I slump on my side. I can’t bring myself to look at him any longer, afraid I won’t be able to hold it together. Instead, I focus on my leg, watching the blood ooze from the edges of the metal but unable to feel a thing.
The thought penetrates my stupor. I grip the shank so hard it slices my fingers. Still I feel nothing. Taking a deep breath, I rip it out and fling it away. If only I could do the same to my heart.
A moan to my left. The miner. He’s still alive. Maybe I could do one good thing and get him to safety before I end Digory’s life with my choice.
I stumble toward Martino and grip his arms again. But I’m too weak. I close my eyes to get my bearings. Take your time. After all, there’s no reason to rush anymore. And the longer I take to cross this line, the longer it’ll be before I cross that line and give up what’s left of my humanity forever.
I drag the miner a couple of more feet and drop. My pant leg is soaked. It reminds me of the wine Cassius spilled back in the Prefect’s antechamber, back before … before I realized that the terrible infection had set into him.
My vision doubles. Two bloody legs instead of one. I try to focus. Maybe Ophelia did her job too efficiently and infection is already settling into me as well.
I don’t think I can go on. They’ll have to carry me across. I chuckle. Hope they don’t mind me making my choice from a stretcher. My eyes feel weighted down. Maybe I’ll feel better if I can just sleep for a few …
A shadow falls over me.
I look up. A dark shape is holding out a hand to me. Digory? How did he get past the pain sensors?
I open my eyes wider and let them adjust.
It’s not Digory. It’s Gideon.
How’s that possible? Did I pass out without realizing it and wake up on the other side of the barrier? I look past him. Digory, Cypress, and Ophelia are still standing across the finish line with their rescued survivors lying behind them. But then that would mean-
I bolt up and allow Gideon to pull me to my feet. “You haven’t gone across yet?” I ask.
He half smiles. “No. Not yet.” He nods toward an old woman who’s slumped a foot away from the line, her tracker blinking in harmony to his. “After you.”
Adrenaline surges through me. I grab the miner once again and start for the finish line. I can still do this. I freeze in my tracks and whirl to face Gideon. “Why?”
His pulls off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “I’m not sure.”
As heartsick as I feel, I heave the miner across the line with me and he drops to the ground.
The audio system crackles to life with Slade’s voice.
Gideon Warrick. You are the last Recruit to complete this Trial. Enter the safety zone and prepare for the Culling.
twenty-five
Gideon crosses the finish line, carrying the old woman in his arms. He sets her down gently, his face a mask of eerie tenderness. “Sorry I took so long.”
Her trembling finger traces his cheek. “Thank you, young man.”
Ophelia glares at me and then at Gideon. “You could have beat him, Giddy. I expected more from you. I thought we understood each other. You really let me down.”
He reaches out for her. “Ophelia-”
But she brushes his hand off and moves away to sulk.
“Lucian!” Digory has run over and gathered me into his arms. “Your leg.” He turns. “Cypress! Gimme a hand!”
Cypress joins us. “Got ’im.”
The two of them set me down. Cypress clears the tattered fabric from the wounded area on my leg while Digory fixes a strip of cloth he’s torn from his own sleeve over it. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to be okay.”
I smile. “Without a disinfectant or any meds I’m not so sure.”
The lights in the battle zone dim.
Initiating whitewash procedure.
At Slade’s command, a panel opens in the simulated sky. Hundreds of small, steam-powered spherical drones, no more than two feet in diameter, swoosh through the opening like angry hornets. They swarm across the battle zone over the remaining survivors, spewing them with a substance from stinger-like cylinders that jut from their surfaces.
Only their venom isn’t some poisonous toxin. Whatever the substance makes contact with begins to sizzle and melt away.
Acid.
The entire chamber fills with the screams of people being melted alive.
Just over the line, a young woman holds out a hand, screaming for her life. A drone flies over and sprays her. She continues to shriek, even as her skin curls and peels and her face and body liquefy into bloody goo that congeals into a puddle and dissolves into nothingness. The lights in that sector go out completely.
There are a few stray screams, then nothing but deafening silence.
A new horror fills my thoughts. I scramble to my feet. “Slade!” I point to the huddle of suffering humanity we’ve rescued. “These people need medical attention right away!”
BLAM! BLAM! Ratatatatatatatatatatatat!
Instead of more acid, the drones spit gunfire all around us.
“Take cover!” Digory pushes Cypress and me to the ground and shields us with his body.
I can’t breathe. The air’s filled with thick acrid smoke and the cloying stench of spent weapon casings.
Sterilization is complete.
None of them ever had a chance. Despite the burning in my leg, I crawl out from under Digory. Where the survivors once squirmed, there’s nothing left but a pool of crimson soup. Chunks of body parts riddled with ragged punctures bob on the liquid surface. Smoky tendrils of scorched flesh and fresh blood waft into my nostrils, violating them. I choke on the stink.
“Is anyone wounded?” Digory cries behind me.
“We’re still in one piece,” Gideon answers in a voice that’s quiet, hollow. He tries to help Ophelia to her feet but she pushes him away, leaving him standing there with his eyes glued to the red spattered spot that a moment ago was the old woman he rescued.
Cypress brushes against me, staring at what’s left of the little girl she rescued. Tears forge a path through the grime coating her cheeks. “She was about my … my children’s age.”
A low rumble drowns out the sound of my breathing. A platform rises out of the ground, containing a darkened glass enclosure the size of a small room. From the rock just beneath it, a series of metal steps slides out.
Recruit Warrick. Approach the podium.
If my heart’s pumping a million beats per second and I can barely catch my breath, I can’t even imagine what Gideon must be feeling when he hears Slade’s latest orders.
He stares at the dais. The nub of his throat bobs up and down. Then he moves forward.
As he walks past all of us, Digory squeezes his shoulder. “Stay strong.”
When my eyes meet Gideon’s, I’m surprised by a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction there. Then it’s gone and he’s past us, climbing the stairs, his gait as delicate and measured as if he’s maneuvering through a mine field.
The moment he’s standing in front of the dark chamber, the lights inside it come on, revealing Mr. and Mrs. Warrick.
My breath lodges in my throat.
Stripped of their formalwear, they’re clad in filthy rags that dangle from their bodies, barely concealing their dignity. Mrs. Warrick’s hair hangs in knotted disarray about her scrawny shoulders, while one of Mr. Warrick’s eyes is practically sealed shut and ringed in a swollen patch of dark purple. Bloody slush fills my veins at the thought of what all the other Incentives must be going through, imprisoned in Purgatorium.
But even more disturbing than the Warricks’ physical appearance is the fact that they’re both sitting on metal chairs on either side of the chamber, strapped down by their wrists and ankles. Just to the side of each of their necks, long metal blades curve toward them like sickles, casting blinding flashes of light.