The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (18 page)

Each jab of my finger against Drusilla’s red button fills me with self-loathing. Over and over again I strike, watching as her body buckles violently against her straps even as Cage’s begins to relax.

My eyes flit to my periphery. Arrah’s eyes are wide and overflowing with tears. She seems so desperate. I can’t even imagine what I’d be feeling if it were someone I loved strapped to that slab.

Then her eyes connect with mine, burning with molten accusation. She
knows
it’s me. She knows I’m hurting the girl that she loves more than anything in this world—

And she has no choice but to try and stop me.

“Dahlia!” she shrieks. “I
need
your help. Concentrate all your blasts on Cage.”

Tristin turns on her. “No! You can’t do that! My brother can’t take much more of this, please … ”

Arrah shakes her head. “I’m sorry … Dru’s in too much pain … ” She whirls. “
Do it, Dahlia!
I’m begging you!” she half-sobs, half-screeches.

Dahlia glances at her, then at me. Not too long ago, she would have glazed me with contempt. But now I can see the conflict on her face, the guilt. The shame. She looks away, as if the very sight of me is a slap across her face. Her eyes lower to her remote unit. Her fingers work the keys.

I’m not sure what she’s decided.

“Lucian!” The panic in Tristin’s voice courses through me like a live wire.

I look up from my remote. Cage is going into seizure mode again, his body thrashing back and forth, froth pooling at his lips and spraying from his mouth.

However much Dahlia has softened toward me, she’s made her choice.

While Cage has the benefit of receiving healing stimuli from Tristin, it’s no match for the combined punishment being inflicted upon him from Arrah, Dahlia, and Corin. As strong as Cage is, he’s going to break any second—unless he dies first, in which case I’ll be dead moments later, and so will Tristin.

There’s only one thing left to do.

And I hate myself for it.

My finger hovers over Drusilla’s button a split second—before jamming down on a different button, the only other option I have, the only other person who is in a weakened-enough state to succumb to his injuries before Cage does.

Crowley.

“Forgive me … ” I whisper over and over again. The pain button on the remote blurs until it’s nothing but a blotch of red, consuming my vision, devouring everything in its path. My temples throb, my heart pounds like a mallet, each beat a reverberating gong that drowns out the sounds around me until all I can hear are my own breaths, chugging and hissing like a steam engine.

They’ve won. They’ve turned me into the kind of monster that would torture a dying man.

I release the button, flinging the remote across the room. It slams against the wall, smashing into a million pieces.

Just like my chances of getting out of here alive and rescuing my brother.

The machinery buzzing around Cage sparks. The hum dies out. Cage has reached his limit and bowed out.

It’s over.

It appears that this Trial has now ended
.
Cassius’s voice is as cold and emotionless as ever.
Recruit Cage’s participation has been terminated. He must now make his choice.

Styles and Echoes appear out of the darkness and grab Tristin and me. The others’ faces are a blur of stunned expressions as we’re hustled away.

“Lucian,” Arrah sobs. “I’m
sorry
.” She rushes forward but is intercepted by a couple of other Imps who block her and Dahlia from following us. “
Let go of him!
” Her shouts sound like they’re so far away.

Styles and Echoes shove Tristin and me into our cell and strap us in. Styles’s lips graze my ear. “Looks like it’s finally the end of the line for you, pretty. Shame we never got the chance to get better acquainted.”

The doors clang shut and the entire cell begins to rise up the dark shaft. I crane my neck. Above, there’s a light shining in the distance, growing brighter and brighter.

I turn to Tristin. She’s sobbing quietly. I wish I could reach out to touch her hand. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Promise me you’ll help the others get the hell away from this place.”

She squeezes my fingers. “Don’t worry. We’re going to stop them from doing this to anyone else. I promise.”

We share a smile as the grinding gears reach their apex. Light floods into the cell as it lurches to a halt.

We’re here.

