17. Chapter 12
“Hurry!” Viper whispers, looking over his shoulder.
“If you shut the fuck up, I can,” Breaker hisses back, angling the butter-knife he stole at breakfast just right, and the door pops open. The sound rings down the dark, empty hall as loud as a gunshot, and we all turn to look.
“We’re clear,” I say, shoving at Breaker”s back and pushing him into the office. Viper follows behind and spins to shut the door with a quiet click, then leans against the glass, chest heaving.
“Fuck,” he says, panting like he’s just run the circuit, but all we’ve done is creep down the hall and break into Father’s office. Maybe I should be panting and freaking out too, but nothing much seems to faze me anymore.
Then again, Fallon has made sure of that. Emotions are a weakness.
I glance at my watch and set the timer, giving us ten minutes. We are due for our midnight training with Commander soon and if we’re even a second late, we’ll all be punished.
Out of all the schooling and training, I hate the midnight run the most. With Reaper, Hunter, and Seeker gone for the final test, Maxim has been meaner. Sometimes I think I would rather be a dancer like the ballerinas I hear Fallon talk about sometimes. But then the way he speaks about them, maybe I don’t want to be a dancer. Their bodies don’t belong to them. Not after they are fully trained. At least I get to keep my body to myself, even if it’s bruised and beaten.
I point to the ornate wood desk at the center of the room. “Viper, you search the desk. Breaker, you look in the filing cabinet by the window.” I move to the large bookcase lined with thick leather-bound volumes and remove a large bound file folder held together with elastic. “I’ll search for the files here.”
“We’re so dead if he catches us,” Viper says, eyes locked on the door as he slips behind our otets” desk and begins rummaging through the drawers.
“Commander won’t catch us if you hurry,” Breaker says, cleanly popping the lock on the cabinet. He glances over his shoulder at me, the beam of light from his flashlight on the top of the cabinet a white slash across his face. “What color did Cook say the file was?”
I close the ledger and place it back on the shelf. “Red.” At least I hope that’s what he said. Cook could have said dead files, but hopefully it was red or we’ll never find what we’re looking for.
“I think I got it,” Breaker says, spinning and holding up a weathered, thick file. He rushes to the desk, opening the folder. When I step over to inspect the top page, my heart jumps.
When I overheard Cook and the Commander talking last week, I thought it was impossible. But as I stare at the first page, Breaker’s toddler face staring back at me, I know now it’s true.
Our Father has a file on us all containing our histories. Where we came from and possibly even our real names. Not the names he gave us.
“Fuck, man,” Viper whispers, glancing up at Breaker, the flashlight lighting up only his chin. “You’re from France.”
Breaker picks up the pages held together with a paperclip, staring at the picture of the little boy with thick curls puffed around his head and gaunt cheeks. It makes sense he knew some French words. Some part of his brain must have remembered the language even though he was so young.
“And my mother died while giving birth,” he says, thumbing through the pages. “She was fifteen. Raped.”
She was the age I am now.My stomach dips as our eyes lock. His mouth turns down into a frown as he breaks eye contact and flips the page. “I was placed into foster care for three years before I came here.”
Three. The small boy who Fallon placed in the cold room was only three years old.
Goose bumps break out on my arms as I watch Viper grab the next few pages. I catch the picture of one of our old brother’s who’s no longer with us. He holds up the first stack for us to see. A large red mark slashes across the top page stamped with the word DECEASED across the top. Nausea churns in my gut as Viper flips through the rest of the stacks.
This is what I needed to know.
We lost another brother last week. Whenever we’ve lost a brother over the years, Fallon has always told us he didn’t make the cut and was removed from the school. That the person who he removed wasn’t strong enough and didn’t have enough grit to graduate with his brothers. Being removed from the school is feared more than Fallon’s punishments. The thought that we may not have what it takes to stay with our brothers pushed us harder. No one wants to be removed.
No one wants to leave the others behind to go out into a world we know so little about.
In the last month alone, Fallon removed two of our brothers and when I overheard the Commander telling Cook, we lost another one, Cook responded with, “Another red mark in the red file.”
“Holy fuck,” Viper whispers, holding up a stack of papers. “I’m from Scotland.”
Breaker rolls his eyes, still reading his papers. “No shit.”
Viper frowns and says, “He didn’t list my mother and father. Says I came from an orphanage, but I already knew that.”
“Satan’s spawn,” Breaker says. “Like I’ve been saying.” He stumbles back, smirking as Viper shoves his shoulder.
“Strike, here.” Viper slides a stack of papers across the desk toward me.
I grip the edge of the desk and clamp my eyes closed before I can see the top page and the little square picture in the corner. The thought of learning about my past, filling in the blank spaces of my parentage, sends a shiver of dread down my spine.
Seems this is the only thing that can get under my skin.
But then that’s why he’s been so hard on us. We have to be as hard as stone. He wants us prepared for graduation. But when Fallon informed our group that we lost another brother last week, our strongest one, I was suspicious. I’d seen him the day before, his body so battered and bruised it had looked like he’d been beaten with something far harsher than father’s leather belt. He’d gone to the infirmary and two days later our otet told us he was removed from the school.
