The Elect: Malevolent, a Dystopian Novel (10 page)

All I hear are those whispered words,
be careful
.

Very careful
.

And I watch the guards lock the gate. One steps outside and the others shut it. I hear the lock engage.

The lock.

Is it…on the outside or inside?

Are they keeping something (or someone) out? Or in?

I round a blind corner. We’re in a patch of thick woods. It’s very dark, thin slivers of moonlight cutting through the dense canopy overhead. I have fallen behind the others, thanks to the pain screaming through my body. I follow the sound of their footsteps, pounding on the earth. I don’t even care that they’re getting farther and farther ahead. I can’t do any more. I can’t run any faster. It’s taking everything in me to put one foot in front of the other. Even Mattie has left me behind—at my insistence. She didn’t want to.

“How are you doing, Eva?” someone asks after he jumps out from nowhere and scares the shit out of me. I see spots before my eyes. Lots of them.

Gasping, and ready to fall over, I wrap an arm around my stomach and reach for something to steady myself. I find a tree. At least, I think it’s a tree. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. It’s big. And strong. Then again, it could be Jay. I think it’s his voice. “That wasn’t nice, leaping out of nowhere like that.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He moves closer. Yes, it’s Jay. His nearness makes me more breathless and dizzy. But at least I know now that I’m not using him to prop myself upright. The tree didn’t move. “When I didn’t see you following, I got…I thought I’d better double back and check on you.”

My knees are about to buckle. I lean against the tree. It’s much more stable than I am. I focus on breathing, pulling in slow, deep breaths. “I’m fine.”

He steps into a puddle of silver moonlight. “No, you’re not.” He looks absolutely ethereal, ghostly and beautiful.

“Yes, I am. I’m absolutely fine.”

He blinks at me. Because of the light from above, I can read what those blinks mean. They say,
you’re a liar. You’re a really bad liar.

I amend my response, “Well, I was fine until you scared the crap out of me.” 

“You’re hurt,” he states the obvious.

I’m hurt. No kidding?
Something inside me snaps. Irritation blazes through me. It’s a strange time to bring this up. Now. Why didn’t he do something about it before? Why didn’t he stop it when he had the chance? His actions toward me confound me. I don’t understand them. I don’t understand him. And I don’t understand my feelings
for
him, either. “Yes, I’m hurt,” I grumble. “I had the shit beat out of me yesterday. While you and that bastard, George, stood there and watched. Neither of you stopped it. You just let it happen. Why? Why would you let that happen? And then, after you see me have a one-minute conversation with an old friend, you have the gall to warn me that I need to be careful? What is that supposed to mean?”

He lunges forward, catching me by surprise. I flinch, and clamp my eyes shut, expecting pain. But instead of striking me, he cups my face in his hands. “Look at me, Eva.”

I open my eyes.

He’s staring at me. Staring hard. Staring like he’s trying to say something with his eyes.

My body responds, even while my brain melts. I warm all over. I tingle all over. My knees go soft and the air thins.

He pulls my face, coaxing me closer. His breath warms my cheeks. Its sweet scent teases my nose. An electrical charge buzzes through my body. “I didn’t just stand there. I couldn’t just stand there.”

“You did. I saw you.”

He shakes his head. “No. I left.”

“Oh, that’s even better,” I whisper, my head spinning. It’s hard to think with his mouth so close to mine. “You were so bored you couldn’t even stick around.”

“No!” He jerks his hands away, and I nearly fall. I stumble, catching myself by thrusting my hand out and bracing my arm against his chest. As soon as my footing is sure, though, I yank it back.

“Dammit.” His lips thin. Why is he angry with me? I didn’t just admit to not caring that one of my students was beaten mercilessly by a guy twice her size. “Let’s go. The others are waiting.” He loops an arm around my waist and starts to drag me down the street, but I elbow him in his side. As hard as I can. He makes a loud
oof
sound and releases me. One of his hands smack over the spot where I’d struck him. “Now, that’s what you need to do when you fight. Get in the first blow. Use your elbows and knees, and don’t stop. You’re fast. You can get in at least a few good shots. That’s your best defense.”

