a price. Just be sure you’re prepared to pay it.”

He turns and walks away, swallowed by the crowd.

“Digory! Where’re you going? Come back! I didn’t tell him anything! I swear it!” I shout, not caring who hears me.

But he’s gone, vanished as though he never existed, leaving me surrounded by thousands and feeling utterly alone.

Nine

The palatial Ceremonial Suite is nearly twice the size of Cassius’s private quarters. I hurry past two Imposers flanking the archway that leads to an open-air observation platform.

“What took you so long? Is anything the matter?” Cassius asks. He’s seated at the head of an oblong table with Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe, shrouded in shadows created by the awnings of the suite’s massive Palladian windows. Just beyond them, glaring sunlight beats down on the panoramic balcony roosting over town square.

I smile and sit in the empty chair. “Nope. It was hell getting past the mob out there.” I avoid his gaze. “Did I miss anything?”

He sips from his goblet. “Just breaking bread and getting reacquainted with the charming Mrs. Bledsoe and little Cole here.”

Mrs. Bledsoe pushes her empty plate aside. “Charming? Me? I don’t think anyone’s ever referred to me as such!” Her attempt at laughing degenerates into a bout of coughing. She clasps the handkerchief to her mouth.

I go over to her, kneeling by her chair. “Are you all right?”

She waves me away. “Yes, yes, don’t mind me. It’s all the excitement.”

“You should relax, Mrs. Bledsoe,” Cassius says. “After the ceremony, I’ll have my personal physician take a look at you.”

“Why, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I
insist
,” Cassius interrupts her. “You are the mother of a Recruit who prevailed during her Trials. You’ve also been like a mother to Lucky.” He smiles at me. “That makes us family.”

“Lucky!” Cole runs over and pulls me to my feet. “You can see the
whole
Parish from up here!” He giggles. “Uncle Cass says everyone looks like itty bitty ants!”

I turn to Cassius, who’s beaming. “Oh, he did, huh?” But suddenly the image of the townspeople as insects makes me very uncomfortable.

A familiar Imp stops at the threshold, clicks her boots, and salutes. It’s Captain Valerian. “Sir.”

Cassius rises. “Did you get the itinerary I requested, Captain?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s ready for your approval.”

“Very good.” He turns to us. “Please excuse me for a second. This won’t take long.”

“Sure, don’t worry about us,” I say.

His eyes penetrate deep. “But I do worry about you. Very much so.” He stands and crosses to the archway leading back into the suite, huddling with Valerian as a half-dozen government aides clad in stiff gray suits bustle about, checking hovering mics in anticipation of Cassius’s speech and lighting the torches on either side of the podium erected on the balcony.

I turn to Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe. “So what do you think of him, guys?”

She cranes her neck to stare at him. “He certainly
looks
all grown up.”

I take in the sight of Cassius in his uniform and pride fills my heart. “He
is
.”

Mrs. Bledsoe shakes her head. “I can still see that little boy cowering behind those eyes. Shy and angry all at once.”

Unease settles over me. “I don’t know what you mean. Cass was always kind to me. Protective.”

“There’s a very thin line that separates being protective and being possessive.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re saying,” I respond, feeling a little annoyed.

She smiles. “No, I don’t suppose you’d be able to see it.”

Cole’s busy stuffing his mouth with chunks of chocolate cake he’s lifted off the dessert tray. His mouth and fingers are coated with frosting, which he smears against the fine linen tablecloth, totally oblivious. I’m about to scold him but decide against it. For once in his life let him get sick of eating too much, even if he pukes it all up. It’ll probably be the last time he ever has the chance to. Besides, after the way I gorged myself in Cassius’s suite, who am I to judge?

Cass returns to the table. His face is flushed, probably from nerves. “We’re ready to begin now.”

I smile at him. “You’ll do great.”

He just nods without saying a word and walks past us.

As soon as he steps onto the balcony, his presence smothers the hubbub of the spectators below. The mic hovering over him activates with a low hum. The glare of spotlights brush over him, painting his body into a dark silhouette.

“Citizens of the Parish,” he begins. “It is an honor to stand before you as your new Prefect, as one who has lived amongst you, on this Day of Recruitment, a time-honored tradition of service and dedication to the pinnacle of justice. The Establishment.”

