The Sowing

The simulation must be programmed to respond to my voice pattern, which it does—too perfectly. For a second it’s like glimpsing an alternate future, one that might have been if it hadn’t been so cruelly ripped away.

I tap the next selection before I lose my nerve. Mrs. Bledsoe’s face disappears, replaced by Cole’s face.

Cole smiles at me. “When are you gonna come see me, Lucky?” he asks.

Digory’s hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.

“I’m coming home real soon,” I whisper. I toggle through the options, watching Cole age, become a man in seconds before my very eyes, then grow older. The one thing that never seems to change is his eyes, trusting, believing in me.

Unlike Mrs. Bledsoe’s, this is a future that can still happen.

That will happen, if I have anything to say about it.

I scroll further down the menu under my name and see something at the bottom of the list that almost makes my heart stop.

Sowing Protocol initiated on test subject Spark, L.

Digory’s eyes grow wide.

“Digory—you mentioned this Sowing thing in your last transmission to the rebels on Recruitment Day,” I say urgently. “You found out about it while spying on Cassius and you said it was very dangerous. What did you mean? Tell me.”

He grips a fistful of his hair. His eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw clench. Finally he turns to me, slowly shaking his head.

Whatever they did to him at Infiernos has blocked the memory.

My heart’s racing as I try to access the file, but all I get is the same message.

Highly Classified. Access Restricted.

What have they done to me? And what have they already done to Cole?

Crowley’s groan of pain mirrors my own. Digory and I rush to his side.

“I don’t want to be like them…” His grips tightens and his eyes grow wide. “Kill me, Spark. Please…”

I tear myself from his grasp, backing into Digory.

All these capsules… they’re all people from the Parish. Over the years, countless Recruits have fought for their Incentives’ lives, only to be rewarded by having the people they loved most mutilated and transformed into Fleshers.

Digging into my pocket, I pull out the transceiver and make sure it’s set to the right channel. I’m not sure of its range, but I have to at least try to transmit the files to Arrah and the others. They need to know what’s going on here.

Rifling through the lab, I find a data chip, and in a few anxious minutes have downloaded the information, plugged it into the device and hit transmit. The signal’s weak, and there’s no way of telling if my message was received, but there’s nothing else I can do.

But I don’t send anything related to this Sowing Protocol. Not until I find out what it is and what they’ve done to me.

“Spark, I’m begging you. It hurts so much.” Crowley begins to sob.

His words feel like a knife carving me from side to side. There’s a small part of me that wants to flee. But after everything I’ve been through, all the suffering I’ve seen, I understand what it feels like to want to die. If I turn away, I’ll awaken every night to Crowley’s pleas in my head, knowing I could have stopped his agony and did nothing.

Breathing deep, I take a step toward the capsule.

But Digory beats me to it. He reaches his hands inside and I hear Crowley’s cries become muffled. The cords on Digory’s neck pulse with the effort. His face turns red, even as his eyes well.

Crowley’s gurgling starts to fade. And then it’s gone.

Digory bows his head and I rest my hand on his shoulder.

Then the lights on Crowley’s capsule begin to flash and the blare of an alarm fills the room.

I’m already pulling Digory away, but we’re not quick enough. Shadows descend around us, dropping out of the ceiling like huge arachnids spiraling down invisible webs. Four huge Fleshers land on the ground, surrounding us. The same four that always escort Straton wherever he goes—except for now.

Digory snarls at them. The muscles in his neck and arms pulse under the strobe of the Fleshers’ lights. I assume my own attack stance. Although we’re outnumbered and outmatched, I’m not going to go down without a fight. Maybe we can even inflict some damage before we’re taken.

There’s a series of sharp clicks as flaps of skin on the creatures’ arms burst open. Long, metallic appendages squeeze out from the flesh, dripping that slimy dark ooze that passes for blood. The sharpened probes inch toward us…

Game time.

Digory lunges, grabbing the glistening instrument and twisting it away even as he leaps onto that Flesher’s shoulders. I whirl and strike the Flesher in front of me with a roundhouse kick. My foot throbs with the impact, but the automaton barely stumbles backwards.