The Darkest Path Read online

  I stared up at the sharp lines of his face until they shifted into a brotherly smile.

  “You brought people to the Path, Cal. You should be proud.”

  I forced myself to nod, even muscled up a paper-thin version of a smile that seemed to satisfy him. Johnson cuffed my shoulder.

  “It’ll be over in about an hour,” he said as he started back to the parking lot. “Choppers will be leaving twenty minutes after that. We’ll be back at Cormorant before Lighthouse.”

  The crunch of Johnson’s boots faded and I was alone again. Soon a beacon would be standing in front of the survivors, all smiles and pious concern, to administer the Choice. Unite with the Glorious Path or receive Nathan’s Blessing.

  Seconds ticked away. The soldiers would be moving through the crowds now, separating the new converts from the rest and leading them away to their new lives as novices and companions of the Glorious Path. Once they were safely away, the ones who had opted to remain Pathless—

  The roar of automatic weapons shattered the lakeside quiet. My body seized, folding in on itself. I tried to drive out the sound with thoughts of Mom and Dad and James, but the firing went on so long that it was useless. Everything in me and around me was wiped away by that one awful sound.

  And then, all at once, the firing ceased. I sat in that tense after-action silence, staring into the dark of my closed eyes.

  I lifted my head, blinking away the glare of the sunlight. The lake was a glassy calm, reflecting a pale blue sky and streaks of clouds. The shadow of a Path Black Hawk flew over me, its rotors kicking up a cloud of tan dust.

  I stood by the lake until my legs steadied, and then I walked back to the lot.

  3

  We made it to Arizona just before dark. Beacon King was waiting at the landing pad when the Black Hawk touched down. Hunched over and mouth covered with a cloth to keep out the dust, he hustled us all through Cormorant’s operations center.

  There was the usual rush of activity around us as uniformed men moved in and out of the plywood-and-corrugated-steel command buildings. Radios blared and vehicles roared. Electric lights shone everywhere.

  The noise lessened when we reached the canvas tent that stood at the edge of the ops center. There, soldiers turned over their weapons and radios and any other bit of the modern world on their person. Once that was done, we followed Beacon King inside.

  The tent was lit with candles and smelled faintly of sandalwood incense. We dropped to our knees before Beacon King and bowed our heads.

  “I am a blade in the hand of God,” we intoned. “To walk the Path he has set for me, I must put my hand to worldly things. This is a sacrifice I make for my brothers and sisters. When his kingdom has come, I will forsake these things and be clean again.”

  Blessing over, Rhames announced that they were going to squeeze in an after-action meeting before evening Lighthouse began. I saw him looking for me but managed to slip through a gap in the tent wall and disappear. A sentry at the gate that separated the ops center from the rest of the base nodded and let me pass.

  My steps lightened as I moved into the residential district. It was quieter there. No coms buzzing, no grind of engines or turn of rotors. No glare of electric lights. I passed the soldiers’ and citizens’ barracks and made my way down the hill to the novices’ district.

  A group of companions came up the road from their own barracks on the far side of Cormorant. There were ten of them, huddled close together, ghostly in their white robes and veils. I moved off the path and stood, eyes cast down, as the shepherd at the head of the flock hurried them along.

  When I looked up again, one of the companions had paused on the road and was staring at me. Her eyes were wide shadows beneath her veil. She raised one hand gently to her cheek and I understood. The bruises. The cast. I must have looked as bad as I felt. I waved her away and she glided up the hill with the others.

  Two oil lamps sat just inside the door to our barracks. I lit them both and was relieved to find the place empty. Our fifty or more barracks mates were either finishing up the day’s work or already wolfing down dinner in the mess before it was time to go to Lighthouse.

  Standing in the doorway, I cast my eye down the two lines of steel bunk beds. I saw what I was looking for immediately. Top bunk. Last row. A single cardboard box. I grunted from the pain in my side and shoulder as I reached up and pulled the box off the bunk. A single folded piece of paper sat on top.

