The Elect: Malevolent, a Dystopian Novel (2 page)

I wonder how she can concentrate with so much fear crackling around the room. But somehow she’s able to focus on her book until her name is called. She gives me a long look before she follows the administrator.

My sister is about to face something terrifying. And I’m next. My breath catches in my throat.

Sam tries to comfort me, but I can tell he’s getting nervous too, and his unease is making my jangling nerves worse. He whispers promises I hope he’ll be able to keep. I acknowledge them with silent nods. My hands tremble as I stare at the clock on the wall. Each second seems to last at least an hour.

In our world time drags sometimes. But this, this is excruciating. I’m so scared I just want it over with. I hope and pray the exam is not as horrific as those strained, pale faces suggest.

Really, how bad could it be? It’s just a freaking exam.

At the three-minute mark my racing heart decides it could be worse than anything I can imagine. I close my eyes, rub my sweaty palms against my legs, and concentrate on breathing slowly. In. Out. In. Out.

It’s an exam. Only an exam.

Pen.

Paper.

Questions.

Answers.

I’ve taken lots of exams before. This is no different.

Footsteps. I hear footsteps approaching. That could only mean one thing.

“Eva Pearson.”

It’s my turn.

I stand, glance back at Sam, and capture the image of his handsome face in my head. Depending upon what happens next, I may never see that face again.

I don’t know the woman who called my name. I’ve never seen her at our school before. That makes me even more nervous. As she escorts me to the exam room, she says absolutely nothing. Her shoes click-clack swiftly on the floor. She’s walking fast. The tapping is in perfect timing with my racing heart. Tap-tap-tap.

She takes me down the hall and stops at a door that’s always locked. Since kindergarten I’ve heard all kinds of spooky stories about what’s hidden behind that door. Most of the rumors are silly. But a few are downright terrifying.

It seems I’m about to learn the truth.

She grips the handle and smiles. Her smile is disturbing. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I wonder what she isn’t telling me.

“Good luck,” she says. That’s all. Just good luck. Then she opens the door.

The room is white inside. Sterile, blank, blinding white. An odd-looking chair sits in the room’s center. It looks like a dentist’s chair. I hate dentists.

I glance at the lady, asking with my eyes, what this is. I want to know what the hell is going on. Where are the desks? The pieces of paper? The pencils?

Is the Exam a…a physical exam?

I hadn’t considered that possibility.

“Have a seat, please.” She gives me a little push and slams the door behind me. I hear the lock slide in place. I try the handle anyway. It won’t open.

I’m locked in?

Why?

Cold sweat prickles over my skin. I look at the chair. Do I sit? Do I wait for someone to come into the room? Whatever is about to happen, it has to happen soon. I know the other kids weren’t in this room more than three minutes.

I also know the other kids didn’t like it.

A lump the size of my house gets stuck in my throat.

A year later (or so it seems) the lock rattles. The knob twists. The school’s nurse enters. She’s wearing a white lab coat, her usual too-tight hair bun, and her trademark scowl. One hand is in her pocket. “Please sit.” She points at the chair.

I look at her.

I look at the chair.

“Sit, please,” she repeats.

What do I do? Should I ask to be excused? I could. Actually, that sounds like a damn fine idea.

But…

But if I’m excused, I will have absolutely zero chances of making it into the Elect.

I want to be chosen for the Elect. I
need
to be chosen. How could I just walk away from this opportunity?

You’re no baby. Get in the damn chair.

I set my hand on the chair’s armrest. My heart hammers against my breastbone.

Why am I so jumpy? Why? This is the same nurse who cleaned my knee when I fell on the playground in kindergarten. This is the nurse who pulled the bee stinger out of my hand in second grade, too. And gave me an ice pack when I jumped off the swing in fourth grade and tore open both hands. I can trust her. Of course I can. She isn’t going to hurt me.

I sit. “I didn’t realize the Exam was a physical examination.”

She smiles and nods. I swear to God, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen her smile. What does that mean? “It’ll only take a moment.” She pulls her hand out of her pocket. Clasped in it is a small glass bottle. She removes the cork and hands it to me. “Drink this.”

The bottle feels cold and small in my hand as I accept it. I lift it to my nose. The clear liquid reeks and makes my eyes water.

Still smiling, she gives my hand a nudge. “Down you go. I have a lot more students to see today.”

I close my eyes and tip the bottle back, dumping the contents into my mouth. I reflexively swallow. It burns my throat. Heat shoots through my body.

Suddenly I can’t move. Not a finger. Not a toe.

I try to blink. I try to speak. Panic grips me like a vice. Black clouds gather around me, cutting off my sight.

I’m terrified. What kind of hell is this? Have I been poisoned?

The nurse’s voice is muffled. I hear her speak to me. She’s telling me to relax.

Relax? How can I do that? I’m effing dying.

Relaxxx.

Relaxxxxxxx.

Ahhhhh.

I’m not dying. I’m drifting. In a warm, dark place. Shapes are forming from the blackness. Shifting. Moving. What are they?
Helloooo shapes. Let’s be friends.

“Safe. You’re safe,” I hear the nurse say.

I’m safe. I’m good. Everything is good. I’m here with my friends.

She asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I hear my voice. Did I just speak? Or am I dreaming?

She asks a second question, and again I hear an answer. Several more questions follow that one, I think. I can’t be sure of anything. All I know is the darkness is so good. I like it. But it’s starting to lift. My shadowy friends are leaving.

My finger wiggles. I can scrunch my nose. I open my eyes.

My legs move.

I can move.

I inhale deeply and look left, right.

