The Sowing

I feel the weight of all their stares bearing down on me—Jorgen, Mrs. Grimstone, Mr. Ryland, Corin, and Tristin. Any anger and contempt they felt at my presence is gone, replaced by fear and the embryonic glow of hope. I gulp down my last mouthful of steaming gruel. “Yes. You will see them again.” It’s not really a lie. To say more would shred whatever comfort they can wring from my words, and I can’t do that. There are plenty of things you can rip away from a person—their dignity, self-respect; hell, even a limb or two—and they can somehow find a way through it. People are strong like that. They’ve had to be. Even organs are replaceable with synthetic replicas if you have the cash.

But once you take away hope, that’s it. Game over.

That’s when people break for good and can never be repaired. I’ve seen it happen over and over, ever since I can remember.

Corin taps me on the hand. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

The kid’s rough exterior is all but gone. This is the first time I’ve seen his true age in his eyes. I’ve managed to hold it together until now, but those five words hit me hard.

I stare at each of them for a few seconds before returning my gaze to Corin. “You’re not going to die, kid. I promise.” My eyes sweep my former comrades at the next table. “With the way the Establishment’s set things up”—I raise my voice—“the Imposer trainees and myself are a buffer between you and anything bad happening. As long as we’re around, you’re all safe.”

Mr. Ryland snorts. “Oh, yeah? What happens when the five of you are k—”

I cut him off with a glare that reaps the air between him and Corin.

Ryland clears his throat. “When the five of you are no longer part of the Trials?”

Corin glares at him. “You mean when they bite it.”

I shake my head. “A lot can happen between now and then.” I pause for moment before turning to the others. “You should all consider yourselves very fortunate under the circumstances. You’re not just stuck in this hellhole with five other regular Incentives.” I turn to face Leander’s table. “You’re in here with one of the best Imposer trainee squads ever to survive the Trials.”

Through the icy stares I get back from my former squad I see something shift, if only for a second. Then it freezes over again in a blizzard of hatred and they all turn away again.

I’m going to need their help to get us all out of here. But it’s going to take more than words or playing to their egos to get my former allies to consider any kind of truce. And I don’t have much time to make it happen.

SIXTEEN

This is it. After several weeks of being confined in the dark and cold, subsisting on gruel and enduring back-breaking labor, the Trials are about to begin.

This is the first morning that no one has said a word during breakfast. Everyone looks weary. From the look of the bowls around me, no one seems to be feeling particularly hungry either.

The mess hall doors burst open. “Chow time’s over!” Echoes barks. “Let’s go!”

This time, I’m the last one in the single-file line as we make our way back to the common room. Ever since our arrival I’ve been cataloguing the layout of Purgatorium in my mind, not only memorizing the order of the winding passageways but also committing to memory the number of steps to any given area. If I’m somehow able to gain access to the vent shafts, air ducts, and/or drainage systems, this will definitely help me with finding my way around. The one thing that’s going to be a challenge is getting my hands on tools and some type of light source. Tricky, but not impossible; if I could make it through the last Trials in one piece, this shouldn’t be too difficult. At least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep from cracking.

Trying to get my former squad to work with me, though, has been less fruitful. Every time I attempted to talk to them, they either outright shunned me, gave me pissed-off looks, or grunted and muttered some colorful epithet. I’m going to need more time to win them over.

The problem is, time is not on my side. If Cage is the first Recruit to lose today, then all my strategizing, memorization, and self pep talks will die with me. I need to work fast, and not just to save my own life. For all I know, Arrah could be the first to die if Drusilla falters. It’s impossible to say what decision someone will make when put under that kind of traumatic pressure.

Once back in the common room, I can sense a change in the atmosphere. It’s as if it’s charged with electrical particles just before a storm.

The Imps usher us toward our holding cells but don’t force us inside, instead just leave us standing there as they disappear into the shadows. Then the lights dim and the whole room begins to glow as a deep hum vibrates throughout the chamber. Tristin’s eyes are closed, her head bowed in prayer.

It’s starting. And when it’s over, there’ll be one less chicken in the coup.