Just outside our cell, the backrests on the silver slabs rise, elevating the Recruits, including Crowley, to a sitting position. They all look haggard, exhausted. Cage is pale as snow, his lips torn from where he bit into them. A thin red stream flows from them, glistening as it trickles down onto the bobbing nub of his throat.

All my struggles—the separation from Cole, losing Digory and then finding out that he was using me, my vigilante attacks against the Establishment, my involvement with the rebels—every struggle and setback now comes down to this one last moment.

The moment of my death.

Recruit Cage. You must now make your choice.

C
age opens his eyes. They glisten with moisture as he stares at us long and hard. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. But I can only make one choice,” he says.

I nod. “It’s okay.” I almost break out into a chuckle. Nothing has ever been so
not okay
in my whole life. “Do what needs to be done, Cage.”

“I swear it, mate.”

Your time has expired. Make your selection now.

His eyes fix on me. “I choose … ” His voice chokes. “I
choose
Lucian Spark
.”

I hear my name as if from the fragments of a dream.
Everything feels so disconnected, as if I’m no longer in my own body, but a puff of vapor caught in a swirling eddy that’s slowly tearing me apart until everything that’s me will fade into nothingness.

The metal grapplers around my arms and legs screech to life, tugging my arms until they’re opened wide and my legs are spread-eagled. I look up, staring at the gleaming hydraulic cables coiled like a beast poised to spring at any moment. Drops of oil trickle from the mechanism like dark blood, mixing with my sweat as it oozes down my neck, over my heaving chest.

They’re going to rip me apart like a rag doll, tear me limb from limb while the others watch me bleed out right before their eyes.

I struggle against the clamps holding me in place, but
it’s no use. Every second is an excruciating blur, waiting,
won
dering when it’s going to happen, what it’ll feel like when
my
tendons and ligaments snap like rubber bands, when my
muscles are torn to tattered shreds, when my bones pop free from their sockets, gouging out chunks of flesh …

I’m so sorry I failed you Cole.

I look up and face my unseen audience. “
Do it!
” The words singe my throat.

The hydraulics rattle. My limbs grow taught as the tension in my restraints builds … any moment now …

The hydraulics whine to a halt.

The pressure in my joints relaxes as the restraints go slack.

Why are the lights going dim? What’s happening?

A crazed thought boomerangs through my brain. Am I already dead?

With a crackle, the speakers come to life once more.

We regret to inform you that Recruit Crowley has succumbed to his injuries. It would appear that the sensory overload of this last trial has proven too much of a challenge to his weakened system, and he has expired.

Crowley dead? Of course he is. And
I
did it.
I
pushed
him over the edge because of my own selfishness. And it was all for nothing.

“Not Crowley, too.” Drusilla whispers. Boaz looks
stunned. Cage buries his face in his hands.

Of course. Before any of this, Crowley was their friend, their comrade. They were going to change the world together, make it a better place—until I came along.

“It’s not your fault,” Tristin whispers.

But I won’t look at her—can’t look at her. At anyone. Why couldn’t the Establishment have killed me
before
making this announcement?

Because it’s all about making us suffer to the bitter end. My body tenses.

And because—

As Recruit Crowley’s participation in these Trials has been concluded, his one remaining Incentive shall now be shelved alongside Lucian Spark.

They’re going to murder Dahlia, too.

In seconds, Tristin is released from her confines beside mine and hustled out of view. She’s screaming and turning, trying to get a look at me before she disappears.

The next few minutes are the longest, as Dahlia is brought in to take Tristin’s place. The sound of each of her restraints being clamped into place shatters through the fog in my brain.

“Dahlia. I didn’t mean for it to be like this … I tried so hard … ” My voice breaks off. Going to my grave with two more deaths burdening my conscience is too much. It’s overload.

She shakes her head. “And just when I thought I might want to live again.” She smiles, but her face contorts as she chokes back tears. “Don’t blame yourself, Spark. You’ve done so much for everyone. So much for me. My mother loved you very much. I guess I started resenting you when I was taken away from her. You had something so precious, time with her that I only dreamed of having. I’m sorry.”

