Pass/Fail (2012)

by David Wellington

  It contained a PASS.

  Jake expected the Proctor to demand the return of the portable phone as well, but he didn’t. He just led Jake back down the stairs and out into the hallway, where a couple of sleeping students were lying in a heap on the floor. As he stepped over them the phone vibrated in Jake’s pocket.

  He answered it, thinking it might be a summons to a new test. Instead it was just Mr. Zuraw taunting him some more.

  “Something tragic has happened, Jake, and I thought you should know about it,” the guidance counselor said.

  “The Youth Steering Committee decided to fire you?” he asked.

  “Ha. No. I just got a call from the New Mexico state police. They found a car that went over the side of a bridge and the driver turned out to be one of our teachers. Mr. Irwin, in fact. I know you and he were close, so you would want to know. I understand he was taking an unscheduled vacation day to go visit his sister in Albuquerque. He never made it there.”

  “You bastard,” Jake said. “You’re lying.”

  “You can’t get away, Jake. Ever. Stop trying to break the system. It only exists for your own good.”

  Jake closed the phone and shoved it in his pocket.

  Everybody knows what’s so good for me, he thought, bitterly, and most of them think it involves shooting me in the back of the head.

  He made his way through the corridors, climbing over bodies where he had to, intent on getting to English class with Ms. Holman before the PA told everyone to wake up. When he arrived, however, it became clear that the students were going to stay asleep for a while longer. There as a Proctor standing outside of the classroom waiting for him. “Hello, Jake,” the Proctor said. “Are you ready for your next test?”

  “So,” Jake said in return. “I guess this is the lightning round.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “I have a PASS in my jacket pocket,” the Proctor told Jake. They were standing together in the parking lot in front of the school. The Proctor stood a few feet away holding a golf club. He kept taking practice swings, slowly lining up a non-existent shot and then winding his arm back to prepare the perfect stroke. Jake kept ducking every time the Proctor’s arm went back, expecting to be beaten with the club at any second.

  “Can I have it?” Jake asked, keeping an eye on the club.

  “You may, however you must pay for it.” The Proctor reached into his pants pocket and took out a ping pong ball. He showed it to Jake, then set it down on the asphalt. Lining up his swing again, he followed through this time and tapped the ping pong ball, sending it racing away across the parking lot, jumping and bouncing every time it hit a rough patch of pavement. “The price is one ping pong ball.”

  Jake wanted to roll his eyes. Instead he dashed after the ball, running as fast as his legs would carry him. The ball was headed downhill, picking up speed. He lost sight of it behind a parked car—then saw it again, just in time to watch it roll into a hole in the ground. Jake’s stomach sank. The ball had stopped moving but he knew it wouldn’t be as easy as just fetching it back from where it had ended up.

  He found the hole easily. It was the mouth of a length of PVC pipe, about two inches in diameter. The pipe had been driven into the asphalt until it was set flush with the ground, so there was no way to pull it back out. Jake knelt down next to the pipe and looked inside. He could see the ball at the bottom, about two feet down. He tried reaching down into the pipe and found that his hand was far too wide to get inside it.

  The Proctor walked casually up behind him. “If you leave this parking lot, it will count as an automatic failure condition. If you use any tools to get the ball, it will count as an automatic failure condition. If you cannot produce the ball in ten minutes, it will count as an automatic failure condition.”

  Jake barely listened. He was too busy trying to get three fingers down the pipe far enough to touch the ball. It was futile but he kept trying until the skin of his hand was red and chafed. Next he tried blowing into the pipe, using every ounce of lung power he had. He heard the ball rattle inside the pipe but it didn’t pop out and into his hand. It didn’t rise up out of the pipe at all.

  He even tried sucking the ball out, pressing his mouth against the edges of the pipe to try to form a tight seal. That succeeded only in scratching the skin of his cheeks and banging his nose up pretty well.

  He was in that position when Megan crouched down next to him and asked what he was doing.

  “Jesus!” he shrieked, rolling backwards, away from the pipe. He hadn’t heard her approach. “You scared me. This—this isn’t what it looks like.”

  “It looks like you’ve lost your ping pong ball down a hole and you’re trying to get it back,” she told him. She looked up at the Proctor standing nearby. “Don’t worry, Jake. I can see where this is going.”

  He smiled at her. “You came looking for me,” he said.

  “When I saw everyone else collapse in the halls—I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she told him. “It’s just weird. But then I figured you must be in the middle of a test and maybe I could help. It took me a while to find you. So—let’s see. You need the ball to get your PASS, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And if I don’t get the PASS, I’m dead.” He lay back on the asphalt and stared up at the blue and cloudless sky. “I’ve only got a few minutes left. I need to think of something. Anything.”

  Megan placed a hand on his forehead. It felt very good there, very comforting. It wasn’t helping him figure the test out, though. “If I had some gum, and a piece of string,” he said, “I could try to fish it out. Do you—” he sat up quickly and stared at her. “I can tear a piece of my shirt and use it as a string. Megan, please tell me you have some gum.”

