The Elect: Malevolent, a Dystopian Novel (5 page)

Breakfast is just as miserable as last night’s dinner, both because of the tasteless food and because of the less-than-spectacular company. Plus, my eyes are gritty and my head foggy from lack of sleep. I have a huge decision to make today. After thinking and stressing about it all night, I know what I need to do.

But it’s not what I want to do.

After we eat, we go back to the main room. The blankets and pillows are gone. There are three round tables set up at one end of the room. One small bowl sits in the center of each of the tables. And an adult stands behind them. The woman who brought me here stands behind the first one.

The sound of hushed chatter echoes. I stand silent.

A man steps into the center of the room and lifts his hands. “Welcome, members of the Elect. You are the lucky, chosen because you possess a key attribute or skill needed within our agencies. You may be the first in your community to have this opportunity. So I challenge you to use it wisely. You have been given a choice. You have, within your grasp, a great deal of power. After the Great Decimation, the humans who remained created a new government. Instead of the old, useless system, with its judicial, executive, and legislative branches, they formed three agencies, based upon the needs of the population and the challenges of our new reality. With our cyber rulers, the Amiga, taking over the responsibilities and tasks of the former federal, state and local leaders, we no longer need to waste our time and money on legislating laws. Our human leaders are now free to focus on specific goals. They seek to build prosperity, peace, and safety for our people.

“Those who sought to build our prosperity formed the Financial Management Agency. Their goal is to secure for us a life filled with all the comforts and riches any man, woman or child could wish for.

“Those who wish to promote peace created the National and International Relations Agency and work toward maintaining peace both within our nation, between the citizens of Astrax and the Amiga, and between our representatives and those of neighboring countries.

“And those who wished to defend our nation from attack by terrorists who fight to return the world to the way it was before the Great Decimation formed the National Defense Agency. Today, you must choose between one of the three.” He motions to the three tables with the bowls and the people standing behind them. “Your blood will mix with the blood of your brothers and sisters, to create a new family.”

He then calls out the first name.

It’s mine.

Lucky me.

This isn’t what I expected. I hadn’t anticipated this kind of choice. This is so much more complicated than yes or no. It isn’t a decision between two options. It’s a decision between four. My heart thumps against my breastbone. My hands tremble. I curl my fingers and squeeze, hoping to still them. I step up to him. My eyes jump from one bowl to the other. Which do I value most? Peace? Prosperity? Safety? I value all those things. How can I choose? How?

I don’t want to pick. I want someone to tell me which group I belong in.

No, I want to go home. I want to go back to Sam and forget about all of this.

“Each agency contributes to our present and future,” the man explains. “Each one is important. Without the Financial Management Agency, the FMA, we would not have medicine, communications systems, and transportation systems we have today. Without the National and International Relations Agency, the NIRA, we would not have access to healthy, natural food, grown by our rural citizens, as well as imported goods from our neighbors to the south and west. And without the National Defense Agency, the NDA, we would have no hope of ever being free of the danger of attack from extremist terrorist groups.”

A heavy silence falls over us.

“And, of course, there is the fourth option,” he adds. “You can walk out that door and return to your family.”

I lock my knees and try to stand still, but my body is trembling. Sweat drips down the side of my face. I can feel everyone standing behind me. They’re all waiting for me to make a choice. But I don’t know what to do. I have never been so terrified. Why am I here? Why do I have to make this decision?

Whispers tug my nerves tighter. I unfurl my fingers and rub my sweaty palms down my legs. The man’s gaze finds mine. “Choose wisely,” he says.

Choose wisely. What choice is the wise one?

First, I must decide if I will stay or go, which was the one decision I had been prepared to make. I don’t want to stay. Going home would be easy. It would be safe. It’s what I want. My life will continue as it has, as I had always planned. I will marry Sam. We will have children and work all of our days, growing food, caring for animals, raising our children. It will be a peaceful but difficult life. It would be a good life. Yes, it would be a good choice.

Good, but selfish. And cowardly. And predictable.

