The Sowing

Appropriate that they should be located inside what appears to be the torso of a dead body.

As I look closer, I can make out wheels, pulleys and gears just above and below each cubicle, which rest on a series of tracks. Of course. In order to avoid the delay of having to transport all the Incentives to the location of each trial, this conveyer system is constantly moving through the Skein, keeping the Incentives readily available and accessible for disposal.

How efficient.

At the far side of the chamber, an enormous black screen dominates the wall. Slade marches into the center of the room. “This area is known as the Pen, your home for the duration of the Trials.” Her serpentine slits scan the room. “Of course, some of you will enjoy a shorter stay than the rest.”

Some of the other Imposers chuckle at this, and Slade doesn’t bother to discipline them.

“You will all be confined to this common area during the Recruits’ rest periods,” she continues, “but during each round of competition, you will remain in your cells unless otherwise instructed.” She paces back and forth, stabbing each of us with her gaze. “Anyone who disobeys this regulation will be considered to be in direct violation of protocol and will be shelved immediately.” She motions to the Imposers standing guard on the upper levels.

“One more thing.” Slade clears her throat. “Due to the unusual composition of Recruits and Incentives selected for the Trials this year—namely, the better-than-average skills possessed by this distinguished group of candidates—the committee has agreed that the pre-Trial training and orientation, usually scheduled for a ten-week period, shall be considerably shortened.” Her voice echoes through the chamber. “Any questions?”

Cage’s Incentive lifts her gaze and clears her throat. It sounds like the last sputter of a dying engine.

Slade’s eyes skewer her. “Yes? Speak up!”

“When… w-will I…” The girl drops her gaze again. “Get to see… my brother Cage… again…”

Her words trail off into barely a whisper.

I was right. They are brother and sister. And I know exactly what she must be feeling.

Slade walks up and hovers over her. She smiles like a mother about to eat her young. “You miss your brother very much, don’t you, my dear?” She grips her by the shoulders.

“Y-yes. Yes, I do.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tristin.”

“And you’d like nothing better than to talk to your brother, if only for just a few moments, wouldn’t you, Tristin?”

The girl looks up at Slade, eyes barely able to contain their wetness. “Oh, please…”

The Sergeant leans in, as if to whisper in her ear. “Be careful what you wish for. The next time you see him might very well be the last time you’ll see him… or anything at all, for that matter.”

She shoves the girl away and whips around to face the rest of us. “That goes for every single one of you suffering from a sentimental streak or”—her eyes penetrate mine—“the pangs of a guilty conscience.”

GONG!

The sound of the deep clang reverberates throughout the chamber, drowning out the rest of Slade’s words and sending a frost spiraling down my spine. I recognize that sound.

It’s the call of the Fleshers.

Grisly images flash in my memory. Sitting around the campfire with Digory and the other Recruits during one of our training exercises… the legend of the Fallen Five… trekking through the island wilderness in search of the missing recon team. Then there was that canyon filled with mounds of human bones, skulls screeching as the wind passed through their gaping sockets, and the dark, barely glimpsed horde of Fleshers that chased the five of us.

The room is doused in the crimson glow of emergency lights.

Attention! a voice blares through the speakers. Possible breach in quadrant seven. Repeat. Possible breach in quadrant seven. Initiating emergency containment procedure. This is not a drill.

The smug look on Slade’s face turns to concern. She jabs a finger at one of the Imposers stationed at the control console above. “Seal it!”

The officer jams his fist onto a switch embedded in the wall. A drawn-out sssssshhhhhh drowns everything out as all the cell doors slide open.

Slade gestures at us, then at the holding cells. “Each pair is to proceed inside the pen closest to you.” Her panic disappears. “Now!”

Where the Fleshers are concerned, I don’t need to be told twice. I grab Tristin’s hand and pull her with me. “Everyone inside! C’mon!”

Then we’re tumbling through the cell doors, just as they seal behind us.

“Are you okay?” I ask Tristin.

But she’s not paying attention to me. Instead her eyes are glued to the scene playing out through the transparent walls.

Imposers dash to and fro, checking control panels, shouting into com units. Across the way, Arrah, Leander, Rodrigo, and Dahlia are pressed against the glass of their cells while their fellow Incentives cower in the corners.