“This one’s ready!” Styles barks. He turns and gives us a smirk before slinking out of the chamber after the other Imposers.

Leaving Dahlia and me alone … for the last time.

“Just think of your mother,” I say to her.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “My jealousy of you wasn’t why I shunned my mother after the Trials. I didn’t want her to go to Haven like the other surviving Incentives.” She fights a sob. “It’s not the paradise that everyone’s been led to believe. It’s—”

The hydraulics grind to life again.

“—Must stop this at once!” a familiar voice commands, out of my field of vision.

Cassius has left the control room he’s been hiding in and is here in the flesh, barreling in with a squadron of Imposers that includes Valerian and Sergeant Slade. His cloak whips behind him as he pushes his way toward us.

When our eyes meet, his face flinches for a moment, but he turns to address the nearest soldier, jabbing a finger in our direction. “We cannot shelve them before we extract useful information from them. Get them down at once!”

“Yes, Sir!” the officer responds, nearly toppling over his companion as they come forward to unlock Dahlia and me from our bonds.

We exchange confused looks as we’re released and
dragged
down to join the other Incentives. This time, Cassius
doesn’t make any eye contact with me.

But Slade does. She reaches out a leather-gloved hand and grips my jaw, her cold fingers digging into my flesh. Stalactite eyes pierce right through me. “Don’t worry, Spark. This is only a brief reprieve. Once you’ve answered our questions, you’ll be shelved.” She leans in until our noses are practically touching. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be pulling the switch myself.”

She shoves me aside.

Styles comes bustling to the forefront with the rest of his squad. He salutes Cassius, Slade, and Valerian. “What’s going on, Sir?”

Cassius turns to him, still avoiding eye contact with me. “It appears we’ve located your companion, Renquist—dead. In one of the vent shafts. Along with a cache of weapons.”

“Renquist … is
dead
?” Styles’s stance falters. He looks confused.

But he can’t possibly be as confused as I am.

“I’m afraid it’s true, Styles.” Cassius pats him on the shoulder. “It would appear these Incentives have been busy, possibly working in tandem with the Recruits and a traitor in our midst, right under your noses, in fact.”

He finally turns to me, his eyes bitter with frost.

“And they’re going to provide us with some answers,
before they are
all
executed.”

twenty-four

M
y aching lungs revolt against the cold water flooding them, cutting off the air. My nails scrape against the metal armrests, cracking, tearing. Can’t take it in. Can’t spit it out. I flail in the chair I’m strapped to. My body convulses as if jolts of electricity are ripping through it. Drowning, struggling for a single breath … nothing but a big blur. Colors. Shapes. A dozen times already and the fear’s worse each time. It’s not going to stop this time—oh, shit. Fuck. No … .

Swoosh!

The water filling the face mask that covers my head is sucked out once again by the vacuum tube.

Dark shapes move into view, blocking out the hot
glare of the floodlights trained on me.

Sergeant Slade and Captain Valerian.

Valerian rips the mask from my head, her nose wrinkling from the stench of my throw-up. But other than that, she seems just as bored as she did when this whole interrogation began.

The same can’t be said for Slade. Her eyes are twinkling like fireflies. Her thin lips pull back to her ears in a half-moon grin. She’s relishing every moment of my degradation and suffering.

She leans in conspiratorially. “I am going to ask you for the last time, Spark. Who were your accomplices in the murder of Officer Renquist?”

I clear my throat of the lingering mixture of acid and
puke. I lift the burden of my eyes until I’m staring her dead
on. “I’ve already told you at least a dozen times, you stupid bitch.” My voice sounds ragged, hoarse. Every syllable hurts. “It was only me. Get it?
Me
.”

I’m going to die anyway. No sense dragging anyone else down with me if there’s even the remotest of chances—

Smack!

The force of her blow snaps my head back. In seconds, the side of my face is throbbing. My tongue scrapes against my gums, tasting metal. My back molar rattles in its socket.

