WE’VE MADE IT TO HELL Day, the final day of Hell Week.
Our weary, tired bodies stand linked up after being hauled from the frat house in a van to, I presume, the DIK initiation site. The smell of cedar and dirt surrounds us. It’s not entirely warm out, but the bag over my head burns me up regardless. Sweat pours into my eyes.
Have we been here fifteen minutes?
Thirty?
An hour?
My mind runs a mile a minute. Each second standing here feels like an eternity.
Carleigh.
Ember.
My wanin’ patience.
“Pledges, unlink and remove your sandbags,” Damian says.
We do as we’re told, and the relief of the cool wind against my sweat-coated face is nearly orgasmic. The evening sun filters through the dense woods sporadically, and the only sound around us now is bird songs and cricket chirps. Damian stands with his arms crossed, a smug look on his face. Trevor, Tim, Zane, Brady, and Sarge stand in line behind him. They’re all in combat-style gear—cargo pants, web belts with knives attached, Under Armour dri-fit shirts. Sarge even has a keffiyeh around his neck. Outside of the five of them, there are no other brothers around us. But the dirt road that leads here is lined with probably thirty or forty cars as far as the eye can see.
“Welcome back to our sacred ground,” Trevor says. “You all have done well over the past two months. You’ve put in the time. You’ve learned the traditions and history of our great fraternity. Now, you face your last challenge. Tonight won’t be easy. You’ll be tested continuously. Listen to what you’re told. Speak only when told to speak. And if you make it to the morning, you will come out of these woods as a Delta Iota Kappa brother. Good luck.”
Trevor turns and heads into the woods, Brady and Tim following behind him. As they disappear, Damian takes a step toward us, motioning to the ground.
“Start collecting sticks, wood, branches, whatever you can find that will burn. Tim will show you where to put ’em,” he says. “Don’t stop collecting until I tell you to.”
If we had been able to wear a watch or have our phones, I may have a clue as to how long we’ve been collecting sticks, but it’s been a couple of hours, at least. The pile of wood we’ve collected is proof of that, as it’s grown to be man-high and wide enough to fill a swimming pool. The four of us are coated in sweat from head to toe. We share angered glances as we pass back and forth from the woods to the pile just beside the circle of trees. The same circle of trees where we conducted our initiation on the first day. We’ve come to know this spot as the Sacred Circle—trees planted by the DIK-Rho founders back in ’22.
As I toss my thousandth bundle of sticks onto the massive pile, I notice Damian coming toward us through the quickly darkening woods.
“Pledges, let’s fuckin’ go! Circle up on me,” he yells out.
We trot over, but as we reach him, he takes off running, waving us on. “Let’s go! Follow me!”
After a half-mile or so of running, I hear the sound of flowing water. Damian cuts right and we follow behind him. Slowing, he works his way through a collection of thick bushes. The sound of water grows louder as we continue down a narrow path. As we reach an opening, a wide river is revealed, flowing powerfully. Brothers line the riverbanks, and some of them stand atop a massive boulder just in front of us.
Trevor is one of the brothers on the boulder and he smiles as we approach. “Pledges, welcome to Trust Rock. Come on down and get acquainted,” he says, sounding like a goddamn game show host.
We carefully trek down to the river’s edge and climb up onto the rock one by one.
“Link up!” Damian yells, hoisting himself on the rock after us.
We link up awkwardly on the uneven surface of the boulder, our line zig-zagging.
“Trust Rock,” Trevor says, letting his words linger.
I barely hear him. I’m focused on the rushing water, something to take my mind off the pain in my knees and ankles.
“Generations of brothers have stood upon this rock, just as you are tonight, as pledges for the last day. You will either come out of this a DIK brother, your two months of pledging just a small part of your lifetime in our brotherhood, or you will have spent two months wasting your fucking time. The choice is yours.” Trevor’s eyes trail to Damian and he gives him a little nod.
Damian walks toward us in a hurry, a finger jabbing at us. “Get on your fucking faces, pledges. Push-ups!”
Boy, does this feel fuckin’ familiar.
We drop to the ground on our hands in the push-up position.
“On my count. Down. Up. One! Down. Up. Two!” Damian continues until we get to thirty, and then he yells for us to stand and link back up.
He shuffles toward the group of brothers on the boulder across from us and then Brady steps forward. He’s staring me down, and I stare right back.
