Chapter III- The Foxhounds

That same evening, after the weekly parade was done and the cadets headed off to chow, a note was circulated between the five companies. It started in Band, and finished out on Battalion Staff. Each place it went, the note was the same, handed only to a very specific few in each unit: "Remember the island. The house is dark at ten."

For those not in the know, the note would have meant nothing even if they'd seen it. For those aware of the note's significance, it was a summons, an order to gather at a specific time and place.

There was an abandoned house at the edge of the woods, about a two-mile hike through the forst behind the Bunker Hill Military Academy. Around 2300, one by one, a handful of cadets slipped out of their beds, out of their barracks, into the woods and off to the old Colonial-style, two-story house. It had stood empty for years, and was used as a local storage dump by the nearby residents. Nobody quite knew what to do with it, or even who it really belonged to. So the Foxhounds Club, a secret band of cadets started sometime in the 1950's, had taken to meeting there. A member of the Foxhounds was chosen carefully by one already a member, and once in, he held power in the Corps regardless of his rank. Not many of those summoned that Friday night were Foxhounds- but a few were, and that was enough. And regardless, every boy who was shown the note about the island had to go. That was a secret all of them shared.

Jack was waiting upstairs in the master bedroom, starting a small fire in the large brick fireplace, when Roger showed up. A Cadet Captain when they'd gotten to the island, Roger had for whatever reason quickly fallen in line with Jack. An able officer on battalion staff, Roger preferred to write, think and act rather than talk. And for some reason, he adored Jack. He was willing to do anything Jack asked, follow him to the ends of the Earth if necessity called on him. It was one reason they got along so well. Another was that on the island, Roger had fast become Jack's second, and easily the most ruthless killer of the bunch. They were forever bonded by their experiences on the island; Jack knew he never could have taken charge so completely without Roger backing him every step of the way.

"You think the others will come?" asked Roger, sitting down next to Jack. The two were dressed in their BDU camouflage fatigues, black boots scuffed only slightly by the march through the woods. "I know they will," Jack said simply as he stirred the logs with a poker. "They have to."

"Yeah, you're right." Roger shrugged. "We'll see them all sooner or later."

Jack smirked. "I'm always right."

"You think you're always right."

Jack laughed a little, making sure to keep his voice low; a glance showed the heavy curtains were indeed blocking the fire's light from the street. "That's deep, Roger."

"You know when Jack's not right? When he bets on the Giants to win the Super Bowl." Rapper, the dark boy, stood in the doorway, his Cadet Sergeant's insignia sewn on his collar in black.

Jack motioned him over. "Sit down, asshole. We got more to do tonight than listen to your bullshit."

"Oh, I forgot- you two gotta make out and blow each other later."

Jack suddenly clamped a hand on Roger's arm as the other boy started to get up. "He's just an idiot, Roger," Jack said with forced calm. "Don't kill him."

Roger glowered at Rapper, then finally sat down again. "You're lucky Jack's spoken for you, Rapper."

Rapper shrugged. "It's okay, man. I don't judge. Whatever gets you guys there."

Roger stood up. Just as Jack was about to let him loose, another set of boots thumped up the stairs. Two, actually- into the room strode Sam and Eric, looking none too pleased about having had to make that two-mile hike in the dark. They each sat near the aging bed, waiting to hear what was up.

Eventually, after about twenty minutes, enough of the others arrived that Jack decided to begin. Standing up and addressing the others, all circled around him, Jack said, "Ralph's talking about the island."

Whispers ran around the room; fearful glances were exchanged more than a few times. This wasn't good. The night after they'd arrived back at Bunker Hill, Jack had personally gone into the room of every Band Company cadet who'd been on the island and sworn to do things so bad their ancestors would feel the pain if they talked. Between wanting to help Ralph and being punished by Jack for doing so, most all the boys had chosen their fear of Jack as the more important. Besides- they all felt some kind of guilt for what had happened on the island, and Jack was offering them a chance to leave everything behind, have it all forgotten. Was that so bad?

"What I'm saying is, he's running his mouth! We're all gonna get questioned now; I know the Colonel's gonna have Winters do it. We're all gonna get asked. Did we kill anybody? What happened to Piggy, what happened to Simon?"

"No… accident, accidents…" the boys all chorused loosely.

Jack nodded. "Good. That better fucking be all I hear! The heat's on me more than anybody. But everybody knows we all were on that goddamn island. We're gonna keep our fucking mouths shut and nobody's gonna say a fucking thing to the Colonel or Ralph or anyone. Am I making sense yet? I better not have to draw you jerkoffs a fuckin' picture."

