Before he left he topped off the water supply in his pack and adjusted the brim of his floppy hat. Used the upstairs toilet, which still had some water in the bowl. It was going to be a long day.
Outside the sun turned everything white and brown. It was hard to see for the glare, even with sunglasses on. Days like that weren’t uncommon in the Arizona desert. Jake knew which way to go, even without checking the street signs. He’d walked this way a thousand—well, several times before.
There was the corner of the local bank, and there was the entrance to the school parking lot. The school itself rose square and sharply-outlined from the desert. On the far side he could see the green patch of the soccer field, and the rising angles of the football stadium. The—
He heard something. A distant roaring, like waves crashing on a beach. Jake had never been to the ocean, not in his short life, but he knew that sound from television and movies. Except it wasn’t quite right. It didn’t rise and fall rhythmically like ocean breakers. It was more random, more chaotic. He closed his eyes to try to hear it better.
Then he got it. It was the sound of a lot of people all in one place. The sound of people in a crowd talking excitedly amongst themselves.
“Hello, Jake,” a buzzing voice said behind his left shoulder. “Are you ready for your next test?”
Jake nearly jumped out of his boots. He whirled around and saw two Proctors standing right behind him. They weren’t carrying guns but their mirrored masks were more frightening to Jake than any gun could possibly be.
Behind them two more Proctors emerged from the bank. Two more came up a side street, while four of them stepped out of a bakery and formed up behind the rest. More and more of them came—soon there were dozens of them there. Every teacher in the school must have come out for this, and maybe other people, too—it didn’t matter who they were when they wore those masks.
“Does she work for you?” Jake demanded. He needed to know. “Does Megan work for Mr. Zuraw? Is she a spy?”
“Everyone works for us, Jake,” one of the Proctors said. He wasn’t sure which one. “Some of them may not know it.”
It was the best answer he was likely to get.
“What do you want from me?” Jake whined. “Haven’t I gone through enough? Just shoot me already and let this be over.”
“We’re not here to terminate you, Jake,” one of them said. It could have been any of them who spoke. “We are here to form your honor guard. Please proceed to the football stadium, where we may begin your graduation ceremony.”
Ceremony? All Jake could think was that when Mr. Zuraw shot him in the head, there would be a crowd there to watch. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t run away. He couldn’t fight off all those Proctors. He walked around the side of the school and toward the entrance to the stadium, the Proctors marching along behind him in close formation. He started to head up the stairs for the bleachers.
“No, Jake. Please use the players’ entrance.”
Confused, Jake headed through the broad gate that led directly onto the football field. When he stepped out onto the astro-turf, bright lights exploded all around him, blinding him. Thousands of them, coming from every direction at once, popping and flashing at random—
Flashes. Camera flashes. People were taking his picture. He held up one arm to shield his eyes and saw that every seat in the bleachers was filled, that people were sitting in the aisles and hanging off the guard rails. There weren’t that many people in Fulton—people must have come from other towns for this. He saw a few people he recognized in the stands: Cody’s mom, the town librarian, the school nurse, Mr. Fleming. The vast majority of them, however, he’d never seen before in his life.
They started cheering and screaming as soon as he lowered his arm.
“Jake! Jake! Jake!” they shouted. “Jake! Jake! Jake!”
In the center of the field the cheerleading squad waved their pom-poms and kicked up their legs, twirling their short skirts and their blonde hair. From the far side of the stadium the marching band launched into a raucous tune.
Up in the stands all those people held up cards, pale blue cards a foot square. At a cue from the cheerleaders some of them turned their cards over, showing they’d been painted black on one side. From Jake’s perspective the pattern of black cards seemed to form a word.
It said PASS.
One of the Proctors behind him touched Jake’s shoulder and then pointed to the far end of the field. There was a reviewing stand down there, and a raised platform with a set of stairs going up to its top. In front of it all Mr. Zuraw stood waiting, smiling so hard it looked like his face might stretch out of shape. He waved Jake over as if he had great news to impart.
“What’s going on?” Jake asked, running over to the guidance counselor. “What the hell is this?”
“You passed, Jake! For the first time ever, someone passed all the tests! Well, technically, there’s one left, but it’s just a formality. A real no-brainer.”
Jake spun around, trying to see everything at once. The reviewing stand on his left was decked out with red, white, and blue bunting. It held twelve people in folding chairs. Each of them wore a golden mask.
“That’s the Youth Steering Committee,” Jake said.
“Of course! They wouldn’t miss this for the world. For thirty years they’ve been waiting, Jake. Waiting for you. And now at last you’ve come. My boy, I could not possibly be prouder right now. Not even if you were my own son.”
“You’re more than a father to me,” Jake thought. And a whole lot less.
“That’s the spirit!”
“But I got a third FAIL,” Jake said, shaking his head. This couldn’t be real. “The bomb—the timer said FAIL when I pulled the wire.”
Mr. Zuraw actually looked surprised. “You thought that was for you? No, my boy, that was for D. That was his third FAIL. You passed that test, with flying colors. I know we put a PASS under your door.”