“Pledges,” he says, his eyes still on me, an evil grin crossing his lips. “Get down to your fucking skivvies!”
We look around awkwardly at each other for a moment when Damian steps forward.
“Are you cocksuckers deaf? Get your fucking clothes off!” he yells, a snarl on his face.
We reluctantly do as we’re told, stripping off our clothes, and Carter, Jeremy, and I crack up laughing as we spot Mac in his tighty-whities again.
“You didn’t learn your lesson the last time?” I crack between laughs.
“Shut the fuck up!” Brady yells. “Link the fuck back up.”
As we connect our arms again, Brady glares at me, his jaw clenching. I look back with relaxed features, a slight grin on my face.
“What the fuck are you grinning at?” he asks, his face just inches from my own.
I chuckle. “Just one more night, my friend. Enjoy it.” I lean in a little, nearing his ear, and whisper, “And I’m comin’ for you. Just know that.”
“Brady!” Trevor barks, taking a step forward. “Finish up.”
Brady’s smirk fades, and his eyes flit to the rock as he backs away.
Zane approaches us next. He clears his throat. “Ugh, just like jump up and down or something,” he says, shrugging.
We comply.
“Okay, you can stop,” he says, and then he returns to the group.
“What the holy fuck was that?” Tim grunts as he comes toward us.
“Shit’s stupid,” Zane mutters.
Tim waves him off, smiling wide as he approaches. “Hey, fellas!”
I fight the smile from my face as I look him over. He’s wearing black combat boots like always, and a pair of cargo shorts, but only a woodland camouflage robe covering his upper body.
“Well, shit. Am I talking to myself here? I said, ‘Hey, fellas!’”
“Hey, Tim,” we respond together.
“How’s Hell Night going for you?”
“Shitty as fuck,” Mac mutters.
“Pretty much.” Tim smiles. “Well, I’m gonna take it easy on you. Let’s just see thirty jumping jacks, huh?”
As we unlink and start knocking out jumping jacks, my thoughts wander to these gentlemen and how homosexual this whole process has really been. I mean, they’re making us jump up and down in our underwear for Chrissakes. There’s more flopping going on than you get with one of those inflatable dancing dudes. And not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but when you consider how often these idiots throw around words like ‘faggot,’ you’d think the hypocrisy would be self-evident.
Apparently not.
Once we’re finished, Tim says, “Alright. I’ll let the other guys take over. Bye, fellas!”
“Bye, Tim.”
He turns and makes his way back to the group as Sarge comes forward next. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, especially for me.
Shaking his head, he says, “I’m sorry, man. I had to do it too, and I despised this shit just as much as you are right now. As with the Army, when you have to go through this kind of shit, once you get to be the one who dishes it out, well, you get a little payback.”
I nod, smiling for the first time tonight. “I understand. Do your worst, buddy.”
He grins, his eyes trailing over my pledge brothers. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get wet. Hop in the river, go completely under, and then get back up here and link back up. And be fucking careful.”
Mac lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping as we disconnect and make our way down the side of the rock, into the river where the water is settled from the disruption of the boulder. After getting soaked, we return to the top of the boulder and link back up.
Sarge nods, the smile still on his lips. “Feels good, though, doesn’t it?”
“It actually does.” I laugh.
“I got your back,” he says, heading back to the group.
For two more hours, at least, every single brother in the fraternity, starting with the officers, get their turn at us. We dress and undress countless times. We’ve done hundreds of push-ups, jumping jacks, squats, and sit-ups, which, against the jagged rock, absolutely kills a naked back.
Clothed now, and being led through the woods by Damian, as the entire fraternity follows behind us, I’m completely drained. I don’t know how much more I can take before I snap. My patience has whittled down to nothing.
As we make our way back toward the Sacred Circle, I can see a large bonfire roaring in a clearing, a short distance away from the pile of wood we put together.
Reaching the edge of the bonfire, Damian turns, motioning toward us. “Pledges, go collect some more firewood. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
I look at the massive pile of wood we collected earlier and scoff, shaking my head. As I set off into the woods, with every intention of lighting up a cigarette before I collect anymore fucking sticks, I think about grabbing one of their knives and going on a stabbing spree. I think of the headline: “Combat Veteran Kills Entire Fraternity, Self, in Woodland Massacre.” I chuckle as I make it far enough away from the brothers to light up a cig.