In spite of the pain, I conjure up a smirk. “You don’t have much to give, huh?”

The words hit her like a seismic surge. Her smile
cracks
and sinks. Tremors rock her reddened face. She tears the helmet from Valerian’s hands and slams it back over my
head. It still reeks of vomit.

“I think we need to try this again.” She marches over to the control panel. Her hand hovers over the release valve.

Buzz!

The sound shatters my already-shredded nerves. A transmission is coming through the com system. The large screen flickers to life.

Slade twists the valve shut. The dark gunk in my mask
freezes less than an inch away from the faceplate, sloshing
with a sickening wetness.

Cassius appears on the monitor.

Behind him, the others—Cage, Boaz, Drusilla, Arrah, Dahlia, Tristin, and Corin—are barely standing, their faces and exposed parts of their bodies covered in bleeding cuts and bruises. My eyes linger on the kid’s hands. Even from this camera angle, I can see the blood oozing from the tips of his fingers.

They pulled every single nail out.

My hands and feet strain against their restraints.

“Has he confessed the conspiracy to you yet, Sergeant?” Cassius asks Slade.

Is that a squirm? This must be the first time I’ve ever seen Slade this nervous. “Prefect Thorn, Sir. Spark insists on the lie that he was solely responsible for the murder and theft.” Her eyes shoot hate my way, then return to Cassius. “But I can assure you, I was just about—”

Cassius’s tsks silence her as effectively as a shout. He shakes his head. “No, no, no, sergeant. I’m disappointed. I would have thought someone with your expertise would understand that there is only one thing Lucian Spark cares about.” He sighs. “
Others
.”

He holds out his hand to Styles, who is standing behind the group. “Give me your sidearm, Officer.”

Styles unclips the gun from its holster. His expression alternates between bloodlust and disappointment, as if he’s being robbed of another opportunity to inflict pain on the innocent. He slides the weapon into Cassius’s palm. The long, gleaming, black eel contrasts against alabaster flesh.

My heart trips over itself as, one by one, Cassius’s long fingers coil around the grip. He holds the gun out and begins to pace along the haphazard line of haggard Recruits and Incentives. They’re sandwiched together, terror and exhaustion spread over their faces, eyes pleading through the cameras at me.

Cassius studies each one as he passes, the barrel of his weapon tracing lines of sweat, blood, and grime across their foreheads. “What is it going to be, Lucian? Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to be forced to
motivate
you?”

“Don’t bother, Spark.” The sound of Boaz’s voice surprises everyone, like the dead calm of the eye of a storm that rages around it. “They’re going to kill us either way.”

The cock of a trigger cracks loudly, like the sound of splintering bone. Cassius shakes his head. “Our first volunteer.”

Before words can erupt from my throat, Cassius jams the gun against Boaz’s temple. I can almost feel the cold steel pressed against my own head and I flinch—

BANG!

A bright flash obscures the image for a split second. Then a spray of red and gray confetti spatters Cassius and the prisoners closest to Boaz.

The blast propels Boaz’s body into Dahlia and Corin. His body teeters for a few seconds, then crashes to the ground.

Someone’s cry penetrates my shock. It’s Corin, now sobbing uncontrollably.

Cassius turns to look right into the camera again. Flecks of Boaz’s blood and brain trickle down his face like obscene tears. He swipes at the gore sprinkling his uniform. “I wish you hadn’t made me do that.”

Just as quickly, his expression changes into one of rage. He shoves Dahlia out of his way and grabs Corin, jamming the muzzle of the weapon into the child’s mouth.

“No, don’t hurt him!” Arrah shrieks.

Cage springs forward, but Styles slams the butt of his gun into the back of Cage’s head and he falls to his knees.

Cassius’s green eyes target me. “What is it going to be, Lucian? As always, the choice is yours.”

It feels like I have that mask clamped over my head
again—I can’t breathe, my stomach twists as it tries to repel an invisible invader.