Despite his bitterness and anger, Jake couldn’t help but feel a wave of shuddering relief. “You mean, I—I’m done?”
Mr. Zuraw nodded happily. “Or just about. One last thing to do and then it’s official.”
“What’s that?” Jake asked. He took a step back to look at the raised platform. Stairs led up to its top where someone was kneeling with his head bowed. Jake looked closer and saw they’d been bound, with their hands tied behind their back. He looked again and realized it was Cody up there.
“It’s less of a test than a reward,” Mr. Zuraw told him. “I have a gun right here. All you have to do, to pass, to graduate, to go on to your real destiny—is step up there and kill him. Kill the boy who said he was your friend. Kill the boy who betrayed you. Easy as pie, right?”
Chapter Sixty
It had to be a hundred degrees on the football field. There were thousands of people watching Jake, cheering him on, so proud of him. It didn’t stop cold dread from gripping him like a bony claw.
“You want me to kill Cody,” he said, slowly.
“Codename Y, you mean. Cody was never his name,” Mr. Zuraw corrected. “He’s not even seventeen. Does that help? He’s twenty-six. He’s been working for me since the beginning of the project. He has a youthful face and when he shaves twice a day he can pass for someone your age.”
Jake nodded. He understood what was going on.
“I, um,” he said, trying to think fast. “I’m kind of grimy.”
“What?” Mr. Zuraw asked, looking perplexed.
“There’s going to be a graduation ceremony afterwards, right? And I get to meet the members of the YSC, shake their hands, that sort of thing?”
“Yes, and then you and I will go back to my office where we can discuss—”
“—my very bright future, right, I remember.” Jake scratched at his cheek. “I just want to look my best for them. They went to so much trouble. Do you think I could just clean up for a minute, first? Take a shower, maybe. Or even just wash my face in a sink.”
/> Mr. Zuraw frowned but then he reached into his pocket and took out a microphone. There was no cord attaching it to any loudspeakers, but when he lifted it to his lips it made his voice boom around the stadium. “Folks, thank you so much for that warm welcome. The candidate needs a minute to collect himself, but as soon as we get back, I want you all to be ready to party!”
The crowd went wild as Mr. Zuraw led Jake out of the stadium and into the school, through the gym. “You can use the showers in the locker room,” Mr. Zuraw said. “But please, Jake, be quick. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“Sure. I just need to go to my locker really quick and get my towel, it’s in my gym bag. It’s locker number 1337, it’s not far—”
Mr. Zuraw cleared his throat and Jake shut up.
“I am not surprised by your hesitation, Jake,” the guidance counselor said. “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once. You still think of Cody as a friend, as misguided as that impulse may be. I must remind you, I think, that this is the last thing you need to do. As soon as it’s done you’ll graduate. You’ll be free of the Curriculum.”
Jake licked his lips. He wanted to laugh. Free? He knew exactly why Mr. Zuraw had chosen this last test. If Jake actually did it, if he shot Cody up on that platform, it would be in front of thousands of witnesses. From that moment on, for the rest of his life, he would have to do everything Mr. Zuraw said. If he didn’t, Mr. Zuraw could just go to the police and have Jake sent to jail for murder.
“Seriously, I just need my towel,” Jake said, walking toward the gym’s interior doors with as much confidence as he could manage. “This won’t take a second—”
“I know your locker number, Jake, and it’s not 1337. I know everything about you, including what you’re planning on doing right now. But how much do you know?”
“Enough to know I want no part in this,” Jake admitted.
“Are you sure? Don’t you want to know why we did it?”
Jake blinked. He stopped where he was. “Did what?”
“Everything.”
Jake turned and stared at the guidance counselor with wide eyes. “I thought I didn’t learn that until after I graduated.”
Mr. Zuraw shrugged. “I see no harm in it. Not now, when you’re so close.” He smiled. “You’re going to be famous, Jake. You’re going to be powerful. It’s possible, with a little luck that you could become President of the United States when you’re old enough. The YSC are very influential people. They have a lot of money to work with. They could make that happen.”
Jake said nothing.
“This country is in trouble. Crime is high, and the economy keeps falling. Pollution turned out to be worse than we expected, catastrophically so—the environment is collapsing as we watch. Worst of all no one believes in their leaders anymore. The people we expect to make the hard decisions, to get us back on track, are so desperate for re-election that they promise anything, anything at all to get votes—and then they never deliver. They only make things worse. We need someone, Jake. Someone who can see our problems for what they are. Challenges, but not insurmountable obstacles. Someone who can find solutions everyone can live with. We need someone who can solve the most fiendish puzzles imaginable, and do it without breaking a sweat. We need someone who can really, truly, think. You’ve proven your suitable for the job. And all it takes is for you to go back out there, right now, and do one very simple thing. Something you should find enjoyable.”
Jake felt hot and cold all over. He had no idea what to think, or what to do next.
Mr. Zuraw didn’t suffer from that problem. He reached into his jacket to grab something. The movement spurred Jake into action. His hand was already in his pack—when it came out it was holding D’s stun gun.