Pulling one out, I light it and take a slow puff, holding it in my lungs for a few glorious seconds, releasing it slowly.
Suddenly, the crackling of branches behind me startles me, and I turn to find Sarge coming toward me through the darkness. I let out a sigh of relief when I recognize him.
“Shit, thought you were one of those other fuckheads. Didn’t feel like hearin’ it.”
“Nah, just me. How you doing?” His brows are wrinkled with concern.
“Not good, man. I’m about to lose my shit, for real. That crap on the rock. I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s only a fraternity.”
He nods. “I know exactly how you feel, brother. Really. I was ready to fucking quit too. Had every desire to. But my pledge brothers kept me in it. I was their leader, as you are for your guys, and they needed me to stick around. Maybe this shit wasn’t right for me. Maybe I would’ve been better off walking away that night. But my pledge brothers needed me. All this bullshit makes them feel a part of something. I didn’t want to take that away from them. You have to do the same. You know that.”
Frustrated, I reluctantly nod, knowing he’s right. “How much more of this, Sarge?”
“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Bish. As much as I want to, and as much as I feel for you, I think it’s important to see this through the right way.”
“I fuckin’ hate you,” I mutter, a slight smirk on my face.
“Nah, you love me. And you’re stuck with me, so you got no choice.”
I laugh.
“Stay out here for a bit,” he says, motioning to my cigarette. “Have a few smokes. Relax. I’ll cover for you.”
“You sure?”
He nods. “Positive. Just come back over in a little bit.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it. Just get your mind right out here. Shake it off. Then come back and finish this thing out the right way.”
“Alright. Will do.”
He waves, before turning and heading back off into the darkness.
I take another drag, leaning back against a tree, and let the smoke out with a heavy sigh.
For my pledge brothers, and only for them, I will see this through. But I’m gonna need about ten cigarettes to settle my nerves first and to save me from a life in prison for the murder of every last motherfucker out here.
For two more hours we collected wood. In fact, I’m certain we’ve put enough wood together to build a fucking ark. I took fifteen minutes and four cigarettes to clear my head, to put my focus back on my pledge brothers, and to reconfigure my way of thinking. I went through shit in basic, during deployments, and while recovering, that blows this shit right out of the water. I searched for that warrior mentality that got me through the worst of my injury and eventually found it. For the remaining two hours, I collected wood with a smile on my face, Collective Soul hits playing in my head.
Damian whistles loudly, the kind where he uses his fingers and it sounds like a fire alarm. His voice calls through the dark, “Pledges, get your asses over here and line up!”
Slowly, the four of us work our way through the woods to the bonfire and line up in front of Damian. The brothers, all one hundred and seven of them, have made the area around the clearing look like a campground. They’ve all got chairs or stumps to sit on, dozens of coolers at their sides, the smell of reefer in the air, and music blaring from a truck parked near the Sacred Circle. Most of them are shitfaced. Seeing the beers in their hands and smelling the dope makes me ache for a little something to take the edge off. Just a beer will do.
Maybe a six-pack.
Probably a case.
“Get on your faces!” Damian barks, spittle flying from his lips.
We get in the push-up position and await further instruction.
“Seeing as you all half-assed your time on Trust Rock, we’re going to have to go through each brother again. You’ll do it until you get it right, and we’ll go all night if we have to,” Damian warns, standing right beside our heads.
“This is bullshit,” Mac grumbles. “We did everything you guys asked of us. We didn’t half-ass a goddamn thing!”
“Shut up!” Damian yells. “You speak when you’re told to speak. Was that not clear earlier?”
“I just don’t get the point of all this. We did everything you asked!” Mac repeats, exasperation in his tone.
Damian squats down, right next to Mac’s face. Mac turns his head to look at him and Damian sneers. “Listen here, you ginger bitch. I will keep you in that goddamn position until the fucking morning comes if you don’t shut your cocksucker.”
“Hey,” I bark, my brows furrowed, my heart racing. “You can do what you gotta do without belittlin’ him. That ain’t right.”
Damian turns to me, the sneer deepening.
“Now why the fuck are you speaking, pledge?” Brady says, standing from his chair.
Trevor stands too. “Brady. Sit. Down.”
