Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
NINE YEARS AGO
The boy woke to someone singing.
At first, he thought the voice was part of a dream. Then he opened his eyes and saw the thin strip of light beneath the door. Beside him, Christian was already sitting up.
A man sang softly in the hallway, the words too low to make out. But the boy recognized the tune.
“Trust and Obey.”
His stomach tightened as Christian swung his feet to the floor.
“No,” the boy whispered.
Christian looked at him. “You have to. You know the rules.”
The singing stopped, and three knocks sounded against the door.
The boy’s heart began to pound. He tried to take a breath, but his chest felt tight, as if something heavy had settled on top of it.
Christian stood and pulled on his shoes. “Hurry.”
The boy didn’t move.
Another knock came, harder this time. Then the man’s voice carried through the door. “It’s time.”
Christian grabbed the boy’s sweatshirt from the floor and tossed it toward him. The boy caught it against his chest.
“Get up,” Christian whispered.
“I’m tired.”
“I know. I am too. But we don’t have a choice.”
“I don’t want to.” He didn’t want to walk through the dark or feel the rocks scraping his hands again. Mostly, he didn’t want to hear the man say this was for his own good.
Christian glanced toward the door. “Neither do I.”
As the handle began to turn, the boy shoved his arms into the sweatshirt and scrambled to his feet.
The man stood in the hallway with a flashlight in one hand. He didn’t smile as Christian stepped into the hall and the boy followed.
Three other boys were already waiting outside their rooms. The youngest rubbed his eyes with one fist, and another had put his shirt on backward. Nobody spoke as they walked single file through the building and out the back door.
Cold air hit the boy’s face, and the ground stung his bare ankles. He wished he’d taken time to put on socks.
The man led them down a narrow path through the trees. The boy watched Christian’s shoes in front of him and tried not to stumble over the roots.
Nobody told them where they were going. Nobody ever did.
The clearing appeared ahead, washed in the harsh glow of a floodlight. Two piles of rocks waited beneath it, one on the left and one on the right.
The man pointed toward the rocks. “You know what to do.”
The boys spread out.
The boy went to the left pile and picked up a rock. It was heavier than it looked, with a rough edge that dug into his palm.
He carried it across the clearing and dropped it onto the pile on the right. Then he went back for another. And another.
His arms began to hurt before the first pile was half gone. When the youngest boy started crying, the man didn’t even look at him.
“Keep working.”
The boy carried another rock. His fingers had gone numb, and his breath came in white bursts.
He didn’t know what time it was or how long they’d been asleep before the singing began. He only knew they had moved these same rocks two nights ago.
Except then they had carried them from the right pile to the left.
He glanced at Christian. “Why do we keep doing this?”
The man heard him. “What did you say?”
Christian quickly picked up another rock. “Nothing.”
Footsteps crossed the frozen ground, and the boy lowered his gaze as a shadow fell across his feet.
“You have a question?” the man asked.
The boy shook his head.
The man waited until the boy’s throat tightened. “No, sir.”
“Good.” Apparently satisfied, the man stepped away.
Christian didn’t look at the boy again until they were carrying rocks across the clearing. “I told you,” he whispered.
The boy’s eyes burned. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
The rough edge of the rock scraped his palm. “But why does he make us—?”
“Stop asking.”
The boy dropped the rock onto the pile and went back for another. His hands shook now. By the time the last stone had been moved, his shoulders ached so badly he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying.