The Culling ttk-1 Read online

  Across from this tank is a clear enclosure with two fluffy white rats pressed against the glass, their whiskers twitching as if they can smell me.

  Ahead, a tall shape stands with its back to me, silhouetted on a balcony overlooking Town Square. I don’t have to see the face to know who it is. My pulse quickens. Sure, he’s taller now, but that outline is the same, imprinted in my brain. The last time I saw it was on the bank of Fortune’s River. He was standing with his back to me then, too. Except we’d just said our goodbyes.

  As much as I’ve played out this moment in my mind every day for the past two years, now that it’s here, my mouth suddenly forgets to speak.

  Valerian’s hasn’t. “Excuse me, Prefect Thorn. I’ve brought you the prisoner as requested.”

  He turns and faces me at last, but the brightness behind him masks his face in shadow.

  “Leave us.” His voice sounds deeper, more like a man’s. He’s eighteen now, I remind myself.

  “But, Sir,” Valerian responds. “The prisoner has exhibited signs of violent behavior. Is it wise to-”

  “That will be all, Officer.”

  Valerian clicks her boots together. “Yes, Sir.” She whirls and bumps into my arm, reigniting the bruise on her way out.

  “And lock the door. I’m not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Then she’s gone, the great doors swinging closed with a soft click.

  He just stands there for a moment. Then he walks toward me. The sound of each step on the marble hammers into my head.

  I’m breathing too fast. Trying to control it just makes it worse. I’m afraid I’ll hyperventilate and collapse, not exactly the reunion I’d envisioned. But then again, it’s not about us, it’s about Cole. I take in a deep breath and tense my muscles to quash the trembling.

  He stops a few feet away and just stares, not a hint of a word on his lips.

  Despite all my efforts, I feel like I’m going to lose it right there. I can’t take not knowing anymore. “Cassius,” I murmur.

  His thick eyebrows arch. He nods toward the door. “Do you think I was too hard on her?”

  “Huh?” Of all the things I expected him to say, I’m not prepared for that question.

  “I’m still working on my intimidating voice,” he says, his tone dropping an octave. Then the seriousness evaporates from his face, leaving only a huge grin, brighter than the streaming sun.

  My heart almost shuts down. He’s adorned in a navy blue tunic trimmed with gold lace, attire befitting a Prefect. His wavy auburn hair is longer now, and each strand captures the sunlight. Sea-green eyes wash over me, carrying away the dread and pain. I’m trembling again, this time with emotions I’m not quite sure I understand and don’t care if I ever do.

  “I told you I’d come back for you, Lucky.” His soft voice quavers at the end.

  “So what took you so long, huh?” I choke on the words.

  And then we’re hugging each other so fiercely I can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t think of a better place to die.

  Cassius’s chest muffles my sobs. I’ve tried to be strong for Cole, but everything that’s happened today-meeting Digory, that horrible death in the alley, the looming Recruitment-it’s all too much to hold in, and I welcome sharing this weight that’s threatening to crush me with every breath I take.

  All too soon, we pull apart, basking in each other.

  The palm of his hand travels from his head to mine, measuring the difference in our height. “Look at you, my little Lucky, all grown up.”

  “And you, come back the youngest Prefect the Parish has ever known.” My fingers trace the delicate embroidery on his lapels.

  A cloud siphons the brightness from his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself.” He enfolds my wrists with the warmth of his touch. “I couldn’t risk anyone finding out … that you … ”

  My eyes drop to my filthy bare feet. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly conscious of my near nakedness. “That you still associate with us peons?” I whisper.

  His finger tilts my chin up until our eyes link. “No, Lucky. It’s not like that, I promise you. It’s just that the Establishment has certain protocols when it comes to fraternization between government officials and citizens.” He stuffs his hands into his vest pockets. “I figured I could do you and your family more good if our relationship was seen as a more neutral one, to dispel any claims of favoritism, that’s all.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Yeah, I understand, Cass. It’s not wise to show them you care about anyone in particular, especially if you’re going to represent the Establishment’s code of values.” I don’t intend to sound so harsh, but my conversation with Digory in the sewers still burns in my mind.