  “I—”

  He could see in her eyes that she didn’t. “I’ve never chewed gum,” she told him, looking down. “I never got into the habit. I could go back into the school and search the kids in there, somebody has to have some,” she suggested.

  “It would take too long,” Jake told her. “I only have two minutes left.”

  She opened up her book bag and searched inside. “I don’t know what I have that would be useful. I’ve got a compass in here, maybe we could try to stab the ball and pull it out? But it’s not long enough. Are you thirsty? I have my water bottle.”

  “I’m not—” he began, but the he had an idea and grabbed the bottle out of her hand. “Oh, thank God you came along, Megan,” he told her. It was a quart bottle made of purple transparent plastic with a black rubber lid. He hoped it was big enough. Pulling the lid off he poured the entire contents of the bottle into the pipe.

  The ping pong ball was hollow and weighed next to nothing. It was buoyant enough that it rose to the surface of the water instantly. It was just close enough to the top of the pipe that he could finally reach it.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t come along,” he told her, grabbing her up in a tight hug.

  “Well—you could have peed in the pipe,” she told him, blushing a little.

  “That is just gross.” He looked down at the pipe. “But yeah, that would have worked, too.” He imagined himself handing the Proctor a ping pong ball dripping with urine, and the thought made him grin. Happily, he handed the ball to the Proctor, who gave him the pale blue envelope. Inside, as promised, was a PASS.

  Jake and Megan headed back to the school. Inside the students were still lying in heaps on the floor. The command to wake clearly hadn’t been given yet. Jake was not surprised to see yet another Proctor waiting for him in the hallway.

  “Hello, Jake,” the Proctor buzzed. “Are you ready for your next test?”

  “What’s going on?” Megan asked Jake. “This is what, your third test today?”

  “Fourth.” He thought about it. “Maybe the fifth, I’ve kind of lost track. Mr. Zuraw knows I’m one small mistake away from failing permanently. He’s going to keep testing me until I make that mistake—even if it takes
all day. Megan, when that happens, I want you to—”

  “It’s not going to happen,” she told him. “Because I won’t let it. I’m not leaving your side from now on, not until this is over. I can help you with the tests. Two heads are better than one, and cheating is permitted. Okay?”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it in gratitude.

  “He’s ready,” Megan told the Proctor. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Jake, are you ready for your next test?” the Proctor asked.

  “I already told you,” Megan said, “yes!”

  Jake shook his head. “He needs me to say it. They have to be way literal—it’s part of the testing process. The tests have to be clear and concise so I can’t say I didn’t know what was expected of me or what the conditions were.” He turned to the Proctor. “I’m ready,” he said.

  The Proctor turned on his heel and started walking away. Jake and Megan followed.

  “Everything is so controlled,” Megan said, with a shudder. “It doesn’t even feel real. I mean, in real life nothing is ever cut and dried. The rules in real life aren’t logical.”

  “In real life there aren’t any rules,” Jake said. “Except the ones you make for yourself.” He remembered what Mr. Irwin had said. “Logic puzzles are fun, because there’s always a clear answer.” The real world didn’t have answers at all, just more questions. Was Megan his girlfriend now? Could she be? Or was Cody right about her? Was she a spy sent by Mr. Zuraw to keep tabs on him?

  If he passed all the tests, what happened then?

  He tried to clear his head. Whatever came next would at least make sense. It would be fun, by Mr. Irwin’s definition.

  The Proctor led them out of the school through a side door by the gymnasium. The football stadium loomed over them but before you got there you had to cross a patch of open grass painted with white lines. It was a multi-purpose playing field, good for soccer or field hockey or baseball or whatever. It had been set up now as an obstacle course. Pieces of equipment were scattered all over the field.

  Twenty-four tires were laid out nearest to him. The Proctor explained that he would have to run through them, putting a foot in each tire. Beyond the tires was a free-standing wall as high as his chin. He had to get over that, then grab a rope and swing over a mud pit to a rope net that formed a very unsteady ladder to the top of another free-standing wall, this one higher than his head. He had to climb over that wall, drop safely to the ground on the other side, and then through a series of plastic pipes just big enough for him to wriggle through. The last pipe led back to the tires.

  “Do you understand the course?” the Proctor droned.

  “Yes,” Jake said, terrified of what came next.

  Ten Proctors were lined up across the far side of the field. Each of them was holding a pistol.

  “You will need to complete three laps of the course. A physically fit person can be expected to complete one lap in one minute. You may take as long as you like. However, after one and one half minutes have elapsed, the Proctors standing there will begin firing at will. Failure to complete three laps will result in an automatic failure condition. Attempting to harm or disarm the Proctors will result in an automatic failure condition. Receiving an injury during the test that prevents you from finishing the course will result in an automatic failure condition.”

  Well, at least if he got shot in the legs, he wouldn’t have to suffer very long. It sounded like they would finish him off then and there.

  Jake closed his eyes and tried not to pass out. He was still in pain from where Cody had hit him with the baseball bat. He hadn’t slept in a very long time. His brain hurt from solving all the tests. To top it all off, he knew that even under the best of conditions, he had never been any good at gym. He’d spent much more time worrying about making his mind strong than about the condition of his body.