At first, the applause is lukewarm, but as the spotlights caress the crowd with their telltale beams, the momentum builds to a never-ending rumble of thunder.

My eyes strain to catch an improbable glimpse of Digory in that multitude. I can’t help but think of the loneliness etched in his face. I know I need to make things right between us.

After what seems like hours, Cassius holds out his hands. The din dulls into a murmur, and then to utter silence. “In addition to the mandatory military service required of all our youths on their seventeenth year, five individuals have been selected today, based on a combination of IQ, psychological, and physical aptitude tests administered during their final year at the Instructional Facilities. These Recruits shall be given the opportunity to train with the best and prove their mettle in the Trials, where the Recruit that excels above the others shall join the elite Imposer Task Force.”

He turns to Valerian, who hands him a box covered in a mechanism made of ornate gold. Cassius enters a code into the digital display on its lid. The gears on the outside of the box begin turning, engaging each other like a jigsaw puzzle. Each twist and turn of a tumbler is broadcast over the Parish’s speaker system, amplified so much that it feels like the heavens are pounding down their fury on us.

Mrs. Bledsoe is hunched over, trembling, her eyes wide sheets of glass. She gets to her feet and moves close to us. I have no doubt she’s remembering that day years ago when she stood in that very crowd, with her husband and her daughter, and listened as her life was damned to hell.

Cole’s giddiness has drained away. He presses against my leg, saying nothing. His fingers find mine and clamp on.

The last tumbler falls into place with a loud
gong
that echoes through the square.

Cole lets go of my hand and covers his ears. I scoop him up into my arms, trying to shield him from so much more than the power of that melancholy note.

The lid springs open with a drawn-out hiss.

“Lucky, I’m scared,” Cole confesses to my ears alone.

“Me too.” Why deny it, when my trembling embrace would betray me anyway?

Cassius’s tongue traces his lips. He reaches into the box and pulls out a large envelope bearing the seal of the Establishment. The seal depicts a lone fist clenching the hilt of a sword; the tip of the sword is jagged and broken, the missing piece presumably resting in the heart of the past. Cassius then trades the box for a golden letter opener Valerian hands him, which looks more like a dagger. He nods and wedges the blade’s point into the envelope’s edge, then tears straight through.

Mrs. Bledsoe winces. One hand clutches her chest. I wrap my free arm around her, pulling her close. No one should have to experience this terrible feeling once in their lifetime, let alone twice.

Cassius tilts the envelope and pours five small computer chips into the palm of his hand—five lives that will change forever in just a few moments, along with those of the ones they hold most dear.

The chips momentarily disappear from view when he clenches them in his fist and strides toward a pedestal known as the Revelation Terminal.

“Citizens of the Parish,” he announces. “I now give you this year’s Recruits. May they serve the Establishment and its people with all the courage of those that have come before them.”

He inserts the discs into the terminal. Outside, the jumbotrons surrounding the Citadel come to life, flashing bright colors from all over the spectrum, interspersed with fragments of faces compiled from the town’s records of all the eligible candidates in the Parish. A drum roll builds to a crescendo as the crowd waits in a mixture of excitement and dread for the first name to be revealed.

The whole thing is pretty theatrical, as Cassius could just rattle the names off and be done with it. But this is what the Establishment does best—prey on the fears and sanity of its citizens.

The screens explode with a graphic of shattered glass, revealing the image of the first Recruit.

A girl with long curly red hair. Then the still image morphs
into a live feed, where her bright blue eyes are opened so wide it looks like she doesn’t have any eyelids. She’s looking around frantically, as if she’s not exactly sure what’s going on. A hand comes into view and points her toward one of the viewing screens. My stomach sinks when I see the fear soak her eyes, as she realizes in front of thousands that she’s been selected.

“Ophelia Juniper!” Cass announces. “Come forth to serve your country!”

Ophelia looks dazed. Behind her, I catch a glimpse of two cloaked figures holding on to her before she’s prodded away by an Imposer working the crowd.

