My eyes dart to Gideon, who meets mine for a second before he shifts his stance and looks at the dark monitor. Cypress is staring at Slade, her gaze unflinching, not caring about the rest of us. I can’t bring myself to look Digory’s way, not sure if I’m more concerned about whether or not he’s looking my way than what I’ll see there if he is.
Slade lets go of Ophelia. “Rejoin your fellow Recruits.”
Ophelia obeys without a word, moving back to her position beside me. As she passes in front of me, I no longer see fear reflected in that eye, but something even more unsettling.
Hatred.
“Now that you know what brand of loyalty you can expect of the others,” Slade continues, “I suggest you get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow morning you begin Initial Entry Training. First Call is at oh five hundred hours, followed by Physical Training at oh five hundred thirty, Breakfast at oh six hundred thirty, and your first day of Basic Pre-Trial Prep Exercises at oh eight hundred thirty.” She walks down the line again, glaring at each one of us. “You have been selected to become Imposers, the best of the best. I don’t tolerate failure. For the next ten weeks until the Trials begin, all of you belong to me. Dismissed!”
As we scramble out of the briefing hall, I can’t help but think the next two and a half months are going to be the worst of my entire life.
Thirteen
The first night in the barracks seems endless.
All of us Recruits are crammed into the same small quarters, barely large enough to fit five beds. Cypress and Ophelia’s cots are on the opposite wall from mine, which is sandwiched between Digory’s and Gideon’s. Through the gloom, I can make out the peaceful expression on Digory’s sleeping face, hear the gentle purr of his breath escaping his slightly parted lips in time with the rise and fall of his chiseled bare chest.
Can I really trust him?
I force myself to turn my back on him.
Despite surrendering to exhaustion, I end up tossing and turning for hours, waking up several times bathed in sweat, my mind filled with nightmare images that haunt long after I’ve opened my eyes.
The Culling. Before I was recruited, the phrase had little meaning-two words shrouded in vague foreboding, like a half-remembered dream. Now, the term’s sharp as crystal, stabbing me deep, shocking each nerve ending as I fight to control the spasms. What horrible trials can they have in store for us, worthy of such an unthinkable decision? And how will I be able to pass them all? We were told there are at least six rounds … SIX whole rounds to make it through. Just one mistake and Cole … Mrs. Bledsoe … My eyes squeeze shut, but the what ifs just batter through my brain, pounding against my skull … screaming … crushing …
Moaning from the other side of the barracks.
I snap back to the now.
Gideon writhes, half out of his cot. Like me, he’s covered in sweat. It seems I’m not the only one who can’t get any shut-eye. I slip out of my own bed and kneel down beside his, grateful to focus on someone else’s tortured mind.
During his thrashing, I catch flashes of something snaking up his bare back-a thick band of knotted flesh.
Scar tissue?
Then he rolls over and it’s gone.
I reach out and tap his shoulder. “Gideon, it’s just a bad dream,” I say softly.
He’s mumbling something. I lean in closer so I can hear.
“I didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. “Please don’t … I promise … I’ll be good … ”
I slump on my haunches.
His thrashing ebbs and dies. I pull the threadbare blanket over his still form. I’m not sure how long I stay there, but I watch him, listening until his breathing becomes a light snore.
Eventually, the door to the barracks bursts open and the lights flare on in a blinding burst.
“Rise and shine, maggots!” Slade’s blurry silhouette calls from the doorway. “Time to get your lazy asses out of bed.”
Ophelia moans. “Five more minutes, please.”
Slade rips the blanket off her. “Move it!”
The five of us practically fall all over each other, scrambling to hit the communal showers in the adjacent building. Ophelia, especially, makes sure to give Slade a wide berth.
Digory catches my eye as he jogs alongside me.“Mornin’.”
I nod and pull ahead of him into the showers, picking a spot at the opposite end.
If Slade’s gentle wake-up call didn’t do the trick, the ice-cold water jetting from the spigots sure does.
“Holy crap!” Gideon wails from under his showerhead. He’s trying to keep his back to the wall so no one will see what I saw last night. “This is colder than the water back home.”
Cypress snorts. “You don’t know what cold is.”
Fortunately, the shower’s mercifully short. In a matter of minutes, we’re dressed in our uniforms and lined up in the Company area, a paved rotunda just outside the barracks.
Slade’s waiting for us with a reptilian grin. “Welcome to your first day at Infiernos.”
“Doesn’t that mean hell ?” Gideon mutters under his breath.
Cypress smirks. “You got that right.”
Ophelia raises her hand. “Excuse me, but what time do we eat breakfast, again?”
Slade’s grin widens. “Why, right now.” Her eyes ignite with fury. “Drop and eat the pavement. All of you. Twenty push-ups. Now.”
The next hour is a grueling workout, starting with an upper body warm-up consisting of push-ups and jumping jacks. This is followed by a lower-body regimen of squats, and then an upper and lower body cardio-combo featuring pull-ups, squats, lunges, crunches, and running, with barely any resting time in between.
Slade’s shrill whistle pierces my ears, signaling the end of morning calisthenics. I’ve never heard such a beautiful sound. “That has got to be the most pathetic display of Recruit performances I’ve ever seen,” she bellows. Her face wrinkles in disgust. “Hit the DEE-Fak.”
“DEE-Fak?” I grumble, trying to push up from a kneeling position.
“Short for Dining Facility.” Digory’s holding out a hand to me. If it weren’t for the sweat glistening on the muscles barely contained by his tank top, you’d never guess he’d participated.
I shake my head and wave him away. “That’s okay. I can manage.”
He sighs. “Suit yourself.” Then he stomps away after the others.
After a couple of tries, I finally get my bearings and limp after them.
The breakfast spread is more food than I’ve seen in my entire life. The five of us sit at a small metal table in the mess hall, segregated from the other Imps, barely talking while we gorge ourselves on eggs, sausages, grits, oatmeal, toast, juices, milk, and coffee. Chewing and slurping. All too soon the spread starts to dwindle and I find myself shamelessly picking crumbs off my plate, staring at the empty surface longingly.
Digory’s arm grazes my own and I involuntarily shudder.
He’s holding out the last two pieces of singed bacon, one slice slightly bigger than the other. He grins. “Saved you a piece.”
My eyes bob between the two. “Any preference?”
“You take the bigger slice.”
“But-”
He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He stuffs the smaller slice into his mouth and holds the larger piece to my lips. He chews quietly, his square jaw pistoning his portion into a bulge on his left cheek. Twin oceans of blue stare at me, looking almost amused.
My hand breaks free of its paralysis and reaches up to grab the other piece he’s offering. Our fingers brush. A jolt-like static zips through my skin. For a moment, his hand engulfs mine as I take a bite, our eyes never breaking contact.
Then guilt overwhelms me.
“What’s the matter?” Digory’s eyes are now turbulent seas. “You thinking of your brother?”
I nod and push my plate away.