Free The Culling by Steven Dos Santos Page A

only for him. “I’m fine, buddy.” I bury my chin in his hair, my eyes never leaving the image of Digory’s face.
    “Digory Tycho,” Cassius repeats. “Come forward and join your comrades!”
    At first, the cameras pan the crowd wildly, searching for their target but not finding it. The murmuring in the crowd builds like a simmering kettle. Where is he? Has he fled? If so, he’ll be hunted down and killed on sight, not to mention what will happen to whatever family he’s left behind. Family. Does he even have any? In that instant I realize how little I really know about Digory, and how dismal the chances are of ever learning more.
    “I’m here!” a voice shouts over the buzzing of the masses swarming the plaza.
    Digory.
    The thumping in my chest turns to a spring, until it sinks in just what’s waiting to greet him. He’s just traded in the firing squad for a slow death of body and soul.
    “It’s that boy from the Square. Is he a friend of yours?” Mrs. Bledsoe whispers.
    “H-he … no … ”
    “It’s better for you both.” Then she’s hacking into her rag, sounding more terrible than I’ve heard until now.
    Digory reaches the podium and trots up the stairs two at a time, taking his place next to Cypress. If she looked fearless, he looks defiant. And even though his face fills the sky, it feels like he’s a million miles away.
    Cassius leans forward on the railing, still giving me his back.
    Why won’t he look at me?
    “Excellent!” Cassius’s voice booms. “That’s the kind of spirit I’m talking about. So confident. So courageous. I’m sure I speak for the entire Establishment when I say, I can’t wait to see what you are made of, Digory Tycho!” Though the words are intended for all, they’re targeted to one.
    He knows. Somehow, he knows .
    Before an Imposer can stop him, Digory steps up to the microphone. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, Prefect Thorn, and I look forward to doing my people proud by showing you just exactly what I’m capable of!”
    The crowd erupts into applause, only this time it feels natural, not coerced. Next to me, Mrs. Bledsoe is clapping, mindless of the blood-stained handkerchief smearing her hands. Even Cole joins in, not knowing why he’s clapping, I’m sure, but sensing the surge of emotion around him.
    My hands burn, and I look down to see my palms colliding, over and over again.
    Cassius swipes his own hands in the air as if he’s trying to erase the crowd’s existence. Eventually, it has the desired effect. The applause flows to a trickle, then to a couple of drops before fading a few uncomfortable beats later.
    Cassius’s hands drop to his sides. “It is truly wonderful to behold the enthusiasm of the civic-minded. It appears we may have our first fan favorite.” He laughs. “But I caution you that stockpiling one’s faith in the guise of an individual will certainly lead to disappointment. The only entity one can truly depend on is the Establishment. To think otherwise, well … is not very prudent.”
    His words cast a pall over the spark Digory had ignited. On the monitors, shoulders that only moments ago stood tall and proud return to their ingrained slouches. Faces turn toward the ground, feet take a few steps back. Cassius’s time away from the Parish has served him well. He knows how to play the game, preserve the status quo.
    But Cass, my wonderful Cass, surely he still occupies a room inside this stranger’s body? It’s all for show. Remember what he said. He wants to change things. I have faith that he’ll do the right thing.
    “And now,” he continues, “I present to you the final plebe on this year’s Recruitment Day!”
    For the last time, the displays come alive with sounds and color. My muscles tense. I find Mrs. Bledsoe’s hand and entwine my fingers with hers, squeezing so hard I’m afraid I’m going to crack some bone. My forehead slumps into Cole’s.
    He smiles. “Maybe they’ll pick you to win