  “This is unacceptable,” Megan said. “How can this possibly test anything useful? You want him for the way he thinks, not how fast he can run!”

  The Proctor administering the test ignored her. “You may take your starting position now, Jake. I will begin timing your first lap as soon as you start running.”

  He had no choice. He didn’t have any FAILs left. He had to pass this test or die trying. He turned to Megan. “You don’t have to watch this,” he said.

  “I’m staying right here,” she told him.

  He shrugged. “Listen, if you go and wait inside, I’ll come get you when I’ve passed this and you can help me with the next test.” He could see in her eyes that she knew what he was really saying: you don’t have to watch me get killed. “There’s no way for you to help me here,” he went on.

  “I can be your cheerleader,” she said. “Too bad I forgot my pom-poms.”

  He smiled and shook his head and wondered if a dumb joke would be the last thing she ever said to him.

  A white line had been painted at the start of the tire-run to mark the starting position. Jake stepped towards it slowly, shaking out his legs and his arms, trying to loosen himself up for the run ahead of him. He felt stiff as a board. He was still stretching when he noticed another Proctor coming toward him. It seemed unlikely that this new Proctor was just late for the test—they were always punctual. As he came closer, Jake saw that the newcomer’s suit was rumpled and one sleeve was torn so that it almost hung free at the shoulder. There was something wrong with the Proctor’s mask, as well. As the Proctor came still closer Jake saw a bad scratch down the front of the mask—no, it was a crack, as if the mask had been torn in half and then glued back together.

  The new Proctor had something in his hand. Not a pistol, exactly.

  Jake turned to look at the Proctor who was stationed to time the laps. He wanted to ask what this late arrival meant—was it some nasty twist to a test that was already deadly enough? Maybe he didn’t want to know.

  The new Proctor kept striding toward him with total determination. But its posture was wrong—not straight enough. And then it was lifting its arm, holding up its weapon. Jake shied back at the last second before he was impaled on it.

  He wasn’t the ragged Proctor’s target, though. The sort-of gun jabbed into the blue serge suit of the timing Proctor, who collapsed without a sound to the green grass. He lay there twitching as if he’d received a massive electric shock.

  “It’s called a stun gun,” the Proctor with the broken mask said to Jake, holding up its weapon. Its voice was something like the familiar buzzing drone but a lot more emotional than Jake had expected. He could definitely hear a sneer in that voice. “I promise it’s not lethal, if you care. I’ll explain everything later—right now we don’t have time. In a few seconds the idiots over there,” the newcomer went on, gesturing at the Proctors holding pistols at the far side of the field, “are going to realize something’s wrong. They’ve been trained never to question what another Proctor does. That’s why I’m wearing this mask. If I took it off they would shoot me on sight. This way we have a chance to get away before they start wondering.” The masked newcomer bent down and started going through the fallen Proctor’s pockets. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” Jake asked. He didn’t like this at all. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Well, first we’re going to escape. After that, you can choose for yourself.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Megan came running after Jake as he started to follow the newcomer. “What’s going on? Who is he?”

  “I think I’m walking away from the test,” Jake said, having trouble believing it himself. If he didn’t run the obstacle course he would receive a FAIL for the test—which meant certain death.

  But maybe that didn’t matter anymore. Maybe there was a new option available to him.

  As for who the masked man was, Jake had a pretty good idea.

  The three of them headed around the side of the school and back toward the ruins. Once they were around a corner of the building the strange
r peeled off his mask. He looked to be college aged, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He had a good coating of stubble on his cheeks and his face was dirty, but Megan stopped in her tracks and gasped when she got a good look at him.

  “But he—he looks just like—”

  The stranger’s face was lined and his eyes were old. He was thinner than Jake, and his hair was unevenly cut. They might have been brothers. They might have been identical twins, except that one was older than the other. Jake held out a hand. “You must be Jake McCartney,” Jake said.

  “No.” The stranger shoved the mask in a pocket of his suit and peeled off his scuffed leather gloves. “That’s not my name and it never was. It’s not yours, either. Just call me D, alright?”

  “Okay. Do you want to call me H, then?” Jake asked.

  D didn’t reply. He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small iron pry bar. Kneeling down in the sand in the middle of the ruins he started jabbing the bar into the ground, again and again, until one time it made a clunking sound that suggested it had hit something solid and wooden underneath the sand. “There’s not a lot of time to talk right now. We’re on a tight schedule. Tell her to go away.”

  “What?” Megan demanded. “Oh, no. Not as long as Jake’s in danger.”

  “I trust her,” Jake said.

  D looked up at him with squinting eyes. “You got my message, right? ‘Don’t trust anyone over seventeen?’ I’ve found out since—you can’t trust anyone seventeen or younger, either. Maybe little kids. Like, six year-olds. No, the only person you can really trust is yourself. Which means you and me.”

  “I won’t go anywhere without her,” Jake insisted.