12. The First Rabbit

The lights in Barracks 7 slammed on with a violence I wasn’t prepared for. I’d been in a deep sleep, unaware of the world around me. One moment, I closed my eyes; the next, they were open, stinging as the harsh light assaulted my senses.

A split second later, a siren shrieked a repetitive drone, setting my teeth on edge. To add to my early torture, the front door banged open, and its rusty hinges screamed in protest, threatening to fall off. A familiar figure stepped through the boundary.

“Drop your cocks and grab your socks!” Vance’s voice cut through the shriek. “Hands off it, eyes on me! Move it, Greenies!”

I rolled off my bunk and hit the concrete with a thud. My body screamed in protest. I’d finally gotten a good rest, but it wasn’t quite enough. Behind my eyes, a dull headache protested. Maybe it came from the sudden accostment. Maybe it was because I hadn’t drunk any water in the past day.

Around me, I saw the other recruits tumbling, stumbling, and grumbling. They were much slower than me; it looked like my early night proved to be at least a little fortuitous. Grabbing the fresh uniform from my locker, I slipped it on and quickly tied my boots. Quickly, I folded my now-dirty, worn clothes, placed them back into the locker, closed it, locked it, and stood at attention.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

The sergeant had swung his baton across several bunks, their metal frames groaning in the process. He skipped mine completely, despite being the closest to the door.

“You are slow! You are dead! The Buggers are eating your entrails because you wanted five minutes of beauty sleep! OUTSIDE! NOW!”

We spilled out into the pre-dawn darkness. The air was frigid, biting through the thin fabric of our fatigues. We were a chaotic mess of kids, with no clear structure. Several other bunks that surrounded ours poured out, forming their own blobs of bodies.

“Squad! Fall in!” Vance roared from the doorway. “Three ranks! Move yourself!”

Quickly moving, I headed toward a spot in front of the sergeant. The other kids quickly followed suit, filling the ranks around me. A few collided with me in a chaotic struggle to get into place. It was clear that most of these kids hadn’t had much training in their respective academies. Which made sense, I was sent to a prep academy for legacy and scholarship kids. These were F and D Grades, likely receiving no extra education.

“Get your dressing!” Vance barked, his voice cutting through the panic. “Right marker, stand fast! Remainder, left dress!”

The words likely meant nothing to the other kids and only reinforced the confusion. The other squads and groups that surrounded us weren’t much better off. A mix of confusion, disorientation, and tiredness crept in. Eventually—after what felt like an eternity—the groups finally started to resemble a squad at parade. I quickly checked my posture and let muscle memory take over.

Heels together. Feet forty-five degrees. Thumbs down at the seams. Eyes forward.

“Three minutes,” he spat. “Pathetic. In a drop scenario, you just bought it. You’re all dead. Squad… Squad—shun!”

The ragged sound of a hundred heels slamming together, mostly out of time, echoed off the barracks wall.

Vance stopped infront of me. I stood rigid, my eyes locked onto the roof of our barracks. He stared at me for a long and uncomfortable second.

“Stand at ease,” Vance ordered the group, the tension in the air dropping slightly as bodies relaxed into the open stance. “Stand Easy.”

“Look at Recruit Tiernan,” Vance announced, walking down the line. “He knows the drill. He’s ready. He’s waiting.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to suppress the buildup of anger; either he was doing this on purpose, or the system still hadn’t updated.

“Squad, squad— shun!”

We snapped back to attention.

“Since Tiernan is so eager to prove he’s hard-charger material, he will set the pace.”

Vance pointed toward the north wall. A guard tower loomed in the distance, a red light blinking atop it. It had to be three miles out. Three miles there, three miles back.

“Six miles,” Vance said. “Tiernan runs first. He is the Rabbit. The rest of you are the Pack.”

He leaned in close to a kid, who was shivering in the front row.

“The rules are simple. The Pack must finish within five minutes of the Rabbit. If you fall behind… You don’t eat.”

He blew the whistle.

“Step off! On the bounce!”

I took off.

I didn’t think about the squad. I thought about the Test.

Show them, a voice in my head whispered. Show them you aren’t weak. Show them you aren’t F-Grade trash.

I’d trained for this my whole life. Compared to the unawakened kids behind me, I was fast. I set a hard pace, boots pounding concrete. The cold air burned my lungs, but I welcomed it as a familiar friend and pushed harder.

I am Marcus, and I’m not done yet.

My bounds and breathing began to sync, deep through my nose and controlled out my mouth. This was easy, too easy. I visualised the finish line, me coming first, proof that I wasn’t just another F-Grade destined to become another statistic. Every step a rejection of my Father’s words. Watch me live, James Tiernan, watch me succeed.

Soon, I reached the turnaround point at the tower. I touched it and pivoted, then began my run once more. My breath was laboured, but I wasn’t gasping. Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I saw the pack a mile off in the distance—a chaotic mass of grey uniforms. Some of them were even walking. A smile crept up on my lips. I was beating even the D-Grades.

They looked at me as I passed them on the return leg.

“Slow… down…” someone wheezed.

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I didn’t slow down. If I faltered, it proved them right about me. If I couldn’t handle the training, they would think I’m just another failure.

I accelerated, not caring about my breathing; I just wanted to win. My breathing and steps slowly moved out of sync, but I didn’t care. My lungs burned, and my legs were sore. I was here to break the record.

Eventually, I crossed the finish line. Alone. My chest heaved as the sweat froze on my skin. I raised my arms behind my head and began to suck in great bellows of air through my mouth, my regular breathing method out the window. After about five minutes, I finally got it under control.

I looked back over the horizon and saw no sign of the other kids finishing. Vance stood next to me, checking his chronometer. Another five minutes passed, and his eyes didn’t waver from the device and the horizon.

Ten minutes later, the first of the Pack stumbled across the line. It was one of the kids who bunked in the back. He collapsed into the dust, dry heaving.

“Forty-five minutes, not bad, Miller.” The sergeant said.

Then the rest came—stragglers, limping, crying. The squad lay scattered, a portrait of absolute defeat. Vance stepped forward.

“Tiernan,” he said.

“Sergeant.”

“Thirty-three minutes, a great time,” Vance nodded. “A new bunk record.”

He turned to the groaning pile of recruits.

“The Pack finished in sixty-three minutes. Far more than thirty minutes behind the Rabbit.”

Silence.

“Tiernan, go to the mess hall. Get your rations.”

I blinked. “Sergeant?”

“You passed the test. Go eat.”