“Gee, thanks.” I roll my eyes. Really? Does he expect that advice to be helpful against a guy like Henry? I know my little elbow pokes don’t slow him down. “I’ll try to remember that next time I fight Goliath.”

* * * * *

The next morning I wake in my bunk with a smile on my face, despite the fact that I hurt everywhere. My toes. My eyelids. My fingers. There isn’t a muscle in my body that isn’t sore.

But my dreams last night of my parents hugging me, thanking me for sacrificing my future for them, urge me on. I crawl out of bed and hit the floor hard. The dull thud echoes through the empty room but nobody hears it but me. Everyone else has left for breakfast.

I wince as I pull on clean clothes and trudge to the training room. I hope we will do something different today. I can’t run. I can’t fight. I can barely move a finger, let alone throw a punch.

Skipping breakfast, I’m the first to the training room. Yet again a list is posted on the wall. Just my luck. My name is first. I will have to fight. Next to my name is Helen’s.

At least there’s some hope I won’t be carried out on a stretcher this morning.

The others straggle in one at a time. Alice is first. Her mouth is twisted into a cruel sneer. Behind her are Henry and Isabel. Then Fran, Tom and a quiet boy named Keith. When Helen enters, her gaze goes straight to the list. Then she looks at me. I can tell she isn’t scared. She isn’t afraid of me, and she’s probably the worst fighter among us. What does that say about me?

That I don’t belong here. That I don’t stand a chance of making it through training.

Jay strides in shortly after Helen and refreshes our memory about the basic fighting moves we learned and some strategies we should use if we’re unfairly matched. While he’s talking to us, George ambles in, his eyes as cold as ever and his expression completely bored. He points at the posted list and calls out the names of the first two fighters.

I wobble and wince out to the middle of the ring and face my opponent. Helen raises her hands to shield her face. Jay’s words echo through my head.
Get in the first blow. Use your elbows and knees, and don’t stop.

I slam her in the stomach first and she doubles over. A quick knee to the chin sends her to the floor. She’s too dizzy to get up, so I’m called the winner.

I’ve won. The victory leaves me feeling as empty as George’s eyes.

I glance at Jay. He looks indifferent as he watches the next two fighters, Keith and Roy. Keith wins, but it’s a close fight and Roy loses consciousness for only a brief second. The third pair is Fran and Isabel. Isabel wins and lunch is called. As I head for the door, Roy catches my hand and gives it a squeeze. He smiles and whispers, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

We stop in the corridor. It’s empty, except for us. “Me too,” I admit. A part of me feels really crappy though, for being glad it was Helen instead of me this time. I’m not sure I like what this training is doing to me. It’s stripping away my empathy. My humanity. And yet, isn’t that what it should be doing? Turning me into a fighter. A soldier.

A survivor.

Roy opens his mouth, as if to say something then shuts it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m just…not sure I belong here. I’m not sure I ever belonged here. I’ve lost both matches I’ve fought. I can’t run for shit. It’s…not what I thought it would be.”

“You’re not that slow, and you’re strong. But I admit, this isn’t what I was expecting either,” I say. “Forcing us to beat each other until we’re unconscious? What does that teach us?”

“Nothing,” he says.

“Nothing but cruelty.”

“Yes, cruelty,” he agrees with a nod. “They’re turning us into cold-blooded merciless warriors. I thought we were supposed to be training to protect our citizens, not pound their faces in. Protect. Serve.”

After a pause, I ask, “Why did you decide to join this agency? Why not one of the others?”

“That’s a long story.” He smiles. It isn’t a happy smile. It’s a sad one. “As I was growing up, all I heard about was my cousin, how he joined the NDA and fought for us and died. No matter what I did, how well I did in school or sports or anything else, my parents never had anything good to say about me. So I worked my ass off, hoping I would be chosen for the Elect. And then I joined.” He looks at me. “What about you?”