She’s gone.

Is it…over?

What just happened?

* * * * *

The other lady returns, the one I don’t know. She has a great big smile on her face. I’m not sure I like the way she’s looking at me, like she’s a starving two year old and I’m a big piece of cake with extra frosting.

“Up you go.” She waves me to the door. “Follow me, please.”

I swing my legs off the chair and stand. I’m not steady. My feet feel heavy, like my shoes have been encased in thick mud. I stagger to the door and turn toward the gym. All I can think about is talking to Sam, telling him what the Exam was like and asking Emma how it was for her.

But she grabs my shoulders. “No, no. We’re going this way.” She points me in the other direction, and I conclude the kids who’ve completed their exams are returning to their classrooms so we don’t miss more class time.

That’s a great idea. I’m glad we’re getting back to normal. I like normal. Normal is good.

Then again, I don’t want to go to history. We’re taking a quiz today. On twentieth century America.

I turn and stagger-walk down the hall toward my first class. But just as I reach the door she pushes on my shoulders, forcing me past it.

Where the hell does she want me to go?

“This way, please,” she says.

My head is still a little foggy and my thoughts are disjointed, but in the back of my mind I know something isn’t right. The classroom door has a window, allowing me to see inside.

The room is empty.

I was wrong. The other kids haven’t gone to class.

So why am I being pushed down this hallway? Why haven’t I returned to my chair next to Sam’s?

“Where are we going?” I ask. My words are still slurred. I sound funny. I want to laugh at myself.

“Outside.”

Her voice isn’t sharp. She sounds very calm and kind and friendly. But she isn’t
acting
calm or kind. She’s nudging me along as if I need to hurry.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because, you still seem a little out of sorts. I thought you could use some fresh air.”

Her explanation is reasonable. I can accept it. I want to accept it because if she’s lying I have no clue what’s going on. But I’m still scared and suspicious and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to look like an idiot. If I scream for help or try to run (emphasis on
try
), will I fall on my ass? Will everyone point and laugh? Will I be teased for the rest of the year? Knowing my classmates the answer to all those questions is yes.

I can’t scream.

I can’t run.

I just have to trust this stranger is telling the truth. After all, what reason would she have to lie?

I step outside.

The sunlight scorches my eyes, blinding me. I shade them with my hand but tears wet my lashes and blur my vision. I squint and blink, willing my eyes to adjust to the brightness. “This way,” the lady says and takes my arm. She smiles. But her grip on my arm is very tight. I don’t like her touching me.

I try to pull away but she won’t let me go. “What’s wrong?” I ask. My heart races. My blood turns to ice. Something’s wrong. I know it. And I’m terrified.

“Shhhhh,” she shushes me. Then she repeats, “It’s okay. This way.” She leads me to a cycle taxi. The driver watches us approach. The woman holding my arm shoves me toward the seat. “Get in. Hurry.”

It’s not okay. I don’t want to go anywhere with this bitch. “No.” Wishing I had screamed when I had the chance, I twist my arm. “Let me go.”

The woman doesn’t let go. “I can’t. This is for your own good. Please stop fighting me.”

“What’s for my own good?” I shout. “Where are we going?”

“Home. I’m taking you home.” She motions to the rickshaw. “Now, please, get in.”

“Home?” I repeat. Home? She’s taking me home?

My terror eases. My heart rate slows.

That medicine. It must be making me crazy. Paranoid.

Home. I’m going home. Everything
is
okay.

I want some more coffee. I love coffee.

She explains, “You’ve had a reaction to the examination. You need to get some rest.”

I’ve had a reaction?

Maybe.

My mind is still groggy.

I’m unsteady on my feet.

I’m talking kind of funny too. My words are very slurred.

Yes, it makes sense that I’ve had a reaction. I nod and climb in. I’m going home. To have coffee.

Once I’m aboard, she joins me.

The driver pedals us away from school.

I’m leaving for the day. Yay! Goodbye school! Goodbye Principal Cline. Goodbye history quiz.

Goodbye Sam.

Oh, shit.

Sam.

Sam will wonder where I’ve gone. Sam might worry. I don’t want him to worry.

“Before we leave, I need to get a message to someone,” I tell the lady.

“You can do that later.”

“Okay.” I decide I’ll ride to the creek later to meet Sam. After I have some coffee. Oh, wait. My bike. I left my bicycle at school. I’ll have to get it before I meet with Sam. I hope it doesn’t take long for that medicine (poison) to wear off.

The taxi turns left onto Michigan Avenue. We’re traveling east.
East.
My house is west of school, the other way. “Excuse me.” I wave my hand at the driver. His back is to us. He’s hunched over the handlebars. And he’s pedaling like a fiend, steering through the rough terrain. He doesn’t look at me or answer me, so I tell the woman, “My house is that way.” I point west.

“Yes. I know,” she says.

Okay, now I’m confused. And worried. “But you said you were taking me home. Home is that way.” I point again.

“Yes, I did say that. And I am taking you home.” She smiles. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Liar.

What the hell is going on?

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask as I watch the school behind me grow more and more distant. We’re traveling fast. Away from everything I know and love.

Oh shit. Am I being kidnapped?

Panic winds through me like a viper, tugging my body into hard knots. I can’t move. I can’t think. Is this really happening? What should I do?

“Absolutely not,” she answers. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.”

This bitch is a worse liar than me. “Why are you taking me away, then?”

“Eva, when I said I was taking you home, I didn’t mean Whitmore Street. I’m taking you to your
new
home. You’ve been selected, Eva. Congratulations. You’re one of this year’s Elect.”