The Precursors 1: The Darwinists chap 2

Chapter Two: Consequences

“Excuse me?” David said, thinking he had heard wrong. “Military school?”
“Military school.”
“Military school!” David looked around the room, feeling very uncomfortable. What was going on?
“But I…”
“No buts,” said David’s mother sternly. “You’re getting into trouble too much. So me and your father have decided to send you to Dorrington Academy for a while.”
“But where the hell are we going to get the money to send me off to Dorrington? Isn’t that place in, like, Texas or something?” His mom and dad looked at each other uncomfortably.
“David, we don’t need the money. We sent in an application for a scholarship. And it’s in Wyoming,” his dad said finally.
“Scholarship?” asked David, shocked. “I do terrible in school.” His father smirked at the comment.
“No, David. Not for academics. For the Track Team. You’ll compete against other high schools in Track and Field competitions.” David looked at his father, confused.
“Running? That kind of thing?”
“Yeah.” David breathed in deeply, taking it in.
“Why?” wondered David.
“Well, David,” said his mom in a very motherly tone, “pretty much, it’s consequences. You’ve doing some bad stuff, David. Dorrington’s headmaster, Marcus Quimby, says that bad kids will build character at the academy…and change…for the better. Here, Michael, hand him the brochure.” To David, the brochure looked ruthless. For the whole day, minus twenty minutes for each meal, the boys worked nonstop, farming and doing other extremely boring “character building activities,” all the while in 95 degree weather.
“When do I leave?” David finally asked after an uncomfortable five minutes or so. His dad answered, “First thing tomorrow morning.”

David waved goodbye to his parents and heaved his duffle bag into the bus. He entered the graffiti-covered wreck and began twiddling with some playing cards, already trying to pass time. He looked out at the awakening city as the bus began lurch forward, its old engines groaning. Dusk began to rise on the city, and by the time David’s watch said 5:30 A.M. horns were honking and people were shouting, and David, though leaving his parents, felt quite at home.
“So watcha goin to ol’ Dorry for anyways?” asked the bus driver, spitting out a piece of gum onto the floor.
“Well,” said David, looking around the empty bus boredly, “no real things. I’ve just been getting in and out of trouble a lot in my school these days.” The bus driver nodded.
“Aw, yeah,” he said, “fergot ta ask ya what yer name was. So?” David told the driver his name.
“And you?”
“Hergie,” said the driver, smiling at the fact that David cared to ask, “Hergie Thompson.”
“Well, hello, Hergie,” David said awkwardly as they left the city and drove through a suburb. Hergie grinned again, his teeth gleaming in the rearview mirror.
“You seem like uh nice boy, David,” said Hergie. “I’ll put Marcus on ‘is good side for ya.”
David and Hergie continued small talk for a few hours, and then they both got tired and gave up on it. David looked out the window to see the image of smog and oversized houses thinning, and changing into a grassy meadowland, with farms and cottages streaking all over the fields. David fell asleep, his dreams filled of evil headmasters and working all day. His dreams of a twisted Dorrington.
Just as David was running away from a vampiric headmaster who was watching the Dorrington boys farm all day decided he didn’t like David and began chasing him, Hergie’s voice interrupted the dreams, saying something like this (though David couldn’t be sure exactly what he was saying, for he had just woken up from dreaming sleep), “David, m’boy, we’re nearin old Dorry. Better wake on up.” David awoke and looked out the window. Grass waved in the window, beckoning him. A particularly large farm stood on the grass, which boys wearing overalls carried milk, milked cows, and collected chicken eggs.
After getting his senses back from his dreary ride, David realized this giant farm outta be Dorrington. And, as Hergie’s bus got closer, David identified the sign they were about to pass said:
DORRINGTON FARM:
WHERE WE ALWAYS GET THE JOB DONE.
This sign sort of alarmed David; it seemed as if Marcus Quimby and the rest of the supervisors at Dorrington were prepared to do anything to get the job done.
“And hur weh are,” said Hergie, turning the bus into the Dorrington driveway.
The parking lot was empty, give or take a few rusty old 2030 series. Oldies, but not the cool kind. Hergie squeezed into a space next to a 2036, Toyota. Highlander.
David sat up from his seat, and prowled down the aisle grumpily. He waved goodbye to Hergie, and walked back around to the trunk. He hauled out his bag, looked at the boys, sweating, all blistered up on their palms, and nearly threw up.