Ophelia can only shake her head, her eyes glazed with firelight.
I step forward and take the torch from Digory, a sudden rush of strength coursing through me.
I have to do this. I need to.
My eyes challenge the brightness of the fire, now raging like a miniature sun. But I don’t blink. Instead I let its heat seep into my pores as if I’m absorbing a part of Gideon that will forever be seared into my soul.
“Goodbye Gideon,” I say. “We’ll miss you. You will always be remembered for the kind, brave person that you were. A good son. And a true friend. May you find the peace at last that eluded you for so long.”
I hold the torch high.
The tendrils of flame look like fingers that reach up to the sky and merge with the risen sun, now bursting free of its cloudy prison, brilliant rays beaming down upon us.
The warmth finally penetrates my heart. I smile. Tears fill my eyes, trapping them in prisms of glistening color. “Rest in the light, Gideon, and never fear the darkness again.”
thirty-four
Hours later, after a sleepless rest at the holding station and a wordless breakfast of ration bars and water, we’re trekking past the end of the field and through the metallic arteries of the Skein once more. The only sounds are the drag and shuffle of our boots against the steel floor. Along the way, I pop a few more of the antibiotics into my mouth. But instead of swallowing, I swish them around my mouth from side to side and grind the pills with my teeth, concentrating on each bitter particle as it dissolves against my tongue.
With each chew, one thought echoes in my brain.
There are only four of us now.
We finally reach the end of the corridor.
I force the last of the gritty medicine down my throat.
Before us looms a silver bunker lined with five metal doors, four with names stenciled on them that correspond to each of our own:
Juniper Tycho Goslin Spark
The surface of the fifth door is blank and marred by a series of scratches, as if someone hastily removed the name that recently appeared there. I glance behind us. A needle stitches through my heart.
The speakers above the doors crackle with static.
Greetings, Recruits. Congratulations on making it this far in your Trials.
If Slade’s announcement is intended to bolster our moods, one look at the sullen expressions plastered on our faces is confirmation of the utter failure of that attempt.
When you’re given the signal, you will each enter the chamber that is marked with your name.
We shamble past each other like sleepwalkers and line up outside our individual doors.
This Trial will involve two phases. In Phase One, you will race to disable the explosive mechanism you will find in your chamber. Whoever accomplishes this task first shall emerge victorious. However, if none of you disarms the explosive, it will detonate and all of you, as well as your Incentives, will be shelved.
It takes a moment for the words to penetrate the shock.
A bomb?
Slade said we’d all be shelved. Recruits and Incentives alike. What if Cole’s just beyond that door, only a few feet away, closer to me than he’s been since this whole ordeal began? A blast at such close range would kill him. And he’d never even know I fought for him. He’d die thinking I abandoned him. The thought terrifies me so much I can’t even move.
The bomb could kill us all. And given my track record with disarming explosives … only it’s not a Sim this time. And if I’m the one to screw up and set it off, it’ll be like I murdered everyone myself.
My eyes flit to Digory. The lines etched into the stone of his face tell me he’s struggling with the same anguish.
Should one of you succeed in preventing the explosion from triggering, then that Recruit shall proceed to Phase Two and await further instructions.
My eyes fix on the iron door with my name on it, examining every inch of its shiny surface, every circular bolt screwed into its perimeter, including the flecks of paint that have withered away like dead skin, exposing patches of red rust like mottled wounds.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper to Digory.
He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You can and you will do this.”
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The locks on each of our doors disengage. They spring open in a chorus of drawn-out creaks, exposing slices of darkness within.
Proceed inside your chambers and begin weapons diffusion.
Ophelia’s halfway through her door before Slade’s voice finishes echoing through the speakers. I practically leap through my own door, catching a blurred glimpse of Digory entering his to my left.
It suddenly occurs to me this may be the last time I ever see him-
SLAM!
The door crashes shut behind me, blocking out the light and leaving me in total suffocating darkness.
I freeze in my tracks, afraid to touch anything that I might accidentally set off. Try as I might, my eyes can’t penetrate the black veil. I take a tentative step and my foot’s blocked by a hard surface. Reaching out my arms, I find I can’t stretch them out fully before they, too, are blocked by cold, sturdy metal. Panic sets in. My mouth dries up. I can’t suck in air.
It feels like I’ve been buried alive inside a vertical coffin.
Thoughts crank through my head on well-oiled gears. What if my chamber’s been sabotaged? Cassius has obviously been keeping tabs on Digory and me. It wouldn’t be beneath him at this point to rig it so the explosive detonates, killing both of us.
“Something’s wrong!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “I can’t see! ”
But there’s no response. Thick silence seeps into my ears, clogging them until I feel a pressure in my brain that grinds my thoughts into anxious grit. I bang a fist against the cold metal barring my way before I can stop myself. The impact rattles the bones in my fingers. Pain jolts through my hand, echoing into a throb. I bring my hand to my lips, sucking on the sore knuckles.
Is that my heartbeat rippling through the sound vacuum in my head?
No … it’s too high in pitch and not nearly as fast as the throbbing in my chest and temples.
It’s a steady, measured sound, blip … blip … blip …
Like the sound a timer makes … or a countdown clock …
What if I’ve set off some kind of timer when I struck the panel?
But how the hell am I supposed to disarm a weapon I can’t even see?
I still have my flashlight. I thrust my hands into my pockets, not caring how many ration bars and penicillin tablets spill onto the ground, and pull out the flashlight, flicking it on.
There’s a circuit board to my right, and a vent right above it.
I wonder what’s supposed to come out of there?
My eyes lock onto the circuit board instead, studying the configuration, trying to commit every facet to memory.
I recognize the basic setup from the schematics during our explosives training and Sims. It’s a standard detonation device composed of three elements: Primer. Reactor. Ignition timer.
The flashlight flickers and dims, even as my heartbeat kicks it up several notches.
“C’mon! Not now!”
I hunch closer to the board and scan it with the ebbing light, trying to see the digital readout so I can figure out just how much time I have left before-
But the beam fades away and dies before I can get a good look, drowning me once again in pitch black.
I shake the flashlight a couple more times, but it’s no use. At least I have an idea of what I’m dealing with now.