“I wish I could tell you but I don’t know.” I look down at my hands, my knuckles red and puffy. “I didn’t have any idea about the Elect. As far as I knew, the Elect was nothing but a fairy tale. And when I was selected, I had no idea we could choose agencies. I picked the NDA because I felt that I could do the most good here.” My shoulders slumped. “But I don’t think I’ll make it through training.”

“You’ll make it. No doubt about it.” He looks convinced. He sounds convinced too.

I’m not. “Glad someone thinks so.”

“Lots of people think so.”

His statement shocks me. Lots of people? “Who?”

“Roy. Paul. Me and Mattie.”

I wave his compliment away. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. Or Paul. Or Mattie. What matters is what George thinks. And Jay. And I doubt either of them sees me as NDA material. “Outside of being a decent runner and tree climber, I’m a complete misfit here.”

He sidles closer. “The truth is…I would have quit the first day if it wasn’t for you,” Roy confesses.

“Me?”

“Yes.” He slides an arm over my shoulder, and I freeze. My cheeks warm as he stares into my eyes.

My gaze drops to my hands. My heart starts thumping, not because I’m happy about the way he’s looking at me but because I am
not
happy.

When Jay looks into my eyes, my heart races too. But it’s a different feeling with him. I feel warm all over and tingly. And no matter how close he comes, I ache for him to move closer. There is always too much space between us.

But not with Roy. He’s a nice person. I like him. But there are no tingles. No happy heart thuds. Just a chilly awkward feeling that is super uncomfortable. I shrink away from his arm, rolling my shoulders forward and sliding sideways.

His arm falls to his side.

His mouth gapes. “I…I…”

“It’s okay.”

His face turns deep scarlet. “I’m such an ass.”

“No, really. You’re not an ass.” Oh crap. I’ve embarrassed him. I didn’t mean to do that. I just didn’t want him to make any assumptions.

“I thought…well…you…” he stammers.

“I do like you. As a friend. A good friend. I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He is withdrawing. I can see it even though he hasn’t moved away from me. His face is flushed from embarrassment. I hate that he feels badly. It was a misunderstanding. That’s all.

“Please, don’t feel bad,” I say.

“I don’t.”

He’s as bad a liar as I am. But I don’t challenge him on his fib. Instead I tip my head. “Maybe we should go. Grab some lunch before it’s time to head back.”

“Um…” He looks over my shoulder. “Go ahead. I think I’ll hang back and do some training.”

“Okay.” I turn away but glance over my shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Positive.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you in a little while.”

His smile is sad again. And I wonder if he really belongs here. It seems this process is taking its toll on him, and not just physically.

Of course, he isn’t the only one.

I return from lunch with a sour stomach. And that queasy feeling gets even worse when I notice that everyone is back but Roy. He’s not here.

George starts by announcing that at least two people will be leaving before tomorrow morning. He then asks where Roy is.

All the recruits look at each other. They shrug and whisper.

“He skipped lunch,” I say. “He told me he was going to stay here and practice.”

George shrugs, motions to Jay and whispers something. Jay leaves. I’m guessing he’s been sent to search for Roy. Something deep inside of me says he won’t be found. But I don’t want to believe that. I want to believe he’ll come moseying into the room any minute, apologizing for being late and offering some lame excuse.

But I know that won’t happen.

It was in his eyes. He’d said goodbye to me.

“Let’s get started,” George says, his loud voice cutting through the low muttering of the trainees. “We’re going to have some fun.”

My insides twist. Fun to George could be any number of things. Some of them probably aren’t fun at all. Some of them are probably terrifying. Or painful.

He opens a door and ushers us outside. We follow him into a large field. There’s a narrow table set up at one end of the field. And at the other are white targets in the shape of a person. There are red circles painted on the head and chest of the targets. I assume that’s where we should be aiming.

“Today, we will see which of you can shoot a gun.” He points at a second table, behind him. On it is a large metal box. “Come up and get your weapon.”

Henry is the first to get his. He flips some things and clicks some things and looks like he knows what he’s doing.

George shouts, “Once you have your weapon, pick a station, and load up, if you know how. You may begin practicing once your weapon is loaded.”