We’re down to just six now.
It reminded me so much of that day on the rooftop; I had to know the truth.
Reaper refused to talk about what happened in training that day, how Raid ended up black and blue, deep gouges slicing his face. Hunter wouldn’t talk either and when I asked Seeker, he clamped his lips shut and walked away.
And I’ve been worried ever since. Now with the three gone, it’s just been us Viper, Breaker, and me here. Fallon left shortly after them, traveling to oversee the order for supplies. This was the only opportunity we were going to get to find out what happened. Cook usually drinks his vodka after he serves us our last meal and we know we won’t see him again. It’s just Commander and Teacher here until Father gets back, but that’s not until next week.
Or until Reaper and our other brothers return.
Which I hope will be soon.
“Broken ribs and a punctured lung,” Breaker says, reading over the files. He places the papers down and I see his face. The brother who never made it out of the infirmary. “Broken neck.” Breaker flips the papers to the next one. “Cracked skull.” He lowers the papers and casts me a strange look that almost gets eaten by the surrounding darkness, but the flashlight glints off his pale eyes and I catch his flinch before he says, “Multiple lacerations.”
My brows knit as I realized he’s reading off how each of our brothers died. I lean over to see who’s file he’s looking at when my eyes land on a small pale face with plain features.
My stomach churns.
Sniper.
“It’s not your fault,” Breaker says.
But it is my fault.
He died that day. All because I showed off. Sniper died because I refused to be the one holding the belt. If I had been the one to deliver his punishment, I wouldn’t have hurt him. He’d still be alive. If I had just done what was asked of me, Sniper would still be here.
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory of that day, swallowing past the lump in my throat. There’s not enough time to wallow. I glance at my watch. Five minutes. I grab the next stack of papers, recognizing the first set of soldiers that were sent out for graduation when I first arrived at the school eleven years ago and never returned.
Flipping through the file, bile sours the back of my throat when my eyes land on the small typed letters. My gaze lifts to my brothers. “Drowning.”
My heart picks up pace, thinking of Reaper and Hunter out in the wilderness.
“Shit,” Viper hisses, no doubt thinking about Reaper and Hunter too. About us. How we’ll be the next group to go out for the final test before graduation.
“They’ll all come back,” Breaker says quietly, but I’m not so sure.
Because the longer they’re out there, the more likely they’ll end up with a red mark across their files.
We’ve watched Reaper and Hunter train together for the last month, preparing for the week in the wild. Seeker has always been a bit of a loner and refused to train with them. I was surprised Reaper even offered. He and Hunter are always together, training, eating, and at the range. But then, Hunter is the only one Reaper lets touch him. It’s only ever just Hunter wrapping an arm over his shoulder or playfully patting him on the back, and Reaper always smiles when our brother teases him. It’s the only time I see him smile.
If something happened to Reaper, to Hunter…
I shake my head, tossing the thought loose and focus on the wooden desk, the smooth top gleaming in the slant of light from Breaker’s flashlight. Fallon and his fancy desk. His fancy clothes. His sleek hair combed back over his head, making him look severe. He’s all we’ve ever known, and he’s been slowly killing us all.
“Are you going to look?” Breaker asks, eyeing the door, then my stack of papers. “Do you want me to look for you?”
I shake my head and slide the papers toward me. My gaze lands on the picture of the little boy with warm brown hair and golden skin. Eyes so big, he looks like he’s in shock. Like someone just pinched him before they took the picture. At five I was small, the background showing my height and weight like an old prison picture. Fitting, I guess.
I look further down to the names listed. “Mother Isabelle Pena. Father unknown,” I read aloud. “My mother was a receptionist at a dental office but was laid off, then she worked nights…” my voice trails off and I read the rest in silence.
My mother worked the streets at night, and was found dead in a hotel room from an overdose. I was found in a closet, half dead.
I slam the papers down, not wanting to read anymore.
Darkness creeps in the corner of my vision. It slips up my back, tingling my scalp, trying to take me back to that black place.
A closet.
Did she put me in there? Did I go in there and get trapped?
My head swirls and I grip the glossy desk before I pass out, the shadowy images of lost memories trying to cut through reality. I suck in air and look up at the dark ceiling, trying to center my thoughts.
Fallon was right. My mother was a drug addict who sold her body to put poison in her veins.
“Look at this,” Viper hisses. Something in his voice makes me drop my chin to look at him. With wide eyes, he slides two stacks of papers toward us and taps them both. Reaper and Hunter’s boyish faces look back at me.
Breaker leans in and reads the list of names and dates with me.
“Holy shit,” Breaker says, meeting my eyes.
We all knew. It’s obvious when you look at them, but having it clearly stated, typed on a sheet of paper washes away any doubts we may have had.
“Do you think they know?” Breaker asks, picking up Reaper’s paper. “Do you think he told them?”
I shake my head. There’s no way Fallon would have told them.
I grab all the files and place them back into the folder, snapping it closed before stalking over to the cabinet and shoving it back in.
“No,” I say when I turn to look at my brother’s. “And we won’t ever speak of this again.”
No one can ever know the truth.
Reaper most of all.