Rites of Passage (31 page)

“Be yourself, okay? Be military in college. Just don't do it
here.
”

I want to ask him if he's being himself. If the guy he is here, the hard-ass, squared-away soldier tangling with a secret society, is who he really is, but I don't. By the time I get situated in the car, I'm breathing hard and everything around me is spinning.

“All right, you want to stay? Stay. It's third mess. I'll drop you off at the mess hall. You can march back with your company since you think you're invincible.” He spits the words out, disgusted.

To him, it's always a competition. But if he's part of the Society, it's gone way beyond good old-fashioned sibling rivalry now.

 

During study hall, Nix walks me to the library. He's scanning the PG as we move around it, looking at faces and name tags of each cadet we walk by. Drill hasn't clued them into the Society, but he's told them to keep tabs, to notice who is around. Some look at me curiously—the girl who ended up in the hospital after a Weekend Warrior challenge, though they don't know why. Others glare at me—the girl who won't give up.

My legs are still jelly and the painkiller they gave me at the hospital is wearing off, making every step a trial. When we get to the door of the library, I let out the breath I was holding. “Thanks.” In just a few seconds I'll get to sit down with Drill and, once again, try to be a normal teen working on a normal paper, not one whose life is crumbling down around her.

“Get out of my way, recruit.”

The words make me jump.

Evers pushes me aside, knocking me into the door and the door handle into my ribs. Pain explodes in my side and I can't help but cry out. When I catch my breath enough to look up, Evers is smiling. And even when he's smiling, Evers looks evil. I'll never understand what Bekah sees in him.

Nix lunges forward and I put a hand on his arm, holding him back even though it feels like my ribs are slicing into my lungs. “Don't,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

“Oh, forgive me. Did I bump into you, Recruit McKenna?”

“You messin' with my recruits, Evers?” Drill takes up the entire doorway of the library.

“Wasn't looking where I was going. Didn't mean to. I apologized.” Evers doesn't move, challenging Drill.

For a second the air is frozen around us, each of us holding our breath, trying to outlast the others. Drill moves first, stepping toward Evers. “Inside, you two. And don't let me catch you getting in the way of upperclassmen again.”

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, yes, Drill Sergeant Stamm!” we yell, scuttling inside.

“Jesus,” Nix mutters under his breath. “I'd pay good money to see those two square off.”

If I close my eyes I'll see Evers's face again, the threat written plainly for anyone to see. He's untouchable, or at least he thinks so. “I wouldn't,” I say. “Listen, I've got to work on a project. . . .”

“I'll be here until you're ready to go.” Nix sits down next to me.

“At least go get on the internet or something. You don't need to be bored out of your mind and I know you wouldn't lower yourself to actually study.” I grin so he knows I'm playing, but I've got to get him away. Drill and I need to talk and I don't want Nix overhearing anything. He disappears into the movie room, though he sits by the door so he can see me.

When Drill finally reappears, my foot is tap dancing on the floor. “You okay?” he asks, sitting across from me. “How do you feel?”

“I'm fine.” I ignore the steady throb coming from my side. “What's going on?”

“Not here.” He changes the subject before I can ask him more questions. “So, I pulled General Denmark's old journals from the archives for the article we have to write.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out four old leather-bound books, setting them on the table between us. Beneath the table he stretches his legs out, resting one against my calf.

“Right. Normal high school stuff. A paper on the man who founded this wonderful institute of learning.” I pull the top one off the stack and open it. The handwriting is small, but uses all the curlicues they liked in the old days, making it look very impressive and important, though it's probably just about what he ate for breakfast. “It doesn't look like anyone has read these in the last million years. This is going to take forever to get through.”

“I don't think so. We'll keep it easy. Focus on the founding of the DMA. Why he really opened it and what happened in that first year.”

I bite my lip to keep from grinning. His foot presses against mine. I scoot my chair in closer and now we're knee to knee. He drops a hand below the table, leaning forward like he's trying to read the journal I have open upside down. A second later, his fingers open and close on my knee, sending tendrils of electricity shooting in every direction.

Heat sears my face. I shift a little, sinking down in my seat, his hand moving an inch or two higher on my leg. To keep from looking at him, I start skimming the journal. The words aren't familiar but something about it . . . “Wait a second.” I slide up in my chair, bending down over the pages, ignoring the sting of pain in my ribs at the sudden movement. “I recognize this handwriting.”

“You make a habit of reading a dead military general's journals?” But Drill sits up, too, paying attention.

“Not usually, but I've seen this writing before. It was in the letter about blood wings Jax showed me over Christmas.” I'm whispering now, scared that someone will overhear. “But why would Denmark write that letter?”

I see something click in Drill's eyes, and he grabs the journals, tucking them back into his backpack. “Where's Nix?”

“He's on the computer. Why?” I search his face but he's not giving anything away.

“You need to go back to the barracks.” His eyes scan the room, taking in every cadet here.

“Why? Tell me what you've figured out.”

“I've got to be sure first. It can't be. I mean . . .” He shakes his head and doesn't even continue. “Get Nix. Get back to the barracks. I'll come talk to you soon, okay?” He's zipping his backpack and pauses before he walks away. “Be careful.”

“Why don't I just meet you in the armory tonight?”

“No,” he says. “You're hurt.” He leans in close, despite all the people around. “Promise me you'll stay in the barracks tonight, Sam.” There's an urgency in his voice I've never heard before.

I nod in agreement because I don't know what to say. He stays until I go get Nix and we all leave the library at the same time.

 

But a week later, Drill still hasn't explained his little freak-out. He acts like it didn't happen at all. Other than class stuff and how to write our paper, Drill says nothing more of the handwriting. Matthews refuses to let me participate in company training or the Weekend Warrior challenges so I continue reading Denmark's journals, but they just leave more questions than answers.

After English, I hang back, waiting for all the other cadets to leave before approaching Professor Williams. Drill notices and waits with me. “What are you doing, Mac?”

“Miss McKenna, Mr. Stamm. How may I help you?” Professor Williams smiles and leans back against his desk.

“Sir, we think we've found something interesting to report about General Denmark.”

“That's wonderful, Miss McKenna.”

“We've run into a problem, though.” I keep my gaze on the professor. Drill stiffens at my side. “See, I've been reading through the journals and this one”—I pull the journal in question out of my backpack—“just stops.”

“Sam,” Drill says through clenched teeth. “I told you I'd look into it. I'm sorry, Professor . . .”

“You haven't talked to me in a week,” I snap, tired of being left in the dark and not caring that Professor Williams is hearing this. “I'm not just going to sit back and wait.”

“I'm on it. Can't you just—”

“If this has something to do—”

“Is there something you wanted from
me
, Miss McKenna?” Professor Williams's head pivots back and forth between us like he's at a tennis match.

“In this journal Denmark's talking about a select group of cadets he wants to put in charge of disciplinary hearings, but then just stops. There's nothing more. I've looked through the next journal, but it doesn't mention anything else about this group.”

“Professor,” Drill says, “this isn't the focus of our project, it's just something on the side that Sam got interested in. It's not important.”

“Generally I encourage this type of associative research. If one thing leads to another, then the researcher has an obligation to put the pieces together, to give us a whole view of the subject for the report.”

I shoot Drill a look, happy to be right.

“However,” he continues, his voice laced with warning, “I have to agree with Mr. Stamm. I think you should stick to the Denmark we all know about. Sometimes when a person stops talking about something . . . it's for a reason.”

There's a knock at the classroom door and Evers walks in. Drill grabs the journal out of my hand and slides it into his backpack, nudging me to take a step back.

“Professor Williams, I need to talk to you about a project.”

“Cadet Evers, we were just finishing up here.” He turns to us, clearing his throat. “Thank you all for your update. Again, staying broad, focusing on just a general character sketch—that's the assignment.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Drill says. “Recruit McKenna, you've wasted enough of the professor's time. Let's go.”

“Thank you, sir.” I follow Drill out of the room, glancing back once at Evers but he's already shutting the door.

“Keep walking. Go to your next class. We'll talk later.” I start to argue but he won't let me. “Just listen for once, okay? Please, Sam,” he begs.

“Okay, but we're not done talking about this.” I push open the door to the building and step outside.

THIRTY-TWO

CADETS MOVE LIKE ANTS AROUND THE PG AND I KEEP TO THE
gutters, eyes straight ahead, though I'm committing the name of each cadet I pass to memory. Some of the names are becoming familiar and I'll add them to the list when I get back to the barracks. Possible members of the Society. Evers has kept a low profile since his meeting with Williams, but even though Jax is looking, we haven't found a connection between that visit and the professor's mysterious absence from classes for the past week.

I pull open the door to the lab. A few cadets are scattered around. Drill is in the back row at the computer I usually use.

“You can sit back here, recruit. I'm just finishing up work on our PowerPoint.” He sounds genuine enough, but his eyes don't meet mine—they're scanning the other cadets in the computer lab.

“Hi,” I say quietly when I sit next to him. Ritchie, my sidekick for the evening, sits a few computers down. “Any word on Professor Williams?”

“No. Still the same story—his wife is sick and he's taking emergency leave.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?” With Bekah as my roommate it's been impossible to sneak out for PT with him and Huff. We haven't even had a chance to talk it through, but it's got to be the Society. Evers must have known what we were talking about and now Williams is gone. “Drill?”

“Stop,” he whispers. He's not looking at me, but he's serious. His jaw is tensed and his hands curl into fists on his lap.

Jonathan moves to the first row of computers and Lyons enters seconds later. Drill sucks in a breath and I almost stand and salute, doing my stupid recruit duties and yelling, “Officer on deck!”

Drill puts his hand on my arm to keep me seated. “He hasn't noticed you yet. Just sit.” His eyes don't leave Jonathan and the senior beside him; he looks upset.

They're deep in conversation, sitting at the computers but not logging on. Even though they're hunched close together, Jonathan's hands are moving, a sure sign he's worked up about something.

To my left, Drill sits alert, muscles tense, like he's waiting to spring. “Do what you need to do, but be quick about it. I'm walking you back to the barracks.”

When I've logged in to my email, Jax's is the only unread mail I have. Finally. It's been three weeks since the shooting. Three weeks since I've heard from her.

I try to ignore Drill next to me. He's like a coil of balled up energy, ready to strike. My eyes skim the email.

 

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: News

We need to meet. I know who shot you. But more than that. I have a NAME.

 

Drill's quick intake of breath makes me jump. His eyes are on my computer screen and I log off the computer without responding.

“I'm ready,” I whisper, my voice shaking. I glance at him again but his eyes are back on Jonathan.

“I'm going to stop and talk to him. You go by like you don't even notice. I'll meet you outside.”

It's just Jonathan. I shouldn't have to sneak by him. But he's with Lyons, and with our suspicions, we've got to be cautious. Ritchie sees us getting ready and packs his stuff up. As Drill passes Ritchie, he whispers something and goes on ahead.

“Colonel McKenna, glad to see you here,” Drill hoists his backpack on his shoulder and walks over to the aisle of computers Jonathan is at. He stands blocking Jonathan's view of the aisle, of us.

Ritchie nudges me and we walk by as quickly as we can.

“My recruits have some questions about Junior Ring. . . .” His voice fades away as Ritchie and I make our way out of the science building and onto the PG.

“What was that about?” Ritchie asks.

“I wish I knew.”

“What's going on, Mac? Everyone knows there's something up.”