Mr. Zuraw’s hand emerged from his jacket holding a gun. He didn’t get to use it. Jake jabbed the stun gun into the guidance counselor’s chest. There was a startlingly loud noise and Mr. Zuraw collapsed to the varnished boards of the gym floor, twitching spastically.
Jake didn’t stop to see if he’d hit his head on the way down. He rushed through the gym doors and out into the hallways of the school. Locker 1337—D had said that if things didn’t work out, if they came to a crisis, he should go to locker 1337. He had no idea what he would find there but it would be worth finding out, he thought.
Unless D worked for Mr. Zuraw, too. Everyone did in the end. Maybe D’s return had been staged. All part of an elaborate test.
No, Jake told himself. He couldn’t think like that, not right now. Sometimes paranoia saved your life but sometimes it cost you everything.
Behind him the doors to the gym creaked open. Mr. Zuraw staggered out, grasping his chest.
“Oh, no,” Jake said.
D had warned him there wasn’t much charge left in the stun gun. Clearly there hadn’t been enough to do more than stun Mr. Zuraw.
Locker 1337 was right ahead. Jake ran to it and started dialing in the combination. The same as his own locker combination, D had said. He turned the dial left to 2, then right to 48, then left again to 6.
Behind him Mr. Zuraw was crawling down the hall. Crawling toward him. He didn’t have a gun—Jake guessed this was his lucky day.
“I’m—giving you—a choice,” Mr. Zuraw said, biting off the words as if cost him great amounts of energy to speak. “You can—go back—right now. Or fail. If you—don’t—do this, it’ll be your third—fail. You know—what that means.”
Jake laughed. “That’s a choice? That isn’t a choice. Picking between two options when there’s a gun to your head and picking the wrong one means your death. That’s no kind of choice at all.”
“So you’re going—to run?” Mr. Zuraw grimaced in sudden pain. “There’s no—incomplete for you. I’ll—find you. And kill you.”
“Or I can stay here and be your slave.” Jake pulled open the locker door.
“Stay here—and be—with Megan,” Mr. Zuraw said. “Or go—and never—see her again. How’s that for a—choice?”
Jake closed his eyes. Mr. Zuraw knew how to push his buttons—the man always had. They were, after all, buttons he had given Jake in the first place. Kill Cody, be a slave, but a slave in love with the girl with those blue eyes… or run, run and be free, free to hide in caves in the mountains forever, to always wonder what could have happened.
He opened his eyes. Inside the locker were a six pack of bottled water and a folded piece of paper. Nothing else. Jake opened up the piece of paper and saw it was a map. It showed the main roads and more secluded tracks leading up into the foothills. It showed places to hide, places where it was safe to sleep. That was all that D could give him. What he had sacrificed his life for, to give Jake this chance.
“I can’t—stop you—like this,” Mr. Zuraw said. “But I can—warn you, you’ll never—be safe—never be at peace. There is no—going back.”
Jake looked down at the man crawling toward him across the floor. He could still say yes. He could still turn around, go back up to the top of that platform, and graduate. He looked up and saw a doorway leading outside, into the desert. He could still say no. He could run. He could be free.
For the first time in his strange life, Jake McCartney made a choice.
THE END
About The Author
David Wellington was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He attended Syracuse University and received an MFA in creative writing from Penn State.
In 2004 he began serializing his novel Monster Island online. The book rapidly gained a following, and was acquired for print publication by Thunder’s Mouth Press.
Since then, Wellington has published more than 15 novels, and has been featured in The New York Times, Boing Boing and the Los Angeles Times.
You can find him online at davidwellington.net.
More Books by David Wellington
DIGITAL EDITIONS
Plague Zone
Pass Fail
Rivals
PRINT AND DIGITAL
Monster Island
Monster Nation
Monster Planet
The Laura Caxton Vampire Novels
13 Bullets
99 Coffins: A Historical Vampire Tale
Vampire Zero: A Gruesome Vampire Tale
23 Hours: A Vengeful Vampire Tale
32 Fangs: A Vampire Tale
The Frostbite Werewolf Novels
Frostbite: A Werewolf Tale
Overwinter: A Werewolf Tale
AS DAVID CHANDLER
The Ancient Blades Trilogy
Den of Thieves
A Thief in The Night
Honor Among Thieves
A Sample From Rivals
If you enjoyed this digital edition of Pass/Fail, look for the digital edition of Rivals by David Wellington, in stores now.
Rivals
Chapter 1.
“When are you going to start rebelling, kid?” Brent’s father asked. He shifted his pack on his back and started clambering down a rough-walled ravine, where a flash flood had cut through the desert like a knife after last month’s storms.
“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to rebel against,” Brent answered. He reached forward with one boot and found a rock that didn’t shift when he put his weight on it. It was easy enough going, but you had to be careful. Brent grabbed at the tough roots of a juniper bush and stopped still when a scree of pebbles started shifting under him. “It seems to me we have it pretty good—you look at some of the people in this world who don’t have anything to eat, or their government forces them out of their homes, and—”
At the top of the ravine, Brent’s older sister Maggie appeared silhouetted against the sun. “Would you two hurry up?” she whined. “I want to get back to civilization. You know, where people have cell phones that actually get a signal?”
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