The Elite, page 1
THE ELITE
By
Rane Mokeev
To Becky.
Home team, long haul.
"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are."
-E.E. Cummings
“A man who does not think for himself does not think at all.”
-Oscar Wilde
"All in all you're just another brick in the wall."
-Pink Floyd
PROLOGUE
Initiation
“If you want to be one of us,” Raven said, “you have to kill.”
Kail Conrad, college student, age nineteen, knelt before the masked man he knew only as Raven. Like Raven, Kail wore a ski mask and was clad in a long, black coat that reached down to his ankles. Three others, all similarly dressed, stood around him, watching him the way guards might watch a condemned man. Golden candlelight flickered on the walls, which were the bare wood of an attic. This was the altar room; the room Kail's brothers had not allowed him entry until only recently.
“I understand,” Kail said, speaking like a scolded child. He'd failed Raven tonight, and that was not tolerated.
A man stepped between Kail and Raven. His name was Satchel Caine, known better to his brothers as Sage.
“The kid got away,” Sage said, “but he didn't get far. Let us find him, Raven. He'll be dead by morning.” He looked down at Kail, who kept his eyes on the floor. “Kail will be one of us. I promise you that.”
Raven bowed his head, his masked face shrouded in darkness. “Then find him.”
Sage put a hand on Kail's shoulder. His other hand held a curved fileting knife, the kind used for gutting fish. Kail took it, and liked the way the curves of the handle meshed so naturally with the contours of his hand. Its weight was also perfect, as though it had been designed just for him.
“Let's go, brother,” Sage said. “It's time you were one of us.”
It was just after midnight when Danny Tomms stumbled into the commuter parking lot of Bryerson University. He'd been running for what felt like ages, a hand clenched over the wound in his side. Blood seeped through his fingers from where Kail had cut him. But why? He'd done nothing to them, the so-called brotherhood. He'd heard stories of them before, mostly just whispered rumors told by drunken friends, but this was very real. Kail had jumped him while he was doing nothing more than walking back to his dorm after a long night at the library. He'd pleaded with him to stop, but Kail—it was Kail, right? Wasn't that what the others had called him? He thought so, although his mind was spinning. Kail had come at him, swinging wildly, his face hidden behind a ski mask. The knife had struck him in the right side, just above his hip...at first he thought it was nothing more than a small gash. It wasn't. He was a second year med student and that was enough to know the blade had cut him deep, and if he didn't find help soon he was dead.
Danny fought the pain as he ascended a flight of stairs to the student center, leaving behind a bloody trail with each step, but he had to find a phone. Inside the building, the fluorescent lights hummed. Two halls on his left led to the commuter lounge, while a door on the right led to a stairwell. A sign on that door read “KGON – ONE FLIGHT UP,” and he recognized the sign as the call letters for the school radio station. But what he wanted was the payphone.
He grabbed the receiver and dialed 911.
“Hel--” he coughed, “Help.”
Wiping at his mouth, he found he'd been coughing up blood. The cut was even deeper than he thought.
“Sir?” a female voice said through the line, “Sir? What is your emergency?”
“Please...” he tried to speak, but the pain in his side made him feel like his stomach was on fire. He squinted his eyes, started to cry, and could only mumble his words.
“Sir? Sir? Please, I need to know the nature of your emergency.”
“They...they're trying...”
Danny slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He had to get off his feet. He coughed again, felt blood burning his throat.
The female voice grew panicked. “Sir, please state the nature of your emergency...please, I want to help you but I--”
“R—R—Raven...” Danny said. He then looked through the sliding doors on the opposite side of the lobby. And there, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
Outside, the masked brothers walked towards the student center.
“Bryerson...” Danny said, then coughed. “Bryerson University...”
He could never outrun them. Even if he left the campus there was nowhere to go. There was nothing out here but open land. His only hope was to hide. He dropped the phone, the voice on the line now only a distant whisper.
“Sir? Are you still there? Sir?”
The door to the stairs was just beside him. He opened it slowly, and started up.
Sage was the first to enter the student center. He stopped in the middle of the room with a raised fist to stop his brothers: James, Carter, and Kail. The door to KGON was already closed, the lobby was empty...but the phone was off the hook. Sage nodded to James, who then grabbed the receiver.
“Yeah, we need five pizzas with pepperoni, stat.”
The female voice vented a sigh. “Sir, it's a federal crime to misuse--”
James hung up.
“Hey, Danny boy!” Sage said. “How about you come on out and we get this over with?”
Kail put a hand on Sage's shoulder. “What if the cops send someone?”
“They won't.”
“But what if--”
“Trust me.”
Kail left it at that.
“Sage,” James said, pointing towards the stairs.
They all saw the bloody hand print on the door.
KGON was known for playing lesser known, local bands. All the DJ's were students, some doing it for fun, some for credits. Tonight, Danny had his own reasons for getting on the air.
