The Culling (30 page)
Authors: Steven Dos Santos
Tags: #teen, #Young Adult, #Dystopian, #Speculative Fiction, #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #sci/fi, #Military, #totalitarian government, #male protagonist, #sci-fi
It’s Cole.
He steps through the last wisps of the fading cloud of cryogenic frost like a beautiful angel from the old tales, coming down from the clouds. He’s rubbing his eyes as if he just woke up from one of his nightmares.
He sees me … and stops.
I can’t move.
All this time, I imagined running to him if I ever saw him again, scooping him up in my arms.
But now that he’s standing just a few feet away, I can only stare, paralyzed with emotion, overpowered by watching a wish I dared dream becoming a reality before my eyes.
My mind races. There are a million things I want to say.
When I open my mouth, all my thoughts logjam in my throat.
“Hi,” is the only thing that comes out.
“Hi,” he says back, staring at me with those big brown eyes.
Just hearing his voice again is like the first spring day after a long, hard winter. I bask in his brightness, taking him all in. “You’ve gotten
taller
,” I finally say. As I clear my throat, I feel my eyes growing moist.
His lower lip quivers. “Lucky, why are you sad?”
The words send a pang through my heart. “I was so afraid you’d think I wasn’t coming for you
.
”
He looks confused. “But you always take care’a me.” His eyes grow sheepish.
The dam breaks. I can’t contain the flood any longer. I bury my face in my hands. So much has happened … so many have suffered … and died. Yet I endure. And so does my brother. And we have each other. And as fleeting as that may be, it makes everything just a little less dark.
I feel his warm hands around my neck and I open my eyes.
“Are you okay, Lucky?”
Laughter bursts from my lips, from deep within a well I thought had dried up ages ago. “Yes, buddy. I’m okay …
now
.”
Somehow, I find the strength to lift him up.
Two Squawkers appear in the distance, our transport back to Infiernos no doubt.
Hugging Cole tight, we both stare out across the brilliant waters, watching as the strong current creates ripples that spread across the horizon as far as the eye can see.
forty-one
I press my face against the window of our tenement.
You can never really pull together the threads of an old life after they’ve unraveled.
It’s not like our neighborhood in the Parish is any different. In fact, it’s still exactly the same as the last time Cole and I saw it—the cobblestone streets filled with potholes, garbage littering the alleys, plumes of smoke from the factories draping the horizon in a cloud of smog … the haunted faces of the passersby, hustling to get indoors before curfew. Nothing’s changed.
Yet everything has.
I sensed it the moment Cole and I disembarked from the transport that brought us home from Infiernos several days ago. We decided to walk home hand in hand rather than have a military escort.
It was in the way people sneaked looks at us, awe and fear crowding their faces. The way they averted their gaze rather than make eye contact.
We’re not part of them anymore. We’re not an
Us
. We’re a
Them
.
And the truth is, the Lucky who once played Dodge Piss in these streets and rummaged through Dumpsters … the same one that accepted living in squalor and an early death …
that
Lucky died during the Trials, along with the others.
I stare, for a moment, at the small wooden number 1 I plucked from above Mrs. Bledsoe’s door, then toss it into the hearth and watch as it smolders into ash.
We could have stayed at the Citadel these last few days, but as the victorious Recruit, I was granted permission to return here. The place we’ve always called home.
This is where it began. It seems fitting that this is where it should end.
Cole and I haven’t spoken about what our lives were like during the time we were apart. Maybe it’s for the best. And now, on this, our last night together, why spoil it with talk
of terrible things?
Tomorrow morning, I ship out to parts unknown to begin my new life as an Imposer trainee. I glance at my neatly pressed uniform hanging from one of the rafters, sporting the shiny silver Imposer pin I was awarded for being the last Recruit left standing—
Just like Cassius.
But so different in every way.
Gideon was wrong when he told me we’d all been selected as Recruits because of the darkness within us. I was never supposed to be selected. I don’t fit the profile. Neither did Digory. Cassius made a critical error in trying to get his revenge. I’ll wear their uniform, say what they want to hear—even as I use every skill, every tactic, that they teach me to plot against them.
What better way to slay the monster than from within?
I reach into my nightshirt and clasp Digory’s ID tag to my heart.
I won’t
ever
give up until I bring them down.
Somewhere out there is a group of freedom fighters that I’m going to make contact with. And then there’s the Fleshers. I need to find out what they are, and why they terrify the Establishment so. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can on my own—sabotage munitions depots, penetrate defense grids, destroy supply lines—
anything
I can to hasten the day when people can be free and dare to dream.
Cole’s feet pad on the creaky floorboards.
I smile. “You ready for bed?”
