The Initiation

by Chris Babu

  Drayden balled his fists. They were running out of time. Think, dammit! They had thirty seconds done. How could they add that last fifteen?

  “Catrice, anything?”

  She bit down on her lower lip. “I…I don’t know. It’s too much pressure. Something with that second wick? We relight it, or pause it, I’m not sure.”

  Drayden pictured the burning wicks in his mind. “What if…” He dropped his pencil. Wait. Was that it? “Catrice! That second wick.”

  She inched closer and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “Two minutes, Drayden! Hurry!” Sidney screamed.

  “That second wick.” Drayden bounced up and down. “We start it at the same time as we light both ends of wick one. When wick one is done, thirty seconds will have gone by, right? Wick two will be half done. We light the other end of wick two, and—”

  “Yes! That’s it. You got it! If you light the other end of wick two when it’s half done and it’s burning from both ends, it’ll finish in fifteen seconds!” She leaned forward and hugged Drayden.

  They both jumped up.

  “Tim! Tim!” Drayden said. “We got it!”

  “Nice job, bud. Everyone gather around!” he called out. The pledges gathered around Drayden. “What do we need to do?” Tim asked.

  Drayden scanned their faces. “We need, how many, four people to light wicks at the same time. Who wants to be a lighter?”

  “I’m in,” Tim said.

  “Me too,” Sidney said.

  Charlie slapped himself. “Hell yeah.”

  Nobody else volunteered. They needed one more. All eyes shifted to Alex, as he slowly backed away.

  “Screw that,” Alex said. “Sorry, guys. I’ll be in the back row.” He jogged back to the furthest steel pillar in the room and crouched behind it.

  “Freaking shkat flunk,” Tim said. “He’s probably hoping some of us don’t survive. One minute left.”

  Catrice and Drayden faced each other, their eyes locked. One of them needed to absorb the greater risk of death as a lighter.

  Tim wrinkled his forehead. “Dray, maybe…maybe I can light two at once. You and Catrice go take cover. We can do it.”

  Drayden needed to do this. He was going to protect Catrice. He wasn’t going to be scared anymore.

  “No,” Drayden stated. He stood tall. “I’ll do it.”

  “Drayden, no,” Catrice protested.

  “It has to be exact,” Drayden said, “and we need to ensure it’s done right. One of us needs to be up here to direct. If something goes wrong…” he gulped, “either me or you need to survive to handle the rest of the brainteasers. You go take cover. I got this.”

  Tim patted Drayden on the back. “That’s my boy!”

  Catrice hugged Drayden tight. She pulled back and gazed into his eyes with her hands on his cheeks.

  Sidney scowled at Catrice, unable to hide her disgust. “If you’re gonna hide, then do it!”

  Catrice snatched up her backpack and bolted. She crouched behind the other pillar in the back across from Alex.

  Drayden checked the clock.

  Thirty seconds left.

  “Everybody get a pack of matches,” he said. “Practice lighting them once right now.”

  Everyone struck a match. They all burst into flame on the first attempt.

  “Good, blow them out. Get another match ready for the real thing.” Drayden wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Crud! Almost out of time. Um, Tim and Sidney, you’re on that wick closest to the wall, we’ll call that wick one. Each light an end when I say so. Charlie, you’re on this wick nearest to us, we’ll call it wick two, and just light one end. I’ll light the bomb. I’ll count down from three. I’ll say—this is just practice!—I’ll say three, two, one, light. Have your match already lit, ready to go.”

  00:08, 00:07…

  “Light your match!” Drayden held his breath.

  He exhaled as they all lit, his hands shaking. Please don’t mess this up. Don’t miss the wick. Don’t drop the match. “Get in position near the wick.” He eyed the clock. “Three, two, one, light!” He touched the flame to the wick on the bomb.

  Everyone executed. The wicks ignited simultaneously, fizzing, crackling, and burning. The miniature fireballs crawled along the length of the wicks in uneven bursts. The flames lurched on a collision course on Tim and Sidney’s wick.

  “Sid and Charlie, take cover!” Drayden shouted. “Tim, stay with me.”

