The Sowing

Scattered throughout the field are keys that will unlock both the collars around your Incentives’ necks and their manacles. There are only three keys available, and four Recruits. The collars have been equipped with a lethal neurotoxin that will be dispensed if not removed in time. The last Recruit to complete the task will be required to select which one of their Incentives will receive the toxic dose. Good luck!

BUZZ! The shrill sound of the starting signal ricochets through the Trial field.

Drusilla tears away from Cage and Boaz, who take a few seconds to disengage from the ailing Crowley before sprinting off after her. Crowley teeters as he struggles to maintain his balance. This whole contest won’t even be close.

My hand finds Dahlia’s and I expect her to flinch and pull away, but her fingers slip into mine and squeeze firmly.

“It’s not over yet,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“It will be soon,” she mumbles back.

Cage and Boaz have caught up to Drusilla. The three of them look feral, like cornered animals tearing through the crevices in the sand in a fight for survival. Then Drusilla’s arm emerges from the rubble holding up a flashing beacon. Dangling from it is a long, golden key.

“I got it!” Her elation is almost choked by a sob. But the wide smile on her face is eclipsed as the shadows of Cage and Boaz fall upon her.

Boaz holds out his hand. “Let me have it, Dru.” The calm in his voice is unsettling. He takes a step closer to her.

She backs away. “I need it.” Her glance shoots in Arrah’s direction, pleading, before boomeranging to her two fellow Recruits.

“It’s not for me.” Boaz softens his tone. “It’s for Crowley.” He turns for a second toward their companion, who is slowly limping along in their direction. “He needs our help, Dru. Let him have this one and you can take the next one.”

Drusilla shakes her head. “I’m taking this key. If you find the next one, you can give it to him yourself.”

The anger returns to Boaz’s face. “It’s because of that girl. That Imp bitch!” He jabs a finger toward Arrah. “First Cage here, and now you. Whose side are you really on, Dru? Huh?”

“It’s not about sides. I love her.”

A harsh sound approximating a laugh bursts from Boaz’s lips. “Love? This coming from someone who murdered her own father.”

Drusilla recoils. I can feel Arrah flinch as if the chains that bind us are a string of nerve endings.

Boaz continues his rant. “These Establishment bastards are slaughtering our people and you’re too selfish to care.” He lunges at her, grabbing her throat and pulling the key away.

“Boaz, no!” Cage leaps for him. But Drusilla knees Boaz in the groin.

“Ungh!” He doubles over.

Drusilla yanks the key back and rushes over to Arrah. The chains connecting us rattle and pull taut as she grabs hold of her. Their foreheads meld together as Drusilla cups her face, laughter mixed with sobs. “I never thought I’d get to hold you again.” She fumbles with the manacles a few seconds before slipping the key into first one lock, then the other. Click! Click! The chains binding Arrah clatter to the ground.

Arrah throws her arms around Drusilla, planting kisses all over her face until their lips meet, first tenderly, then passionately, as if they’re sharing one final breath that will dissipate the moment they pull apart.

“I’m so… so sorry about your dad…” Arrah chokes on her words.

“We can’t… not now…” Drusilla’s tone is tender but I can sense the sharp edge, like a paper cut, barely scratching the surface but deeply painful.

I finally turn to Drusilla. “Get Arrah out of here. Now.”

Drusilla jams the key into the collar’s slot and turns. The device pops open. Arrah rips it off and turns to me. “Lucian—”

“Remember what we talked about at the furnace.” I force a smile. She’s still looking at me as Drusilla hauls her off to the safe zone.

Recruit Drusilla has released her Incentive and is the victor in this trial. Only two keys remain.

Out on the field, Crowley stumbles around while Cage and Boaz circle each other. If it weren’t for the occasional loud crunch of fists against flesh, you’d think they were dancing; their swaying, twisting bodies maneuver around each other in a spray of sweat and blood. Dark crimson trickles from their noses and mouths. Boaz speeds up his jabs. But even though Cage’s lip is swollen purple, he’s taking a defensive stance, holding back, not hurting Boaz as much as he could.

On the ground between them, another key glistens.