  To Callum Roe:

  Please report to Captain Monroe, Base Commander, at 0900 tomorrow morning. Kennel Master Quarles has been informed that you will be late arriving to your duty assignment. This meeting will be to discuss the future duty assignments for yourself and your brother, James Roe.

  Yours on the Path,

  Hemet Walker, adjutant

  I dropped the note and tore open the box. Inside were two stacks of MREs. I shuffled through them. Meat loaf. Burritos. Chicken teriyaki. As hungry as I was, I set them aside and dug until I uncovered the three asthma inhalers hidden beneath. I held my breath when I saw them. For novices like me and James, medical care meant herbal tea and prayer. These inhalers might as well have been made of solid gold. I couldn’t imagine the look on James’s face when I put them in his hand. Never mind when I told him about the rest of Captain Monroe’s promise.

  Citizenship.

  For years the word had seemed too impossible to even speak, but here it was, a day away. Better jobs. More access to medicines. A private room with actual beds, doors, and windows. After six years of struggling, James and I would finally have a place we could make our own.

  Outside, the Lighthouse bells began to toll. I pocketed one inhaler, then hid the rest of them with the MREs under my bunk’s mattress.

  I stopped at the shared latrine on my way out, hoping to scrub the grime off my face before Lighthouse. The line of sinks and mirrors gleamed in the lantern glow. I turned one of the faucets, thankful that the Path didn’t consider hot running water as corrupting as radios and electric lights. I leaned over the sink to fill my hands but drew them back when I saw the white of the cast Dr. Franks had put on my arm.

  I stared down at the cottony fringe where my fingers emerged from the plaster, each one bruised black and blue. A dull throb built in my head and I felt a sick whirl in my stomach. The flow of the water through the chrome rose in pitch until it sounded like a chorus of screams. I lurched forward to turn it off, striking my cast against the fixture. My body shook with the pain of it, and I nearly called out before I managed to pull back and stagger away from the sink.

  I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe slow and deep, willing the shaking to subside. When I opened them again, a stranger’s face glowered at me in the mirror. My eyes were surrounded by kaleidoscopes of black and red and blue. There were two crusty gashes on my cheeks, and bruises on my neck and shoulders. I moved my fingers lightly over the wounds, wincing at their tenderness. The faces of Camp Victory crowded the edge of my mind. Connery. Franks. The little boy who was so eager to thank me for saving them all. I could hear their voices. The gunfire—

  Citizenship. I imagined the word carved into a stone door that I pulled closed, trapping any other thought, any other memory, on the other side. My fingers traced the body of the inhaler in my pocket until my heart quieted.

  The bells tolled again and I left the barracks, striding up the hill to the Lighthouse.

  • • •

  The Lighthouse was full by the time I got there. I pushed my way through the ranks of shuffling novices to my place in the rear of the hall. Down below, the soldiers and citizens were laid out in a fan around the simple wood-plank altar. Beacon Thomas hadn’t appeared yet, so I turned and looked for James. He should have been behind me, just ahead of the white-robed companions who haunted the very back of the Lighthouse, but I didn’t see him. Jimmy Wayne and Rashid James, officers’ valets just like James, were there, but I couldn’t catch their eye to ask where he was.

  Beacon Thomas cam
e out onto the stage below, and a hush spread through the crowd. The soldiers and citizens took their seats on the rows of benches, while us novices and the companions remained standing behind them. We folded our hands before us, our heads slightly bowed.

  Beacon Thomas took his copy of The Glorious Path off of the altar and opened it.

  “With these words, I consecrate my life to the Glorious Path,” he recited.

  “With these words, I consecrate my life to the Glorious Path,” all of us echoed, beginning the call-and-response opening to service.

  “God, lead me to my Path. Let me be a light in the darkness and the rod that falls upon the backs of the defiant. The lives of my brothers and the lives of the Pathless are in my hands. If I allow them to fall into the darkness, then so must I. Their loss is my loss. Their death is my death.”