  Sidney and Charlie ran for the pillars.

  Tim jumped up and down. “Dray, what do I do now?”

  Drayden wiped sweat out of his eyes. He was drenched. He couldn’t remember. Oh God. What was next?

  “Drayden!” Tim screamed, contorting his face.

  “Okay, okay!” he said. “Uh, right, when your wick is done, when the two flames meet, you light the other end of Charlie’s wick. Get ready.”

  Tim teed up his match. “What are you going to do?”

  “When that second wick is done, the one you’re about to light, I’m pulling out the detonator. As soon as you light the other end of that wick, go hide.”

  “No way. I’ll do it, you go.”

  “Tim, we’re almost out of time!” Drayden screamed.

  “Dammit, Drayden!”

  “It’s very close, Tim, light your match.” Drayden virtually touched his nose to wick one’s moving fireballs to capture the exact moment they converged. “Ready…light!”

  Tim lit the end of wick two. Fifteen seconds left.

  The blinding fizzle of the burning wick hypnotized them both. Drayden checked the wick on the bomb, which was about two-thirds done.

  “Tim, go! Run!” Drayden yelled.

  Tim stood fast. “I’m staying.”

  “Come on, you guys! You can do it!” Sidney shouted from the back of the room.

  This is it. Drayden shuddered. If he pulled out the detonator even a second early they were both dead for sure, and the others might die too. He wiped his clammy palms on his jeans. How hard was it to dislodge the detonator? Should he just tug it straight up? Rotate it? He couldn’t test it, or practice, it might go off. He wiped his hands on his jeans once again.

  Tim looked crazed. “Almost there, Drayden!”

  “Say ‘now’ when it’s done, Tim, I’m focusing on the detonator.”

  Please don’t explode.

  “Ready…now!” Tim yelled.

  Drayden gripped the detonator and yanked up.

  His fingers slipped off.

  He stopped breathing. No!

  He seized it again and pulled up.

  It didn’t budge. He tried again. It was locked.

  Oh no.

  He looked at Tim.

  Tim gawked at the bomb in horror.

  “Tim, run!” Drayden screamed. He turned to bolt.

  Tim grabbed the bomb, jerked the detonator, but failed to dislodge it. “C’mon!” He pulled with all his strength, turning red in the face.

  “Tim, leave it! Run!” Drayden spun and bolted.

  “Tim!” Sidney shrieked.

  As swiftly as Drayden ran, time slowed down. His movements occurred in slow motion. His mind went blank.

  The others crouched behind the furthest pillars, hands over their ears and their eyes closed.

  Drayden sprinted for the nearest one. He planned on diving behind it.

  That was the last thing he remembered.

  CHAPTER 15

  Pain.

  A sharp throbbing in the back of Drayden’s head, and his back. Ringing. Something was ringing.

  He was lying face down. What the hell was going on? And what was ringing?

  When he opened his eyes, they immediately burned and watered. It was so smoky in here. The smoke burned his nostr
ils with each breath, made difficult by his runny nose. His face was an inch from a cement floor.

  Bright red ink covered it.

  Or was that blood?

  Drayden started to prop himself up on his elbows.

  Pain exploded in his back.

  He cried out and dropped his head back down.

  Wait. The bomb.

  Tim.

  “Tim!” His throat burned like acid, sound barely escaping his lips. He touched his nose.

  His fingers came away dripping with blood.

  He managed to rest his chin on the cement so he could see in front of him. Lifting his head at all aggravated the stabbing pain in his back. Where was everybody else?

  Catrice.

  “Catrice!” he tried to yell, only managing a whisper. He squinted to glimpse through the smoky white haze.

  Bodies lay on the ground.

  They’re dead. No, there’s movement!

  Hands clutched heads. Someone got on their hands and knees. Another stood up shakily and stumbled toward him.

  “Who is that?” Drayden rasped.

  The figure was ten feet away…five.

  Drayden drew in a quick breath. Oh my God.

  It was Sidney. Blood dripped down her face from the top of her head. She wiped it out of her eyes. “Drayden! You’re alive! Thank God. Don’t move.”

  He could barely hear her. The ringing. His eardrums must have been damaged.

  Kneeling by his head, she stroked his hair, smearing it with blood from her hands. “Can you get up? What’s hurt?”

  “My back, my head. Mostly my back,” he groaned. “Tim. Where’s Tim?”

  Sidney looked beyond Drayden. “Oh no. Dray, sit tight.” She rose and stumbled behind him.

  Drayden couldn’t turn his head. “Sid!” he struggled to yell. “Is he okay? Tim!”

  Sidney returned and slumped on the ground, facing away from Drayden.

  “Sid, where’s Tim? Where’s Tim!”

  She faced him, her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes red. She whimpered, tears forming streaks of exposed pale skin on her bloody cheeks.

  “No, Sid. No! Tim!” he cried.

  “He’s dead, Drayden,” she whispered.

  “No, he’s not. Tim!” Drayden burst into tears. “Sid, go check him again. Please, go check again.”

  “He’s dead! He’s gone. He’s not breathing, he has no heartbeat, he’s got…terrible injuries.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, blood and tears dripping all over her hands.

  Drayden forgot everything. His pain, the Initiation, Catrice. He wailed, crying raw, savage tears. He shook uncontrollably, moaning. Tim couldn’t be gone. He was just there. And it was Drayden’s fault. It was his fault Tim entered at all. His fault Tim died. Drayden had screwed up. He didn’t deserve to live. He should be dead, not Tim.

  He bawled unashamedly.

  “Drayden?”

  The ringing dissipated. He peered through his fingers.

  Catrice’s hair had turned totally pink from blood, which also splotched her face.

  “Catrice, you’re injured,” Drayden whispered. He wiped blood and tears from his eyes.

  “It’s a cut on my head, that’s all. Probably looks worse than it is.” She knelt beside him.

  “Catrice…Tim,” he wailed.

  “I know,” she said, tearing up. “I’m so sorry. Tim was a great friend, and very brave. Drayden, what’s hurt?”

  “My back.” He sniffled. “I can’t move. It hurts too much when I try.”

  Catrice craned her neck up to check out his back and gasped. She jumped back down, shielding her eyes.

  Drayden began to hyperventilate. “What? What is it?”

  Catrice kept her eyes covered. “Sidney, can you look at his back?”

  Drayden’s eyes darted between the two of them. Panic set in, nervous heat enveloping his face.

  Sidney rolled up onto her knees and peered over his shoulder at his back. She sat back on her feet and brushed the hair out of Drayden’s eyes. “It’s no big deal,” she said in an extra calm voice. “Don’t freak out. We can fix it. You have a piece of metal sticking out of your back. I’m going to pull it out.”

  Drayden stretched to reach Sidney. “No! Don’t touch it. Please!”

  “Shhhh. I’m just going to take a closer look right now. Don’t worry. I’m not going to touch it yet. I just want to see how deep it is.” She stood and walked behind him.

  “Don’t touch it, Sid, please,” Drayden whimpered. “How does it look? Is it bad?”

  A volcano of pain erupted in his back and his vision blurred. He cried out in agony, writhing. The pain radiated throughout his entire body in waves, unbearable at their crest.

  “Got it,” Sid said. She knelt in front of him, caressing Drayden’s hair again, her face mere inches from his. “I’m sorry, but that was the best way. It had to come out. You would have died here otherwise.”

  Drayden cried. From the pain in his back and his head, though mostly because of Tim.

  “I’m going to use your wipes and gauze to treat that wound,” Sidney said. “Then I’m going to clean the cut on the back of your head, which is pretty serious.”

  Drayden didn’t respond, only continued to sob.

  Sidney dressed Drayden’s wounds, delicately tending to him. Whatever astonishing substance existed in those wipes decreased his pain in seconds. Catrice sat in front of him, using her wipes to clean her own face and the cut on her head. Charlie and Alex hobbled over, their heads bandaged, blood spattering their necks and shirts. Alex had tied his red bandana over the head dressing.

  “Just like new,” Sidney said to Drayden. “Time to try and get up.”

  He propped up on his elbows. So far so good. He tucked his knees forward.

  Searing daggers shot into his back and he gasped in pain.

  Sidney supported him under the arms to assist. “Power through it, Drayden. You can do it.”

  He forced himself up, his body screaming in agony. The room spun, the dark spots coming again.

  Arms braced him.

  His eyes closed, he reached for Sidney and Catrice, who both hovered nearby. “I’m all right,” Drayden said. He opened his eyes and found Sidney inches away.

  Blood, now caked into a dark crimson, still covered her face and stained her shirt.

  “You took care of me before yourself,” Drayden said, his eyes moistening again. “Thank you, Sidney.” He hugged her and held her close for a moment, resting his head on her shoulder.

  She hugged back gently and pulled away. She smiled. Not a flirty smile, but a genuine, warm smile.

  “Can I help you clean up that cut?” Drayden asked her.

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  Catrice watched them. She’d wrapped the bandages on her own head like a headband. Her flowing pink locks cascaded down her shoulders.

  Drayden gently scrubbed the deep gash in Sidney’s head first, then cleaned her face. He secured her wound with gauze and tape, then wiped his own face clean. He didn’t dare look at Tim’s body just yet.

  “Thank you, Drayden,” Sidney said, gazing into his eyes.

  “You guys?” Charlie said. “Dray, I’m sorry about Tim. It’s time to get going.”

  Drayden faced Tim’s body.

  Tim lay on his stomach, his arms splayed out to the sides. One leg was scrunched forward, the other extended back. His cheek rested in a wide pool of dark red blood, his blank eyes open.

  A wave of nausea overcame Drayden.

  “Don’t look,” Sidney said. “It’ll only make it harder.”

  Drayden gingerly bent down and pulled the water and painkillers from his backpack. He swallowed another pill. Two left now. He loosened the back of his hat and carefully pulled it down over t
he bandaging. No longer able to wear his backpack, he carried it in his hand.

  Alex and Charlie passed the body without stopping. They rounded the smoldering pile of wood that used to be the table and walked through the open door.

  Drayden lumbered for the door flanked by Sidney and Catrice. He stopped in front of the body and knelt in front of Tim, ignoring the stabbing pain in his back.

  Tim’s vacant eyes stared into space. Blood soaked his hair, matting it to his head. The severe and clearly fatal wound was to the back of his head.

  Drayden stroked Tim’s hair, tears running down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Tim. You’re the best friend anyone ever had. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry. I love you.” He wiped his tears and took Tim’s lifeless hand in his own. “Goodbye,” he whispered.

  Sidney and Catrice both wrapped their arms around his shoulders as he stood. They rounded the burning rubble and exited through the door, back into the tunnel.

  Nobody spoke. Only four blocks away, Fourteenth Street all but guaranteed another challenge. The tracks ran in an extended straightaway here. Light from the approaching station already glowed in the distance.

  Drayden eventually stopped crying, internalizing his pain. Tim had been there so many times to protect him over the years. Fighting so Drayden didn’t have to, turning the tables on bullies. He didn’t deserve Tim as a best friend. Why was Tim so wonderful to him?

  That’s what friendship was, he guessed. They were each other’s only real friends. Tim wasn’t even close to his own family. Drayden was all he’d had. In a way, Tim was like a second brother to Drayden, only without all the sibling fighting, and only the good stuff.

  Now, because of Drayden, he was dead. He had been alive thirty minutes ago, and now he wasn’t. He was murdered by the Bureau, and by Drayden’s carelessness. First the Bureau took away his mom, and now his best friend. How could a government allow this to happen to its citizens? Its children? The Watchers had just witnessed a child get blown up on camera. They were monsters. Screw the Bureau and their stupid Initiation.

  Drayden should have let Tim pull out the damn detonator. Why did he insist on doing it himself? To prove to himself and everyone else he wasn’t a coward? Look how that turned out. He didn’t pay the price for his failure—Tim did. Although Drayden’s family wasn’t religious, if Heaven existed, or wherever the soul floated after death, he might just let himself be exiled. He could die and join Tim and his mother.