He stood before a wall of glass, beyond which was the broadcast studio. No one was here, but the faint tune of Pink Floyd's “Comfortably Numb” could be heard--when the studio was unmanned it defaulted to classic rock and was run entirely by computer. He followed the glass wall to a door. His heart leapt when he found it was unlocked.
As the door opened, a flashing red ON AIR sign lit up above him.
So far so good. Looking at the floor he saw he was still leaving a trail of blood, but that only mattered if they followed him up here—and he didn't think they would. They'd find the phone, assume he'd called for help, and if luck was with him, hightail it out of there. That made the most sense, right? No way would they pursue him further. They were beaten. The cops would be on their way to Bryerson right now. And if not he'd make sure someone heard him. The nearest town, Dorset, was almost thirty-five miles away, but the station had been heard that far. He could only hope someone out there was listening.
The controls for the DJ console were simple enough. He'd spent a few months being a DJ online, using software to broadcast tunes to his friends. The software closely resembled the controls before him now. He was confident he could figure it out...given enough time. But time was against him. Even now his head spun. He had to brace himself on the console to keep from falling, and that took two hands...which meant even more blood flowed from his side.
There was an empty silence in here, the result of the soundproof-glass wall. He couldn't hear them, but saw the door to the stairs opening.
They were here.
“Shit,” he cursed, but not before grabbing the mic and dropping to the floor. Pain be damned. “Hello?” he whispered into the mic. Please--” another cough, “please help.”
Shadows passed by on the floor, floating like phantoms. They were heading for the door.
“Please...” Danny said again, but the pain was too much. He could only hope his words were being heard by someone, somewhere. Someone on campus, or beyond, had to be listening.
The red ON AIR light flashed as the door to the studio opened.
Sage smiled behind his mask. “Hey, Danny boy.”
Danny coughed up more blood. “What...do you...want?”
Sage didn't answer. He simply looked at Kail.
“Finish it.”
James and Carter grabbed Danny by his arms, hoisted him up, and dropped him on the console. His arms were spread like Jesus on the cross; the mic only a few inches away from his head. He put up no fight.
Kail brought the knife down into Danny's chest. Blood pooled around the blade, while more spilled from Danny's mouth, muffling any chance of a scream. Kail retracted the blade, felt the teeth-grinding feel of metal against bone as it cut his ribs, and brought it down again. And again. And again. Blood sprayed Kail and his brothers, but they never turned away.
The final stab pierced Danny's heart, and he moved no more.
Kail let go of the knife, leaving it buried in Danny's chest. He stepped back, looked at his hands, and grinned. He'd killed his first deer when he was thirteen. He'd killed his first human being tonight, at the age of nineteen. It felt good.
Over the air, the last stab sounded more like a gush of air across the microphone. Totally indiscernible, and not worth listening to.
Somewhere in the night, on the deserted roads leading to Bryerson University, a young man named Devon Jay changed the radio station.
ONE
Devon eventually settled on a station playing Blue Oyster Cult's “Don't Fear the Reaper,” certain his mother, who sat behind the wheel, would change it. She didn't. They'd been on the road for just over five hours, having begun their journey two days prior from their h
Devon looked out the window. “Should have just waited till morning.”
“I know you don't want to go,” Helen Jay said. “But sweetie, you have to give it a chance.”
“Just be the same as always.”
Helen cringed but hoped it didn't show. Things had been rocky for Devon in the past, the little rabble-rouser that he was. A fight here, a fight there, but she hadn't given up on him. Not for one second. He was a good kid—a bit troublesome, but who wasn't at nineteen?
“You're not in high school anymore, sweetie. It's time to grow up.”
“Just wish we didn't have to go in the middle of the night.”
Helen had misjudged the timing of this last stretch, and taken a few wrong turns here and there. Wisconsin, she quickly realized, had more land than she'd seen in her life. To follow landmarks was about as helpful as following the stars in the sky. “I'm sorry. But Mr. Marshall said he'd be there to meet us.”
“It's gonna be one in the morning by the time we get there.”
“Hey, look on the bright side. Tomorrow's Sunday so you won't have any classes to worry about. You can sleep in as late as you want and see the sights, Mr. Independent.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning his attention back to the window. Trees were now scarce and houses a rarity. Occasionally he would spot a faint glimmer of light, probably from someone's porch, but that was it. There was nothing else. Nothing else that looked anything like home.
“I miss Connecticut.”
“I know, so do I.”
Devon kept his mouth shut for a few minutes, then said: “Wish it wasn't out in the fuckin boonies.”
Helen glanced over but said nothing. They were almost there and the last thing she wanted was to leave her son at a new school on bad terms. She vowed there would be no fights, no arguing. It's what Devon needed to make the most of this fresh start.
They passed a sign, caught for only a moment in their headlights.
BRYERSON UNIVERSITY – ONE MILE – BRIDGE AHEAD.