  Once the congregation fell silent, Beacon Thomas set the book down and lit a single candle in the center of the altar.

  “There is but one God and he sent us Nathan Hill to light the Path that leads to his kingdom.”

  Beacon Thomas continued the service while Beacons Quan and Rozales stalked the aisles, their eyes sharp for the insufficiently reverent. I dropped my head as they passed, my eyes closed tight. Looking distracted during Lighthouse was a ticket to hours of hard labor. Of course, seeming too enthusiastic led to the same thing if a beacon decided you were mocking the service. I had fallen on either side of the line more times than I could count. James was the real master. Over the years he had figured out how to play the game perfectly. Back flawlessly straight, his copy of The Glorious Path open before him, his eyes boring into its pages as if he was searching for the subtlest meanings buried in Nathan Hill’s words. No one would ever guess it was all an act.

  Once Quan and Rozales passed, I turned and caught Rashid’s eye. I nodded over to James’s spot, but he shrugged and went back to praying. My stomach sank. There weren’t many reasons why a novice would be allowed to miss Lighthouse.

  My hand went to the inhaler in my pocket. One day the previous April, I had returned to the barracks to find James clawing at his chest, nearly purple from lack of oxygen. Had it happened again? Was he at the infirmary? The attendants there wouldn’t know anything about the deal I made with Captain Monroe. They’d just stand there mumbling prayers while James struggled to breathe.

  The beacons had now descended to the front of the Lighthouse to help Thomas with the Receiving. The soldiers and citizens stood up and moved toward the central aisle. One by one, Beacon Thomas lifted a lit candle to their foreheads and said a prayer. The novices and companions would follow. If I had a chance, this was it. When the time came for our row to move into the aisle, I pretended to retie my boots, fumbling with the laces because of my cast.

  Novices huffed and jostled by me, putting me at the end of our line. I shuffled up the aisle between the rows of companions making for the back entrance. My fingers hit the door handle, and a voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Roe?”

  Beacon Quan stood in the aisle behind me, frowning, his shaved head gleaming in the lantern light.

  “I’m, uh…” I mumbled, hoping to buy some time. “I wasn’t feeling well. I thought—”

  “You thought you would skip the service and head to the infirmary without informing anyone.”

  “No. I mean… I guess I’m a little light-headed.” I held up my cast. “My arm was hurting. I wasn’t thinking. I can—”

  “I think you can figure things out while you’re digging latrines tomorrow. Wait here and I’ll get Beacon Rozales.”

  Quan passed me and headed down the aisle. My heart pounded, thinking of James in the infirmary, suffering and alone.

  I lifted my cast and slammed it into the corner of the pillar next to me. The pain was an explosion that flipped the entire Lighthouse upside down. My knees turned to jelly, and the ground slammed into my side and then into my head. The last thing I saw before passing out was Beacon Quan running up the aisle toward me.

  4

  I sat up in the infirmary cot, pushing away the third cup of herbal tea a companion had tried to force on me in the last hour.

  “Look, I’m fine. Could you please just tell me where my brother is?”

  “I don’t know your—”

  “Roe. James Roe. He has trouble breathing. He should be here somewhere. You have to—”

  “Cal?”

  James was running down the aisle toward me. He was still in his valet’s uniform, its blue lines pressed just as neat as they were the last time I had seen him.

  “James? What are you — are you okay?”

  “Uh, you’re the one in the infirmary, Cal.”

  James nodded to the companion and she drifted away to another patient. He sat down on the edge of the empty cot next to mine.

  “I came here looking for you,” I said. “You weren’t at Lighthouse and then—”

  “I had to stay late with Monroe. Why did you think I was in the infirmary? And what happened to you? Your arm—”

  He reached for my cast and I pulled it back. “It’s nothing.”

  James laughed, putting an accusing finger in my face. “It was that Rottweiler again, wasn’t it? The same one that knocked you down on the last work detail Quarles sent you on.”

