Croak by Gina Damico

“Worse—business school. Can you believe it? Two years of Croak, then one day the kid decided he wants to be the next Donald Trump. So we threw him in a car, dropped him off near Woodstock, and now he thinks he spent the past two years in a drug-addled haze at some hippie commune.”
    “Nice severance package.”
    “It’s for our own protection,” Uncle Mort said. “Same fate awaits any Grims who refuse to Kill or Cull their targets, or who breathe a word of any of this to the outside world.”
    Lex bristled. Total confidentiality? What was she supposed to tell her sister, that she’d been shearing sheep this whole time? Cordy would never buy it.
    “Yeah, zero tolerance policy,” Driggs said. “One wrong move and you’re gone. And not just banned from Croak—from the entire Grimsphere, too. Memory wiped clean, and it’s back to your miserable old existence. But that’s really rare. A lot of people are in this for life. It’s a pretty sweet gig.”
    “Oh, definitely,” Lex said with a bitter edge, thinking back to the uneasiness she had felt while Killing, the faces of yesterday’s targets. “Ending people’s lives is such a hoot.”
    Uncle Mort stopped walking and grabbed Lex’s elbow. She looked up at him, startled, as he spoke. “Veterinarians don’t delight in putting sick animals to sleep, but that’s part of the job, isn’t it? The alternative would be inhumane.” His face was inches from hers, his eyes fiery. “Lex, if you’re not just being a smart-ass, if you really do have a problem with all this, now’s the time to say so. If you’re hesitant, you’re a liability, and if you’re a liability, you sure as hell are never going to be a Grim.”
    Lex instantly felt very small. No matter how morally ambivalent she was feeling, one thing was for sure: she didn’t want to leave. “No, I—the smart-ass thing. I’m fine. I’m okay with it.”
    “Good.” Uncle Mort let go of her arm and started walking again.
    Lex, cowed, followed him. “Except I’m really not okay with that shock that comes with Killing people.”
    “Oh, the little pinch?” Uncle Mort said, seemingly in better spirits. Lex couldn’t keep up with these mood swings of his. “That’s nothing. You’ll get used to it. I barely even feel it anymore.”
    “No, I mean the massive shock that feels like I’m jabbing my finger into a power line.”
    “Really?” Uncle Mort shot her a curious look. “Interesting.”
    “Actually, no. Painful. Why is it happening? And why only to me?”
    He furrowed his brow, lost in thought for a few moments. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Though I’ll bet it has something to do with those natural abilities of yours. I’ve never seen anyone Kill so fast, especially on the first try.”
    “Huh?”
    “Most Killers have to hold their fingers to the target for a second or two, but you Killed instantly. And I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had to jump in to finish the job of a rookie because they couldn’t release the Gamma completely. But you did, every time.” He glanced at her. “Best rookie Kills I’ve seen in . . . well, ever.”
    She swallowed. “What do you think that means?”
    “No idea. At the very least, I’d say that it hints at a slew of further potential. Who knows where you could go from here?” He patted her on the back. “I had a feeling you’d be gifted.”
    Lex crinkled her face. He was making her sound like a nerd.
    “Anyway, with talent like yours—Croak isn’t the only game in town, you know,” Uncle Mort went on, his eyes glinting as they arrived at the Ghost Gum. “There are other cities, other positions. Ladders to be climbed, places you can really go, if you so possessed the ambition.”
    “Maybe I do.”
    He looked at her. “Well, that’s all a long way off,” he said, waving his hand to dismiss the thought. “First you must establish a firm understanding of the fundamentals. It takes a lot of hard work to ascend to a