Roger spoke up from the back. "What do you want us to do, boss?"

Boss. Jack smiled; Roger had always known how to approach him right.

"Just tell Winters what he wants to hear; same for anyone else that asks you questions. And if I send you another note with the words "Red-47" on it, I better have Ralph's sorry ass trussed up like a Christmas turkey and in this house by midnight that night!"

Roger nodded, followed by Rapper and the other boys. They understood. It would be taken care of.

Continuing on, Jack said to the other boys, especially the younger ones, "Just keep quiet. You don't know anything, and we never killed anybody. You hear me? No one died except two accidents. And when we were chasing Ralph, we were just playing a game."

The boys were dismissed soon afterwards, departing in the same staggered, erratic yet somehow steady manner in which they came. Only Roger and Rapper stayed behind, and after a little more talking strategy with the other two, Rapper headed for the barracks as well. Finally, Jack put the fire out and headed downstairs, then outside. Closing the door carefully behind them- nobody seemed to notice it no longer had a working lock- Jack stepped outside, breathing in the not-too-warm, not-too-cold September air. It was nice out; a perfect night for a walk.

Island weather.

Roger stepped out of the house and closed the door again, setting his camouflage cap back on his head. Jack glanced at him and smiled that flashy, charming smile of his. It practically made girls fall into his arms. "Looking good there, Captain," he said, and he meant it. He was glad his friend had seen such promotion, and held no envy over it at all. Roger was a good friend; between them, rank was never important, never an issue.

Roger's face turned dark. "Rapper better shut his fucking mouth, man. I mean it."

Jack flipped something out of his pocket- it was a switchblade knife. How he'd gotten one into Bunker Hill and never been caught with it was a mystery to everyone who knew. But enough cadets knew Jack had it- and could do vicious work with a dull kitchen knife at need- that few had much desire to cross him. Far better to just stay out of his way and be left alone.

"If anyone talks, I'll give them this." Jack said, his smile turning cold.

Roger nodded. "Yeah." He didn't seem entirely convinced, though.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Well, isn't this weird or something? I mean, we both have girlfriends…"

Jack shrugged. They kept the Bunker Hill cadets locked up pretty well most of the time; sure, the Foxhounds and some guests could escape to the house from time to time, but that was hardly a party with lots of girls. Jack never saw these things one way or the other. He just knew that ever since he'd had his first taste of It, he'd been a boy who couldn't go more than two weeks without… something. Anything. A few 'select' magazines stashed inside his mattress weren't always enough. It had nothing to do with gay, or straight, or any of that crap. Not in Jack's mind. This was boarding school, and on top of that, military boarding school. There just wasn't a lot of personal time or freedom. The stereotype that all boys turned gay there somehow was ridiculous; Jack loathed civilians for the very idea. But cadet life was very different from life at home, especially for someone like Jack. It was about… release. So full of energy and life, Jack just had to do something, all the time. Even sleeping he was active, fighting in battles and charging beachheads in his dreams.

It was about relaxing a little, blowing off some steam. Well, and spending time with a good, close friend. Was that so wrong? In Jack's mind it was just fine. And anyone who would comment unfairly had never been there; else they'd not be so quick to judge.

Jack finally answered his friend. "Roger, you know… I'm not that worried about Ralph. We'll deal with him; I can shut him up. Rapper was just making a joke. The hell does he know anyway?"

Roger sighed, staring off into the woods. "I'd follow you anywhere, Jack. You know that."

And the two boys looked at each other in the dark.

Back at school that night, Jack lay on top of his bed, shirtless as he always liked to do. His roommate was asleep; tiptoeing back onto the floor, Jack had never once been seen making his way back to his room. Lying on his back, his hands folded behind his head, Jack thought about the challenges ahead of him at Bunker Hill. There was more rank to chase after, more promotions he had not yet achieved. And there was Ralph to deal with. Oh, yes. Loyal, honorable Ralph. He was not going to be easily silenced. But if Jack was going to go on with his life, if he was going to hide all that had occurred on the island and leave it behind, he couldn't let anyone stop him. This was about Jack, about doing what Jack Merridew needed done. It wasn't about good or evil, right or wrong. It was about saving one's own ass because sometimes that was just what needed to be happen.

Besides, Jack thought as he turned over and went to sleep, he'd never really liked Ralph anyway.