  Cassius doesn’t seem to notice. He’s circling me, inspecting the flaps of the shoddy blanket that barely cover the cuts beneath. “As soon as I heard you were in custody I had them bring you right to me.” He stops, brushing his forehead against mine. “How bad did they hurt you, Lucky?”

  I shrug. “I’ll be all right.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “What’s that smell? Did you lose at Shit Dash or something?”

  “Hey, I used to beat you at that every time, and you know it!” I give him a playful push away.

  He shakes his head. “Faulty memory, Lucky. Come here.” He leads me behind a red velvet partition that conceals a large clawfoot tub. “I had a bath drawn for you. You can get cleaned up.”

  “Thanks.” I wince as he pulls the soiled mantle off my aching limbs.

  He tosses it into a corner. “I think we can find you something that fits better.”

  Then I submerge my naked body into the water, bracing myself for the usual jolt of coldness, only to be shocked by how warm and soothing it feels, like a thousand toasty fingers kneading my sore muscles. People actually live like this? If I did, I’d bathe four or five times a day instead of the once-a-day ritual of enduring a freezing splash from a rusty spigot.

  Cassius kneels beside the tub, using a sponge to gently scrub away the grime coating me, careful around my cuts and bruises. “Lucky, what about Cole? Your mother? How are they?”

  My vocal chords twist tight. “Mom … she … she’s gone. Reaper’s Cough. About six months after you left.” I blink, spilling a few drops into the bathwater.

  He massages soap into my scalp. “I don’t know what to say. I tried to make inquiries about your family, but you know-”

  “Contact is forbidden. Yeah, I know.” I sink deeper into the water.

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here now.” He cups water in his hands and rinses out my hair, making sure it doesn’t get in my eyes. “How’s Cole handling things?”

  I sit up. “Cole’s a real champ. He’s the best little brother a guy can have.”

  Cassius laughs. I’ve missed that sound. “I’m sure he doesn’t even remember his Uncle Cass.”

  I turn and grip the tub’s rim. “Of course he remembers you! I’ve only told him the stories of all our adventures, like a million times!” My mind floods with a stream of memories. “Well, some of our adventures, at least.”

  He winks at me. “Remember the time we snuck past that squad of Imposers into Old Man Roarkeshire’s farm and got ahold of that Wanderer’s Brew?”

  “Just how much intoxicant was in that thing?”

  Cassius stands, knuckles resting against his hips. “All I know is that Old Man Roarkeshire used it to polish the metal hinges in his barn.”

  I chuckle. “Great stuff!”

  He grips one of the marble columns and swings completely around it. “We ought to take a ride out there sometime, see the old place!”

  Visions of burning skin and its stench drains the remaining warmth from the bathwater. “We can’t. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

  A sigh escapes Cassius. “How stupid of me. I heard about … about that.”

  My eyes drop to a bubble forming a dome on my palm. A pair of eyes
stares at me. Probably just my own reflection. But why are they sky blue and filled with accusation? I dunk my hand beneath the surface.

  I’ve had enough. No matter how long I lie here, I’ll never feel completely clean. Rising, I climb from the tub. Cassius picks up a towel draped over a pedestal and tosses it my way. With my back to him, I dry off. When I’m finished, he’s holding a robe open and slips it around me. It’s made of a lustrous black material that’s softer than any I’ve ever felt before.

  “It’s called silk,” he whispers in my ear. “Only the best for my Lucky.” He reaches around me and cinches the robe’s sash about my waist.

  “Cole must be wondering where I am,” I whisper back.

  “So he hasn’t been taken into a child assimilation program?”

  Breaking from his embrace, I swerve to lock eyes. “Of course not. I’m his family. He belongs with me.”

  Genuine surprise darts from Cassius’s eyes, like needles to my skin. “I only meant that I’m sure it’s hard to take care of a-what is he now, four? — year-old on your own.”