Behind me Mattie groans. “I’ve never touched a gun.”

“Me, neither,” I admit. “My father did the hunting in our family. He wouldn’t let me touch his guns.”

We watch several of the other trainees handle theirs. I try to memorize what they’re doing so I don’t look completely clueless.

When it’s my turn I go up to the table. George hands me a gun. It’s small, a handgun but heavy. And cold. And I don’t want to hold it. I just want to put it down and walk away.

The popping sound of gunfire echoes through the area. It’s loud and makes me feel twitchy. I go to an empty spot at the long table facing the targets. There are dividers between the shooters. Small boxes of ammunition wait in a stack at each station. I open one box then glance at the target, way down at the other end of the field. Do they really expect me to hit that?

I fiddle with some little switches but I have no idea what I’m doing. Mattie takes the station next to me. I lean back, looking past the divider to see if she’s doing the same thing I am. She is.

“Looks like you two are the only ones who don’t know how to use a gun,” George says. It isn’t a statement. It’s an accusation. And it makes me feel stupid. “Watch.” He grabs a handful of bullets and loads them into a metal holder. Then he takes my gun, snaps the bullet holder thing into it, pulls the sliding thing on top back, steps up to the table and fires. After hitting the target in the head, he empties the bullets onto the table and gives the gun back to me. “Now, you do it.”

He made it look so simple.

I grab the bullet thing, load it and slide it into the weapon, but it doesn’t click in place. I pull it out and try again. Still doesn’t work. After I try a third time, George sighs and takes it from me. “Wait here.” He walks away. I glance at Mattie. She gives me an oh-no grimace.

Seconds later, Jay steps up to me. He is holding my gun.

“Did you find Roy?” I ask as I watch him load the gun.

He shakes his head. “No. He has twelve hours to check in or he’s reported AWOL.”

“Then what?” My stomach twists. I can’t help wondering if I’m partially at fault for his decision to walk away. I know I can’t be held accountable for someone else’s feelings, and I didn’t try to be cruel. But still…I’d hurt him by rejecting him.

“We’ll find him. And arrest him.”

I gasp. The pain in my belly gets worse. “He’ll be
arrested
?”

Jay’s eyes find mine. “You can’t just walk away if you don’t like it here, Eva. You’ve signed a contract.”

A contract? We signed a contract?

We did. I remember now. That piece of paper I skimmed after choosing the NDA. At the time I didn’t look at it too closely. I thought it was more about the money we would be paid, not a binding contract, forcing us to stay. “I…didn’t think about it like that.”

“They do,” he says as he fiddles with the gun in his hand, his deft fingers working. He appears to be checking it for something.

I need to find Roy and tell him what will happen if he doesn’t come back. He needs to know. But first I need to understand what will happen. “What happens if he’s arrested?”

“He’ll be brought to trial.” Seeming satisfied that my gun is not defective, Jay sets it on the table, the bullets and holder ready for me to load.

“They’ll go to all that trouble? For a guy they didn’t want anyway?”

“Who said they didn’t want him?” Jay leans closer, so close the air between us crackles with electricity. “George wants everyone who signs up, Eva.
Everyone
.”

“But…but I thought some of us will be dropped tomorrow.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t go further in training, but that doesn’t mean you’re dropped completely from the agency. Nobody is released from their contract. But take my word for it, you don’t want the jobs those people end up with.”

I cringe. “Worse than gate guard?”

“Much, much worse.” He hands me the gun. “Okay, let’s teach you how to use this. You’re going to need it.”

Slowly, patiently, Jay teaches me how to load and unload the gun. He makes me do it over and over, again and again. Hold a finger over the top bullet in the cartridge, slide the cartridge in, and pull back the slide to get the first bullet into the chamber. And then I unload it. I do it so many times I could do it in my sleep.

After about the hundredth time, I ask, “Shouldn’t I shoot it at least once?”

Jay smiles. I like the way he smiles. A lot. “One more time. Load it once more and then you can shoot.”