“Let the boy go.” My voice is hoarse. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I knew you would.” He pulls the gun from Corin’s mouth and pats his head. “Styles. Take this boy back to his cell … for now.”

“Yes, Sir. What about the other prisoners?”

Cassius casts a disinterested glance their way and stifles a yawn. “This lot is guilty of conspiracy and treason. Take them down to the furnace and execute them. It will save you the trouble o
f having to drag the bodies down and burn them.”

“Right away, Sir.”

Styles and the guards surround the others, dragging
them away.

My chair nearly topples over and I buckle against it trying to break loose. The restraints dig into my skin, drawing blood. “Cassius! I said I would tell you whatever you wanted to know. We had an agreement!”

“I said I wouldn’t harm
the boy
. The others are expend
able collateral. Really, Lucian. You always seem to hear
what you want to.”

I slump against my chair. It’s hopeless. The plan we spent so much time putting together, invested so much of our sweat and hope into, has failed. No second chances. Boaz is dead. The others will follow in just a few minutes. And after I tell them what they want to know, Corin and I will be murdered too.

There’s no way out.

“Slade.” The Sergeant snaps to attention at the sound of Cassius’s address. “A team is on its way to your location to retrieve Spark for further debriefing.”

“As you wish, Prefect, Sir. I will make sure—”

But he’s already dismissed her with his eyes, focusing instead on Valerian.

“Valerian,” Cassius continues. “I need at least one person I can count on. See to it that the custody transfer goes smoothly and is not bungled.”

She salutes him. “Everything will be taken care of, Sir.”

The transmission ends. The images are snuffed out.

Slade and Valerian exchange glances.

I can tell Slade is bristling with anger at having her judgment questioned. She scowls at Valerian. “Unstrap him.”

Valerian hunches over me, using her key to unlock the manacles on my legs first. Then she reaches for the ones on my hands.

I blink as the light of her sidearm reflects in my eyes. No. It’s not over. Not until I’m dead.

Snap!

The last manacle clicks open.

In a flash, I’m ripping Valerian’s gun free. Before either she or Slade can react, I kick Valerian in the gut. She slams into Slade, throwing off the Sergeant’s shot.

BAM!

A burning hot bullet nicks my ear, and a smoking hole rips through the chair. I roll off it in a spinning arc.

BAM! BAM! BAM!
The chair explodes into shrapnel. Then there’s a loud series of clicks.

Slade’s out of ammo.

Before she can reload, I’m letting loose a round of my own. The two officers dive behind an equipment cabinet, scrambling to escape the shower of sparks and chunks of plaster raining down all around them.

Click.

Damn it. The chamber’s empty. I hurl the now-useless weapon across the room, where it clatters against the wall.

I might have missed
them
, but at least I’ve taken out the com unit.

“You’ll never get out of here alive, Spark,” Slade sneers.

Snap.
The ominous sound of another ammo clip locking into place.

I dive for the door. My body slams into the floor and continues to slide on its own momentum—three feet away, two feet, one …

Slade’s body is a blur as she leaps from her cover, her weapon blazing.

I don’t give her a chance to come to a stop before I spring, head-butting her. Then we’re rolling, grappling for the gun clutched in her hand.

Instinctively, my free hand shoots up and grips her fingers, tearing them free of my face, bending them backwards … and backwards … away from the palm …

Her face contorts in pain and rage. “
Argh
!”

SNAP!

The bones in her fingers give way with a piercing crunch.

A shadow eclipses the light above us. We both twist our necks to look. Valerian’s standing over us, weapon held at the ready.

Somewhere beyond the doorway and out into the hall, alarms are blaring and the clatter of boots are approaching. The rush of energy I had evaporates, replaced by a tightness all over my body.

Slade leers down at me. “Game over, Spark. I don’t care what Thorn says. You’re too much of a liability to keep alive.” She turns to Valerian. “What are you waiting for? Shoot!”

Valerian’s eyes narrow at me. “As you wish.”

I close my eyes and tense for the impact as she pulls the trigger—

BANG!