  I back away on uncertain legs. “Mrs. Bledsoe helps out during my shift at the library. We don’t need any outsiders.” My heart gallops. I lean against the partition to steady myself.

  Cassius moves closer, arms open wide. “But the Establishment’s child care programs are a valuable-”

  “I’m not going to give Cole to strangers, Cass. He’s lost Mom and Dad. He’s not going to lose me, too.” A fog shrouds my brain.

  Cassius reaches me and draws me close, a beacon in the mist. “I wasn’t trying to offend you, Lucky.”

  Bringing my fingers to my temples, I try to massage away the throbbing. “It’s just that-”

  “Here! I know what you need!” He smiles, takes hold of my hand, and leads me to a table nestled in a small alcove. In its center rests a covered silver tray. Even before he lifts the lid, a mixed aroma of fresh sweetness and cooked meat overpowers my nostrils. My stomach growls. Saliva floods my mouth.

  He raises the cover. “I thought you might be hun-”

  I pounce on the tray. Grabbing the meat with my bare hands, I tear into it with my teeth, hardly savoring each morsel as it slides down my gullet. Then I’m stuffing cheese and fruits into my mouth, frenzied by the new tastes assaulting my tongue as I try to devour them all before someone steals them away.

  When I finally look up, a monstrous beast stares back at me, teeth bared, a distorted face smeared with the blood of its latest kill. Then I realize it’s my own face, reflected on the tray’s silver cover. Disgust and shame overwhelm me.

  “It’s going to be all right, Lucky.” Cassius leads me to one of the plush sofas, sets me down, and wipes my face with a handkerchief. We sit there in silence, his arm around me, my face buried in his shoulder. I’m not sure how much time passes before I find my voice again.

  “Cole … he’s … he’s all I have left. That’s why I risked coming here today-allowed myself to be taken into custody-it was the only way I could think of to see you face-to-face and ask you to protect him in case I get recruited.”

  “You took a big chance. If I hadn’t seen your name on the prisoner roster … ” His arm squeezes me close.

  I look into his eyes. “The Recruitment. Now that I’m sixteen, there’s a chance I could be selected.” My hands grab both of his. “You have to promise me that if that happens, you’ll do whatever you can to keep Cole from being one of the Incentives. I’ll never choose to … I’ll never choose him … and you know what will happen.”

  He purses his lips. “You’ll both be shelved.”

  “That’s right, we’ll be murdered, only they’ll make Cole watch me get killed first. You were the one who told me how it worked, remember? How they make you choose between the people you love … what happened to your father … ”

  He brings my hands to his lips. “That’s not going to happen to you and Cole. I’d never let it.”

  I scoot closer. “So you’ll help us then?”

  His arms envelop me. “Do you even have to ask? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He pulls away. “But Lucky, there’s something you need to explain to me first.” He springs from the couch and strides over to his desk.

  When he turns back to me, he’s holding up Digory’s unfurled poster.

  Seven

  I can barely swallow. I clamber from my seat and limp over to him. “Cass, it isn’t mine. I swear it. I … I picked it up near the sewer. I’d never seen it before today.” I look away. I hate the idea of dancing around the truth with Cass. But he wouldn’t understand about Digory, would he? And the thought of Digory being slaughtered the way that guy in the alley was …

  Cassius nods. “I believe you. The Parish is going to be a real challenge for a new Prefect to administer. I’m going to need your help, your support, if I’m going to pull this off.”

  Gripping the edge of the desk, I brace myself against the cold granite. “What can I do to help you?”

  He raises the poster higher. “This rebellion. It’s got to be crushed. If it isn’t, everyone loses.”

  “I don’t know much about it, but … ” The stone edge of the desk digs into my lower back. “Is it so wrong for people to want a better life … something to look forward to?” My throat gulps dryness. “I know that’s what I want for Cole. Does that mean I should be crushed, too?” I stand as straight as I can, forcing him to look up into my eyes.