I don’t even have to think about the steps now. The gun is loaded and ready within seconds.

“Good. Now watch me.” He pulls out his gun, steps up to the table, stands with one leg in front of the other, extends his arms, and fires off several shots. When I look at the target I see one tiny hole. Only one. In the center of the red circle painted on the head. Did he miss? Or did all the bullets pass through the target at exactly the same point? He flips on the safety and puts his gun back in the holster strapped to his chest. “Now, you do it.”

The gun doesn’t feel quite as foreign to me now, after having been handling it for so long. But when I lift it, it still feels heavy. My hands tremble. I pull the trigger and squeeze my eyes at the same time. The recoil sends my arms flying up.

I open my eyes. There’s no new mark on the target. I doubt very much that’s because my bullet sailed through the tiny hole that’s already there.

Chuckling, Jay says. “You have to keep your eyes open if you want to hit something.”

The rumble of his laughter vibrates through my body. My face warms. It’s a pleasant sensation, like pulses of happiness rippling through me. I can’t help smiling. Our gazes catch. “I suppose you’re right.” I lift the gun and pull the trigger, this time focusing on keeping my eyes open. It’s a small victory. At least I manage to only blink, instead of keep them shut the whole time. But the results are the same. I still completely miss the target. This time I see the bullet strike a tree behind the target, producing a little puff of splintered wood.

“Okay. Let’s start from the basics.” He moves behind me, and the skin on my back sizzles. Every nerve electrifies and I completely forget what we’re supposed to be doing. All I can think about is how his warmth seeps into my skin. I want to lean into him, to let his heat spread through my body. Some kind of energy draws me into him, an invisible force like magnetism. His hard bulk is pressed up against me. We fit together, like two halves of a whole. “Eva,” he whispers.

Does he feel it too? Does he sense the connection? “Yes?”

“Shoot.”

My ears register the sound of his voice, but my brain is lost in a fog. “Huh?”

“Lift your hand,” he says.

I turn to face him and lift the hand closest to him.

He stares at it for a moment. Then a smile as brilliant as a hundred suns spreads across his face. He takes my hand in his and slowly eases it down to my side. His thumb grazes over the back, and my knees almost buckle. “No, use it to support the other hand,” he says. “The one holding the gun.”

My head clears suddenly. If the world could open up and swallow me, I would be grateful. My face is on fire. I jerk back around, thrust my arms up, and fire the gun. The bullet doesn’t even come close to hitting the target.

A hand swings out from behind me, cupping mine, which are trembling now. His fingers curl around them. “Steady. Now, see the metal bumps here and here.” He points with the forefinger of his free hand. “They are the sights. Line them up with the target and
squeeze
the trigger, don’t snap it.”

It’s difficult, but I focus. I line up the sights with the target, aiming for the center of the head region and gently squeeze. The bullet hits the target slightly higher than I had aimed. But it hits the target, and I am suddenly overjoyed. I set down the gun, whirl around and throw my arms around his neck.

We freeze.

My heart literally stops.

I realize what I’ve done and I can’t move.

“Eva,” he whispers.

I’m sure he’s as shocked as I am. But he can’t be as mortified.

Somehow, I force my arms down and step back. “Thank you for helping me,” I hear myself say.

“You’re welcome.”

I turn to face the target again. I can still feel him. He’s standing behind me, watching me, waiting to see if I can hit the target again. I take my stance, aim, shoot and hit the target again. This time I’m a little low, but it’s still better than totally missing.

“Good,” he says. “Keep practicing.”

I nod, hoping he’ll leave without making me feel even worse for what I’ve done.

But then I feel him move closer. “Thank you for the hug,” he whispers. “It was…nice.”

He leaves while I puzzle whether he meant it sarcastically or not.

If he meant it for real…then…then…maybe he does feel the same thing I do.

I’m happy about that. But also confused. He’s my instructor. I’m the trainee. There must be some rules against fraternization.

And what about Sam?

Sam.

He isn’t totally out of the picture. Things are different, but I still care for Sam. I still love him.

Don’t I?

What have I done?

What am I doing?