“Yup.” The springs of his mattress squeak as he sinks into his cot and I tuck him in.
The light from the gas lamp flickers across his face.
I kiss his forehead. “G’night, buddy.”
I’m about to turn out the light when his hand stops mine.
“Lucky. What happened to the Magic City? Did it disappear when the Lady’s fire went away?”
I clasp his hand in mine. “Her fire didn’t go away Cole. It’s still around. Inside all of us.” I tap his chest. “Right
here
.”
His laughter’s like soothing music. “Can you tell me more stories about the Lady?”
“Don’t worry. I
will. And I’ll also tell you stories about her friends.”
“What are their names?”
“There’s Gideon, and Cypress, and … ” My eyes well and I turn my head so he can’t see. I tweak his nose instead.
He tweaks my nose back.
I clear my throat. “And then there’s a very special little girl named Maddie, and her poor big sister Ophelia who got lost in the dark, but found her way back again by the light of the Lady’s torch.”
“I think I’m gonna like that story.”
My throat tightens. “The last friend is
very
special. He helps the others along on their adventures. And he brought me to you.”
“What’s his name?” Cole asks.
I swipe my eyes. “His name’s …
Digory
.”
He smiles. “He sounds nice.”
I smile back. “He is.”
Cole’s eyes cloud over. He cups my cheeks in his hands. “I don’t want to keep the stories a secret anymore,” he whispers.
I nod. “You don’t have to. We’re going to pass on the stories to others—as many people as we can—so that no one will ever forget the Lady and her friends.”
Cole claps his hands. “Oh, I
like
that!”
I ruffle his hair.
My nose touches his. “I love you, Cole. Always have. Always will.”
His face breaks out into a broad grin. “I love
you
, too.”
Then we’re hugging each other.
“There once were five friends who went to visit the Lady,” I begin.
The stories go on long into the night, and don’t stop even after the flame goes out and the first rays of a new day filter through the window.
THE END
Acknowledgments
This novel is the synthesis of amazing support from so many different people.
Thank you Ginger Knowlton, my wonderful agent and cheerleader at Curtis Brown, Ltd., for getting me and believing in my work, even during those dark days when I was convinced no one else was going to ever get the chance to read my words and visit the shadowy places in my head.
Much appreciation to Brian Farrey, my fantastic editor at Flux Books, who helped cure my protagonist of his severe gastric condition and co-dependency issues, even while teaching me a thing or two about pesky ticking clocks. Tick Tock, Brian. I’d also like to commend Sandy Sullivan, my production editor at Flux, for her keen eye and catching the little details that have helped enrich the story, as well as Mallory Hayes, my publicist; Alisha Bjorkland, from marketing; and the rest of the staff at Flux Books. You guys rock!
None of this would have been possible without the SCBWI Aventura Critique Group, who embraced me from day one when I showed up with my telephone-book-sized first novel and had no idea what I was doing. Big hugs to members Dr. Stacy B. Davids, Norma Davids, Angela Padron, Pascale Mackey, Ellen Slane, Jennifer Hill, Julie Edelstein, Martin Goldman, and Ty Shiver. Props to Mariolga Locklin and the students in the Writers Café at Palmetto High School for making my first speaking engagement as a writer so awesome! Special thanks to Medeia Sharif, for all her invaluable pointers about social media and marketing, and to my fantastic Beta Readers, including Amanda Coppedge Bosky and Marjetta Geerling, for their great feedback. Big shout-out to my sit-com writing partner David Case and his wife, Michelle Visage, for their moral support and efforts in spreading the word, and to Lori Tanner for her wonderful postcard design and giving me the swag hook-up.
Extra special thanks to Joyce Sweeney, my friend and writing mentor, who is always there to console me on this roller-coaster ride to publication and beyond, and her Thursday writing workshop for listening to me ramble and offering insightful critiques. Thank you Linda Rodriguez Bernfeld, SCBWI Florida Regional Advisor, for your tireless efforts in putting on the conferences that allowed me to connect with my agent and editor. Stacie Ramey, you are my writing rock, a true friend, confidante, and daily support that gets me through the dark days. Muah!
And to my adoring partner, Jeffrey Cadorette,
my
Digory, who is always there to answer endless questions about the technical stuff and puts up with my late-night writing sessions, as well as my utter silence as I toil away in front of the computer, virtually ignoring him for hours on end: your patience means the world.
About the Author
Steven dos Santos was born in New York City and moved to Florida at the tender age of five. He wrote his first book,
The Enchanted Prince
, when he was in second grade.
Steven has a BS in Communications but spent most of his career in law, even going to law school before realizing he wanted to be a writer.
The Culling
is his debut novel with Flux.
Visit the author at www.stevendossantos.com.