“What’s going on?” I can read her lips until the directional mic picks up her audio like a sniper’s target. “Where do I go?” The surveillance feed tracks Ophelia’s movements through the crowd, which parts to give her a wide berth as she makes her way toward the reception area. She attempts to go left, scratches her head, turns right, then left again. “I’m so sorry. I’m a little confused.” She teeters in a circle a bit until an Imp grips her by the arm and guides her up the stairs.

“Why is she crying?” Cole’s lower lip quivers.

I shift my stance to try and block the screen, but it’s pointless as the image is visible from everywhere. In all the excitement, I’ve forgotten that this is the first Recruitment Cole has actually witnessed. “She’s just sad because she has to go away from her family a little while, that’s all.”

“You mean like when Mommy and Daddy had to go away?”

My mouth goes dry. “No, not like that at all.”

“You’re right,” Mrs. Bledsoe blurts out, her voice heavy with emotion. Her eyes are glued to the screen. “This is very different.”

Cole’s arms wrap tighter around my neck, his cheek like ice against mine.

The jumbotrons are doing their thing again, flashing a collage of desperate faces. This time there’s a graphic of an explosion, replaced by an image of the second Recruit—
a spectacled face I recognize from the Instructional Facility.

“Gideon Warrick!” Cass’s voice booms through the plaza. “The time has come for you to take your place and s
erve. Come join your fellow Recruit!”

The cameras scan the crowd before homing in on Gideon’s face. Unlike Ophelia, Gideon doesn’t look confused, just resolute, as if this is exactly what he’s been expecting all along. It doesn’t surprise me. I remember him being an outsider at school, always the butt of one joke or another just because he was smart and withdrawn, not fitting in with the rest of us. But he was never afraid. He stood up to anyone who gave him a hard time, even if it resulted in a beating. It’s this same determination I see etched on his face now. He turns and hugs some indiscernible figures behind him, then marches forward and up to the platform next to Ophelia as if he’s making his way past the snickers in the school corridors. The crowd stares at him in awe, and in relief that he’s spared one of them, I’m sure.

Cole twists and turns in my arms. “I wanna go home!”

“
Behave yourself
. It’ll all be over soon.” But a chill courses through me as I realize that for Ophelia, Gideon, and their loved ones, it’s just beginning. Just like it was for Cass on that terrible day two years ago, when the sound of his name being announced ground my heart to pulp.

I look at him now. His back’s still to me. I fight the urge to rush up to him, turn him around so I can look into his eyes, make sure I can find the hint of disgust that I know
has
to be there. He wants to change all this. He
will
change all this.

Won’t he?

The jumbotrons go dark and the images flash faster. You can feel the crowd’s anxiety like a chilly film coating everything.

A clash of cymbals reveals the likeness of the third Re-cruit, a beautiful girl with long raven hair and green gems for eyes.

“She’s pretty,” Cole says to me.

“Yes, she sure is.”

“Cypress Goslin,” Cassius announces. “Your opportunity to attain the highest level of citizenship awaits you. Come and begin your new life!”

The feeds cut from the photo to a live shot of Cypress staring directly into the monitors, cold, fearless. When the Imposer arrives to pull her away, she rips her arm out of his grip and marches forward and up the stairs to take her place besides the statue-like Gideon and the quivering Ophelia.

Cassius clears his throat. “Here you have the first three of our brave new Recruits. Only two slots left. Two more opportunities to be a part of the greater good that is the Establishment. And just who will join them now? Who will step up to the podium without fear and assume their responsibility as a citizen of this noble society?”

The screens go crazy this time, flickering faster and faster, creating a disorienting strobe effect. Around me, I catch a series of snapshots of Cole’s frightened face, Mrs. Bledsoe with tears streaming from her eyes, and Cassius’s profile as he turns his head—the flare of his nostrils, the twitch in his cheek—and in that instant I know something’s wrong.

The jumbotrons explode with color, and then everything goes dark before an image appears.

There’s a disconnect between my eyes and my brain. The face I’m seeing … it’s not possible. It’s too much of a coincidence. We were just talking. Things like this don’t happen to people you were just talking to. They happen to strangers, or people you barely know. Not
him
. One look at Mrs. Bledsoe’s grief-stained face hammers home that it can happen to anyone.