I don’t want any of those. Especially not predictable.

I’m staying.

So, next, there is the choice between the three agencies.

It’s easy to eliminate the FMA. As much as I respect our need for medicine, communication, and transportation, and wish to find ways to expand those things out of Middleton, I don’t value those needs above peace or safety. So I turn to the remaining two tables. If I choose the NIRA, I would work toward fostering a stronger relationship between our human citizens and the Amiga first. That would be important work. If we could strengthen that relationship, building upon the tenuous thread of trust that exists now, perhaps the use of technology would be allowed to expand outside of Middleton. Maybe someday Father would be able to plow with a motor-driven tractor, rather than a team of oxen. And Mother would be permitted to cook on an electric stove instead of a wood one.

My gaze locks on the other bowl. But if I choose the NDA, then I will fight against the terrorists who threaten the good work the NIRA is trying to do. It probably won’t be a peaceful life. It will be difficult, challenging, terrifying, but also…exciting.

Exciting.

The man hands me a small wrapped package. I tear it open. Inside is a tiny blade. I pierce the tip of my finger and a fat, red droplet collects on the wound.

This is it. I must choose. Now.

I step up to the National Defense Agency’s bowl and watch it plop. The first drop of blood I have shed for safety. I wonder how many more will follow.

The person standing next to the bowl hands me a pen and paper. “Sign here.”

I skim the paper. It details the money that will be paid to our families while we’re in training. I sign and watch the others make their choices. One by one they step up. One by one the group standing behind me grows. One by one the drops in the bowl multiply. No one chooses Financial Management. No one chooses National Relations either. Mattie’s name is called and she joins the rest of us. The tall girl (aka, the bitch) is next. Her name is Alice. She gives me a scathing death glare then holds her hand over our bowl. Charlie is after her. He glances at us for a moment. He inhales and exhales. I watch his chest and shoulders rise and fall. And then he pokes his finger and holds his hand over the Financial Management Agency’s bowl.

Voices bounce around the room. Nobody saw that one coming, evidently. I glance over my shoulder. People are staring at him, eyes sharp with judgment. I want to defend him. We were all given a choice. He made his. Is it so bad being concerned about our medical care and transportation services? He didn’t leave. Doesn’t that count for something? Assholes.

There is one girl left. Only one. She looks at our group then at the boy standing behind the Financial Management bowl. And finally at the last bowl. She accepts the wrapped lance, peels away the paper. Then, she jerks up her chin, pricks her finger and holds it over the empty bowl. She has chosen National Relations. Someone behind me shouts, “Coward!”

She glares at our group. “My life. My choice,” she says. “Nobody should have to apologize or feel guilty.”

She’s right. We have all been given the same choice. None of the options is more right or wrong. They are all equal. Just as the jobs performed by each group are equally important. If everyone picked the same agency, then we would all suffer.

The woman standing behind our bowl motions for us to follow her. I glance at the two kids who are leaving with the other agencies’ representatives. I wonder where they will be going. I wonder where we all are going. I may never see my home town again. The wide open fields. Our house. My parents. A little crack forms in my heart. I hope I like wherever I’m going. I hope I haven’t made the wrong choice.

“Until you pass initiation, you are all recruits,” the woman tells us as she leads us through a door. “Because of the dangers you will be facing, we must make sure you are fully prepared and capable of handling any situation that may come.” She stops and turns to face us. “We have found that roughly half our recruits are suitable for our agency. The other half fail...or die…during the training process.”

Ice cold fingers of dread wrap around my heart and squeeze. Shit. Half? Half fail? Or
die
? What have I just done?

She leads us outside.

The world is cloaked in darkness. Above our heads a thick blanket of gloomy clouds blocks any starlight or moonlight. As the other kids join us, my eyes gradually adjust.

The woman says in a hushed voice, “Because of the danger, we travel by foot. At night. Without aid of any navigation devices. Moving from one safe house to another. Danger is all around us. The enemy is everywhere. Protecting the location of all safe houses is our first priority. Always. This is why anyone who does not, or cannot, keep up will be left behind. No matter what.” The woman swings her arm. “My name is Claire. And so begins your initiation. Follow me.”