I keep my eyes on Brady as he begrudgingly returns to a seated postion, shooting me a death stare. I smile and wink at him before looking at Damian again.
“This can be accomplished without disrespectin’ my friend here. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“It’s okay,” Mac mutters.
“No!” I respond. “It’s not okay”
Damian slowly stands, his eyes still on me, when he says, “Push-ups, pledges. On my count. Down. Up. One! Down. Up. Two! Down. Up. Three!”
Knowing a few psychological tricks from my experience in basic, I thought having to redo every brothers’ smoke session was a ploy. I figured after a few of them took their second turn, they’d make us gather more wood, or maybe we’d be told our night was done, that we were brothers. Wishful thinking, of course.
Each brother did in fact smoke us again, going through the same routine, except for when it came to getting wet, which was traded in for a rousing session of fireman’s carries.
My body hasn’t been tested like this in forever and I feel it in every single movement. I can hear it with every creak of my joints. On the final brother—Chunk, of all people—we’re again in the push-up position, having just done twenty, when he orders us to drop completely to our stomachs and put the bags back over our heads. He has us stay that way for a few minutes as footsteps are the only thing we hear amongst nature’s orchestra.
Out of the silence, Trevor says, “Stand up and take a brother’s arm. We need to talk in private.”
Standing, I feel an arm link with my own and I’m led away in slow steps.
“Hey, it’s Sarge, man.”
“Oh shit, what’s up?” I say, as we continue onward.
“I’m really sorry about this, man. I just—I can’t even believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?”
“Someone found out about you smo—oh shit, nevermind, you’ll see in a second. I’m just …” His voice shakes, the concern thick in his tone. “I’m just so sorry, man.”
“Pledges.” Trevor’s voice echoes. “We have some unfortunate business to discuss. It’s come to my attention that Bishop snuck away for a few cigarettes a while ago, as reported by brother Chunk. Obviously, tobacco was specifically restricted, as your list clearly stated, so—guys, I’m sorry. When one fucks up, everyone suffers. You all will either have to drop the pledging process and have wasted the past two months of your life, or you restart the pledging process from day one. Those are your only two options.” He hesitates before adding, “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“What?” Mac gasps.
“I’m sorry, guys, but I’m fuckin’ out. Fuck this stupid ass shit.” I go to remove the sandbag, but Sarge tugs it back down.
“What about your pledge brothers, Bishop?” he asks in a concerned tone.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I spit, my voice sounds as if it’s not my own, gritty and emotionless.
“I ain’t stickin’ around either, gents,” Jeremy says. “Ain’t no way I’m goin’ through this horse shit for a second time. Y’all must be higher than a bird’s asshole. I’m fuckin’ outta here.” There’s a hesitation, and then he says, “What the—” before his words are snuffed out.
“It’s one choice or the other. You decide right now,” Trevor says.
“I’m out,” Mac says.
“Um, I don’t know. Bishop?” Carter asks.
I scoff. “Out as Elton John, bro. Sorry.”
“Then I’m out too,” Carter says.
“Alright, sorry about that, guys,” Trevor says, though his tone says anything but apologetic. “You can take off your sandbags and we’ll get you back to the house.”
I pull my sandbag off immediately and see every single brother in the fraternity standing behind Trevor, and they have smiles on their faces. After a moment of awkward silence as the four of us look over them with questioning glares, Trevor leads all the brothers in cheer.
He takes a step forward, a wide smile on his face and his hands clapping, as he says, “Gentlemen, welcome to the DIK family! You fucking made it!”
For a moment, I’m in shock. I can’t process whether this is legitimate or just another game they’re playing.
Sarge embraces me, whispering, “Congrats, Little Bro,” in my ear. As the genuine smile remains positioned on his face, and the others continue their congratulations and applause without trickery, the shock I feel morphs to enthusiasm and relief.
“Now, let’s get you guys back to the house to party!” Trevor yells, waving his arm in the air to rally everyone. “First-year brothers, take care of the bonfire.”
I turn to Sarge, brows scrunched in confusion. “What about all that wood?” I ask.
He chuckles. “It’s for the end-of-year party.”
I shake my head, scoffing. “Jesus Christ, we were fuckin’ slave labor then?”
Sarge nods with a smile. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Like Jenna fuckin’ Jameson in her prime.”