The Sowing

Attention Incentives, an unfamiliar voice blares from the cell block speakers. You will now exit your cells and gather in the main holding area. We have a special announcement to make.

Special announcement? This can’t be good.

Several Imposers, including Styles, are milling around brandishing their weapons. Judging from the grogginess on their faces, it looks like everybody’s rest period was cut short.

But why?

I follow Tristin out. Arrah and Corin look my way. They both have the same look on their faces—a blend of fear and curiosity. Arrah’s eyes are asking me what’s going on, but I can only shrug and shake my head.

Only Dahlia seems unfazed. She takes in everything with dead calm—no panic, no contempt, no rage—nothing. It’s as if Dahlia Bledsoe abandoned her body, leaving only a gutted shell. The only sign of life is the slow sawing of her ragged nails against her arms, digging deep enough to dredge up thin rivers of glistening red.

Cassius Thorn’s face fills the screen.

He nods. “Greetings, Incentives. I know that you are all wondering why your rest period has been interrupted in such an unexpected manner.” He pauses for a moment, as if he’s waiting for us to agree. “As you are aware, Recruit Crowley sustained an injury during one of the Trials.”

“Yes. We know,” I respond.

“Recruit Crowley’s condition,” Cassius says, “continues to steadily decline.” He sighs. “In fact, he is not expected to survive more than an hour or two at most.”

“He wouldn’t be in this shape if you’d given him medical atten—”

Styles shoves me with the butt of his weapon. “Shut up! You will not address the Prefect—”

Cassius waves him off. “It’s all right, Officer. Let him speak.” His eyes drill into me. “Actually, what happened to Recruit Crowley could have been completely avoided had his performance during the trial met acceptable standards.”

“Acceptable standards?” I scoff. “There’s nothing acceptable about any of this.”

“Crowley had the opportunity, just like all the other Recruits, to train and make the right decisions—”

“But—”

“His well-being and ultimate fate is in his own hands. A fact you of all people, Spark, should be well aware of, given your own brush with illness during last season’s Trials—oh!” His fingers massage his forehead. “Forgive me. My mistake. You didn’t obtain those antibiotics on your own. You relied on the pity of a fellow Recruit—what was his name?” He shakes his head and flicks his hand as if he’s shooing away dust. “No matter.”

“You know his name,” I say. “After all, wasn’t he on your payroll?”

“Enough time has been wasted,” Cassius says, not taking the bait. “Rather than waiting for Recruit Crowley to expire, thus eliminating himself as well as his sole remaining Incentive from the Trials”—his eyes prey on Dahlia for a moment—“we have decided to preserve the integrity of the Recruitment process and incorporate this unfortunate situation into the next Trial, which will take place immediately.”

My mind reels. Holding the Trial right now, especially given Crowley’s condition, means Dahlia, like Leander and the others, is as good as dead. No more reprieves.

Unless we don’t waste another second and make our break for it right now.

I scan the room. There are only three Imposers. Maybe we can take them out and make a break for the weapons cache hidden in the vent shaft—

Tristin’s hand brushes against mine. When I turn to her, she’s looking at me as if she’s read my mind. The shake of her head is barely perceptible but it’s there. I follow her eyes to where Corin’s standing, frightened and teary-eyed, just a few feet away from Style’s massive bulk.

She’s right. As much as I’m dying inside at the thought of losing someone else, there are still three other people counting on my help to get out of here. This time, I can’t put my personal feelings above everything else.

The screen showing the image of Cassius dissolves, replaced by a holo of Cage, Drusilla, Boaz, and Crowley, all lying in cocoonlike capsules. Tentacles of wire are wrapped around their naked bodies, which are strapped down to gleaming silver slabs as if they are about to be autopsied. The wires are connected to humming, blinking machinery. I can tell from some of the digital readouts on the display that all bio-functions are being monitored, just like they were when we were trapped underwater in the pods. While I would expect that the heart rate and breathing of the Recruits would be accelerated under these conditions, there’s one readout that’s too slow, barely blinking.

Crowley is fading fast.