Free The Culling by Steven Dos Santos Page B

this time, ’cause you’re so lucky !”
    “Maybe.” My voice is hoarse; my stomach muscles twist.
    I have faith in Cass. I have faith in Cass. I have faith in Cass.
    I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but this time the shuffling of faces on the screens seems to go on forever. I can’t stand it anymore. All I want to do is grab Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe, bolt out of this room, and forget this place, forget this day …
    But I can’t get Digory’s face out of my mind, and I feel ashamed. He’s standing on that platform probably more frightened than he’s ever been, but you’d never tell by looking at him. And here I am, being a coward when I have Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe depending on me.
    The flashing stops and a face appears. I shut my eyes before I can make out who it is, holding on to normalcy for one more desperate moment. My teeth dig into my lower lip.
    I pry my eyelids open to face my worst fears.

Ten
    My captive breath bursts free. The face that fills the square isn’t mine. It’s not even male.
    “Desiree Morningside!” Cassius’s voice echoes through the square. “You have been chosen! Join your fellow Recruits on the podium!”
    It takes a few moments for the words to sink in. Then relief washes over me like the first spring shower, whisking away the anxiety that racks my body. My knees buckle and I lean into Mrs. Bledsoe to steady myself.
    “They couldn’t have you , too,” she says. Her eyes mist over and she clutches me.
    Cole nudges my cheek with his nose. “Don’t be sad you didn’t get picked,” he whispers in my ear.
    I choke back my emotions and squeeze them both.
    A live shot of the faces of the first four Recruits to be selected occupies the four corners of one of the screens. Ophelia, twisting her head to and fro as if she’s still not sure where she is. Gideon, stern, his eyes shifting around him as if he’s studying every minute detail and committing it to memory. Cypress, looking bored, as if she has more important things she’d rather be doing with her time. And finally, Digory, his mouth curved into a huge, dimpled grin, his eyes staring right at me, through me.
    I guess it’s just the front he’s putting up, the bravado in standing up to Cassius and the Establishment.
    Because otherwise I can’t think why this last selection would make him so happy.
    And then the stream of relief I’ve been feeling is contaminated by the dread of what I know lies before him, emphasizing how fleeting true bliss is in the Parish. I look at the empty space in the center of the screen where the live shot of the fifth and final Recruit should be plastered. It seems what little happiness one can wring free of life always comes at someone else’s expense.
    “Desiree Morningside.” Cassius’s voice knifes through my brain. “Come forward and take your place at once.”
    I set Cole on the ground. My eyes connect with Mrs. Bledsoe’s, now drained of any traces of joy.
    “What’s going on? Where is she?” Mrs. Bledsoe asks.
    “I don’t know,” I whisper.
    The cameras swoosh through the square and the restless crowd in search of a live shot of Desiree. But she eludes the spotlight. Her still image is superimposed on the lower right corner of the jumbotrons’ live feed. I stare at the short banged hair, sad brown eyes, thin lips—it’s hard to picture her as a deserter, on the lam for openly defying the draft. My chest tightens. What’s happened to her? And what effect will her absence have on this ceremony?
    I lean into Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe. “Stay here.”
    Forcing myself to move, I walk toward Cass. Before I can get more than a couple of feet, Valerian and another Imp block my path.
    I clear my throat. “Ca … uh … Prefect Thorn? Is everything all right?”
    His only response is the raising of his hand, signaling me to stay back. Valerian sidles up to him and whispers in his ear.
    Movement on the jumbotrons distracts me. There seems to be some commotion going on in the plaza.