  He waves my question away. “It’s not the same. You and Cole are different.” The poster crumples in his grip. “You’re not like these leeches who want to drain the government of its resources. Ingrates, all of them.” He flings the banner on the floor, where it rolls up against the foot of the sofa.

  My jaw plunges. “Leeches? Ingrates? It wasn’t so long ago you used words like that to describe the Establishment, not its citizens.”

  His eyes dim. “I was young then. I didn’t understand.” He shakes his head. “Without order, civilizations whither and die. The Establishment’s learned from the mistakes our ancestors made.”

  “And it’s making even bigger ones.” I stare into his eyes. “What’s gotten into you? How can you think the Establishment cares about the good of all its people? I just saw someone not much older than we are get mauled to death by a Canid patrol. Have you taken a good look around you? Taken a good look at me ?” I tug open the top of my robe, exposing the blue and purple blotches that contrast with my pasty flesh. Lacerations weave across my chest like the fancy lace pattern on his lapels, swirling downward to wrap around my jutting ribs.

  He wraps me in his arms. “The guards who did this to you will be punished, I promise,” he whispers.

  I break the hug. “Don’t you see? It’s not about the guards or revenge. It’s about having your dreams smothered, day after day, until there’s nothing left.”

  “I used to think the same way.” Taking my hand, he leads me out onto the balcony and points to the pockets of gatherers slowly filling the Square below. “The people need someone to look after their interests. They can’t do it themselves.” He turns the finger on himself. “We give them structure … a purpose.”

  I pull my arm free. “And just what is that purpose, Cass? Huh?” My hand sweeps the path leading from the onlookers up to the dais. “To be cattle in the slaughterhouse just waiting for their turn in the meat grinder? That’s not living. You of all people should know that. Think of what happened to your family.”

  Hurt flickers in his emerald eyes. “But it’s not going to happen to me, and it doesn’t have to happen to you.” He turns away and storms back inside, heading toward an elaborate wooden cabinet built into the alcove wall.

  I’m at his heels, like a Canid at its master’s side. “You say that, yet you serve the very government that recruited you and destroyed your family in the process.”

  Unlatching the cabinet doors, he pulls out a decanter of blood-red wine, sets it on the shelf beneath, and digs out two crystal goblets, handing me one.
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  I examine the glass, staring at him through a prism of haze before shaking my head and setting it down on the shelf. “These past few years I’ve told myself you were only doing what you had to do to survive, to come back to … the Parish. But now it sounds like-”

  His thumb flicks the carafe’s stopper off with a loud pop. “Like what?” His brows arch. “Like I’ve been brainwashed-is that what you’re thinking?” Sighing, Cassius watches dark crimson gush from the carafe as he tilts it over his goblet. “I assure you I haven’t been.”

  “I was going to say, it sounds like you’ve forgotten what life in the Parish is like.”

  The decanter clangs against my unused goblet as he puts the wine back on the shelf. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I survived Recruitment, remember?” Half his drink disappears in one gulp.

  “And you shouldn’t have had to. The whole Recruitment process is barbaric.”

  “The Recruitment is a training method, Lucky. Five candidates who fit a certain profile are chosen to bypass the standard draft and given the opportunity to serve in an accelerated Special Forces program. Facing the Trials fosters competitiveness in those candidates who have demonstrated exemplary strength and would be an asset to our military, while at the same time sending a very important message to our citizens.”

  “Yeah. Be careful who you love as it may cost you your life,” I grumble. “Sounds like you’ve been memorizing the marketing manuals.”

  “No. It’s a much more complex message than that. Don’t value personal attachments over civic duty; doing so could cause our society to become fragile and susceptible to utter collapse, like it was before the Ash Wars. Is that so wrong, Lucky? And, if the effect of the Recruitment is to diminish the chance of the populace coming together and rebelling against the government-by neutralizing potential threats through recruitment and frightening people into avoiding emotional attachments-that’s just an added bonus, right?”