  I paused, remembering my cover story for the last couple days. “The detail was fine. I just… I had an accident, that’s all.” James narrowed his eyes at me, but I pulled the sheets back on the cot. “Look, forget it. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

  “I think they want you to stay till morning.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re aware that you puked all over Beacon Quan when he carried you out of the Lighthouse, right?”

  “I don’t actually remember puking.”

  James threw the blankets back over me and helped me sit up.

  “You been to the barracks?” I asked.

  “No. Why?”

  I scanned the infirmary floor. Two companions and a citizen medic were at the far end of the room. They were presided over by a single beacon who looked busy with some paperwork. I slipped my hand beneath the sheets and into my pocket.

  “Give me your hand,” I said.

  “Why?” James asked. “Is it a bug? Are you going to put a bug in my hand again? Honestly, Cal, that stopped being funny when I was five.”

  “Just do it.”

  James held his hand out and I pushed the inhaler into it, closing his fingers around it fast. He drew his hand back to his waist and opened it.

  “James, this is — where did you get this?”

  “It’s not contraband. Don’t worry.”

  “Then how—”

  “I got it from Monroe.”

  “From Monroe?” James looked from the inhaler to my cast and the bruises. His face went gray as ash. “If this is what it took to get this, then you should take it back. I don’t need it.”

  “Oh, really? You and the beacons gonna pray the asthma away?”

  James gritted his teeth. His fingers went white, curled around the inhaler.

  “You’re Monroe’s favorite, Jim. The guy couldn’t tie his shoes without you. I promise, it didn’t take anything more than me asking nicely to get the meds. All this… it’s nothing you have to worry about. I swear.”

  “Nothing that’s going to get you in trouble?”

  “Scout’s honor, little brother,” I said, holding up my busted left hand.

  “You were never a Boy Scout,” he said. “I wanted us to be Scouts, but you said it was for weenies.”

  “I know. It was a mistake. You would have fit right in.”

  James tucked the inhaler away, but his face was still scrunched up and dark, his lips tight.

  “Come on,” I teased. “James…”

  “I just don’t want you to get off Path again.”

  “I’m not. Look, come here,” I said, waving him over. “Keep it between you and me for now, but there’s more, okay?”r />
  “More what?”

  “I’m meeting with Captain Monroe tomorrow.”

  “So?”

  I glanced back at the beacon, who was still absorbed in his paperwork. “We’re getting moved up.”

  “Moved up?” James said. Then it clicked. “You mean…”

  I nodded. “I told you you’re his favorite.”

  “But—”

  “We’ve been here six years now, James. With everything you do for him, it’s not even that far ahead of schedule.”

  James still looked wary, but I could tell there was excitement bubbling underneath it.

  “When?”

  “Soon, I think, but I’ll know more after the meeting tomorrow. We’ll talk between breakfast and morning Lighthouse, okay?”

  I almost laughed at James’s openmouthed speechlessness.

  “Who’s the best big brother in the entire universe?”

  “Well…”

  “How about within a five-foot radius?”

  James finally laughed but a companion cut it off, appearing just behind him. He nodded and she stepped away.

  “Cal, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Music to my ears. Just go home and start packing our things.”

  “Want me to lead a prayer before I go?”

  James had his copy of The Glorious Path open in his lap. I checked over his shoulder. The beacon was on the far side of the room and out of earshot.

  “It’s okay, Jim,” I said. “No one’s looking.”

  There was a second’s pause and then something inside of James seemed to shift. “Yeah,” he said, snapping the book shut. “Right. Of course. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Get some sleep,” I said.

  “You too. And try not to puke on yourself again.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  James tucked the book back into his pocket and walked away down the line of beds. Companions moved through the infirmary, snuffing out candles. I lay back on my cot, staring up into the dark, fantasizing about what job I might get once we were citizens. Surely they wouldn’t make me keep mucking out the dog kennels with Quarles. That was a novice job, and a bad one at that. Could I be a cook’s apprentice? A mechanic? It seemed impossible.