The bridge was not one they ever wished to cross again. Made entirely of wood and suspended fifteen feet over a black river, the boards beneath their car creaked and dipped under their weight. There were few bridges like this back home in Stratford, Connecticut. Helen let out a sigh of relief once they had crossed it. From there it was a short ride to the walls—Devon couldn't help noting their resemblance to prison walls—of Bryerson University, marked by a sign above the main gate that read:
BRYERSON UNIVERSITY – WHERE YOU MAKE YOUR FUTURE.
They parked in the commuter lot, which was noticeably devoid of cars—only three in all. From there it was a short walk to Halvorsen Hall, the administration building. The outer door of Halvorsen Hall was open, but the inner door was locked. Helen keyed Joseph Marshall's extension into a call box next to the door.
“Mrs. Jay?” said a gruff, yet friendly voice.
She pressed the talk button and leaned forward. “Hello, Mr. Marshall. I hope we're not too late.”
“Not at all! Please, come right up.”
There was a mechanical click, and the door opened.
Joseph Marshall's office was on the third floor. The floor smelled like an office supply store. Paper, ink, and fresh copies even given the late hour. Very administrative, and very unsettling, Devon thought. Being in such a place in the middle of the night had a dizzying wrongness to it.
Joseph Marshall stood in the hall next to his office door. “Devon! So glad you could make it,” he said. He wasn't what Devon had imagined from the voice. Short, bald, with a belly that hung over his waistband, Marshall looked like the college nerd that never grew up. All he needed was a nice pair of Coke bottle glasses.
Devon shook Marshall's hand when he offered it.
“Thank you for letting us come so late,” Helen said. “I know this must be an inconvenience.”
“Nonsense!” Marshall said in a jovial, and equally sincere, voice. “Believe it or not, I've found my time in the office preferable to the alternative...but please, don't tell my wife!”
She laughed. “Of course not.”
“Well then, please come in,” he said, directing them inside his office. It looked more like a study, really. The kind of room where a Poe character hears a wrapping at his chamber door. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with books that—given that teenage nerdiness Marshall seemed to exhume—were probably well loved. Above the desk was where Marshall had assembled a collection of various certificates and degrees, all documenting his achievements through the years. In the corner of the office a phonograph crackled and popped through a record of Beethoven's Fifth.
Marshall sat at his desk and directed them to two chairs just in front of it.
“Thank you,” Helen said as she took a seat, and nodded to Devon to do the same. He did, but with his eyes focused on the papers spread out on Marshall's desk. Each sheet had his name at the top.
“First of all,” Marshall said, “Welcome to Bryerson University. I hope you'll enjoy your time here. Before we got any further, though, I think it's only fair to discuss the terms of your stay with us...is that all right, Devon?”
Devon nodded.
“Yes,” Mrs. Jay said. “Of course. Devon is very anxious for a fresh start.”
“Good,” Marshall said, and folded his hands. “Devon, you've attended two previous schools—is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Marshall selected one paper from the piles on his desk. In the light Devon recognized it as a sheet he'd seen many times before. “I see you were suspended from Southern Connecticut State University, your previous school, and subsequently expelled for alleged misconduct...an altercation that resulted in a student being thrown down a flight of stairs.”
Mrs. Jay cringed.
“It was a fight,” he said, and with noticeable shame, “and he fell.”
Marshall lowered the paper. “If we're going to move forward, it's good to have a clean slate. Might I ask how this altercation came to be?”
“He was just a stupid jock-type trying to impress his buddies. I just wanted to be left alone. Apparently you can take the jock out of high school...” he stopped there. No need to mention how he'd thrown that jock down the stairs. His mother certainly didn't want to hear about it again. And Marshall probably already knew.
Marshall nodded. “Your mother says you're ready for a fresh start, and we're ready to give you that opportunity, if you're ready. Are you ready, Devon?”
Instead of an over-eager, and obviously prepared sure, or yeah! Devon seemed to give it genuine thought.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then let me tell you a little about our history. Bryerson prides itself on keeping its students focused. As I'm sure you've noticed, our location lends itself well to studying and hard work. It appears most of your previous schools were in walking distance of city life, but there are no such temptations here. Here we're all about learning. Our internet is strictly regulated, and thanks to our location cell phones are non-existent.”
“No cell phones?” Devon said, hoping his texting withdrawal wouldn't be too obvious.
“No. No cell phones. We here at Bryerson pride ourselves on that.”
“I think that's just what he needs,” Mrs. Jay said.
Marshall smiled in acknowledgment. “Founded in 1873, Bryerson was built to be a self-sustaining environment. We have the Rockies to the west, open land all around, the fact is we're on our own. Winter, spring, summer, and fall.”
“And if there's a problem?” Mrs. Jay asked.
“I assure you we're perfectly safe,” Marshall said. “The local authorities in Dorset are only a phone call away.”
Mrs. Jay nodded, glanced to Devon. “Good. I'd hope so.”
“So, Devon,” Marshall said, “I understand you're pursuing an English major?”
“Yes.”
“He's always been a reader,” Mrs. Jay said.