Claire sprints away.

Since finding out about the Elect I had tried to imagine what it would be like working for our government. Thanks to all the reading I did growing up, I have an active imagination. But never did I imagine myself running down narrow streets in the middle of a spring night, bare tree branches arching over my head like giant skeletal hands.

Neither did I expect to be so well-equipped for the challenge. I wasn’t the best student. To be honest, I didn’t really care about school. But being the daughter of a
hick
meant I regularly traveled by foot or bicycle. And it seems that is working to my benefit. Even though I’m not dressed to run--I’m still wearing my school dress--I match Claire stride for stride as we travel down the road. All the others straggle far behind us. In the dark I can’t tell if we’ve lost anyone yet, but I suspect we might have.

We run for miles. My feet pound against broken concrete and gravel and dirt. We pass ruins of massive homes, abandoned towns, and miles of wilderness. And after each step I tell myself the next one will be my last.

My legs burn. My feet ache. My shoes have rubbed blisters on my heels. My lungs are on fire. Still I don’t slow down. I force myself to take one more step, only one more. And though I don’t look back, I wonder if anyone is keeping pace with us. Outside of the steady thump of our footsteps, the world around us is silent.

Will we ever stop?

Can I make it one more step?

At last, after hours of running, we stop.

We stop.

I’ve made it!

I bend at the waist and heave. Nothing comes up. A hand rests on my back as I struggle to fill my lungs with air. When I look up, my watery eyes meet dark brown eyes full of respect.

“You did very well,” Claire says. “This way.” She leads me off the road and over a small hill. I hobble after her on bloody feet. Then she stomps on the ground. A trap door lifts, revealing yet another staircase descending into the earth. She motions me down but doesn’t follow.

The door at the bottom hangs open. I step through, entering a well-lit open area. A person applauds as I enter. It’s the boy from yesterday, the one with the beautiful face. His smile makes my chest hurt even more.

“You broke my record,” he says. “Congratulations.”

His record for what?

“Yours is the fastest time of any initiate so far. You beat my record by almost a full minute,” he explains. “I’m Jay.”

Jay. His name is Jay.

And I beat his record?

My time is the fastest? Ever?

I feel my face flush. Maybe I’m more suited to this job than I thought. Maybe I will be a real asset to the agency. Maybe I didn’t make the worst mistake of my life.

Jay hands me a cup. “Here. You need this.”

Our fingers briefly touch as I accept it. A little burst of heat radiates through my body. He is so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at him. I know I should. I owe it to Sam…or do I?

Yes, or course I do.

Then again, I doubt I’ll ever see Sam again.

“Thanks,” I say. I lift the cup to my mouth and drink. Ice cold water. So good. The cup is empty before he blinks once.

He chuckles. “I see you don’t just run fast.”

I made him laugh. Me. My face gets hotter. He’s laughing at me. “That was a long run,” I tell him.

“Yes, I remember. The first one is tough, but nothing like the next one.”

I wasn’t ready to hear that. I swallow a gulp of air and nod. Behind me, I hear footsteps, shuffling. Some other recruits have made it. I look at Jay. His expression has changed. He isn’t smiling anymore. His eyes are sharp now. Hard. “Welcome,” he says. He isn’t welcoming me. He isn’t welcoming the others either. His mien is far from welcoming. He shakes his head. “Pathetic. You recruits have a lot of work to do.”

I turn to face the newcomers. Two boys I haven’t met lead the group. Alice is behind them. Three more kids follow her.

Including me, that makes seven who have made it so far. Only seven. I don’t see Mattie yet. Was she lost? I hope not.

Jay says, “My name is Jay. I will be your instructor for this portion of your initiation. So far only one initiate has met an acceptable time.” He motions to me. “Your name?”

“Eva,” I say as I slide my feet out of my shoes. The inside of both shoes is coated with blood.

“Eva has set a new initiate record. That’s the kind of performance we expect from all of you.”

Clearly my fellow recruits aren’t happy about what they’ve just heard. My gaze meets one unfriendly scowl after another. I hope Mattie gets here soon. She might be my only friend.

While the other kids drink water and jabber about what they think is coming next, I pace barefooted just inside the entry. The cool floor feels so good, like ice.

Jay leaves.

Does that mean he isn’t expecting any more recruits?

After a while exhaustion sets in and I can’t pace anymore. It’s been a long day. I’m still worried about my new friend, but I’m so tired I can’t think straight. My feet are feeling a little better buy my eyes feel like they’ve been plucked out of my head, rolled in sand, and then shoved back into their sockets. Every beat of my heart is pounding in my head. The pain is almost enough to make me throw up. And the thrill of having set a new record is long gone.

I sit on the floor, hug my knees to my chest, and lean against the wall. It would be so easy to fall asleep like this. So easy.

But then I hear a sound outside. Voices. Are they more recruits?

The door opens.

One, two, three, four, five more recruits drag in. No Mattie.

No Mattie?

Crap.

I watch the five newcomers stagger and limp across the room, accepting welcomes and water from their friends. That totals twelve. Twelve who made it and six who didn’t. Mattie is one of those six. She’s gone. My only friend. I let my head fall, resting my forehead on my knees. My eyelids won’t stay up anymore. I’ve never been so tired.

I hear a noise outside. I guess it’s Claire, checking the area before closing off the outside trap door. Footsteps descend the staircase. Thump, thump, thump. I lift my head, even though I don’t expect to see Mattie.

It’s her.

I smile. “You made it.”

She drops next to me. Her face is red. She’s breathing heavy. “I made it.” She sighs hard. “I can’t believe it. I made it.”

I fall asleep next to my friend.

* * * * *

Coffee. I love that smell. Mother made us coffee this morning? Is it a special day? My birthday? I stretch. My bed is so hard.

Hard?

What?

My eyes snap open, and for a few seconds I’m completely disorientated. Then I remember where I am. I’m not at home, safe and cozy in my bed. I’m in an underground safe house. I’m on the floor.

I sit up and wince. I’m stiff from sleeping on the cold concrete. As I move, my aching muscles scream. Last night’s run has strained my body. If we have to run again today…ugh, I don’t want to even think about it.

I slowly push to my feet, using the floor and wall as support. My body feels heavy, like I have fifty pound bags of flour strapped on my legs and arms. They couldn’t expect us to run again today. That would be unreasonable. No, that would be cruel.

The table in the center of the room is loaded with food. My stomach rumbles as I shuffle over to it. Bread. Fruit. Some kind of dried meat. And coffee. I go for the coffee first, hoping it’ll spark some life in my half-dead body. If that doesn’t work, nothing will. I sip. Someone groans. The other recruits are stirring, but I’m the first to wake.

After downing half my coffee I go to the bathroom. I feel dirty. A long, hot bath would be so nice. But I know that won’t happen. I settle for some lukewarm water and soap to wash up. I find bandages and wrap my mangled feet.

Feeling a little more human, I return to the main space. Jay comes into the room. I feel his presence before I see him. Every cell in my body vibrates. With Claire at his side, he stands at one end of the room, clapping his hands and yelling, “Wake up you bunch of lazy-asses!” He sees me but doesn’t acknowledge me. By now I’m thinking that smile yesterday was just for show, to rub it in the other recruits’ noses. I go to the table and grab some food for me and Mattie. She’s sitting where we slept, blinking and looking dazed, her copper hair hanging over half her face.

When I sit next to her, she groans. “I hurt everywhere,” she whispers as she ties her hair into a knot on the top of her head.

“Yeah, me too. Especially my feet. These shoes weren’t made for running. Here.” I hand her a piece of bread. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you eat. And if you need, there are bandages in the bathroom.”

She blinks a lot as she accepts the bread. “Thanks.” Her eyes are red but she isn’t crying…yet. She’s just about to. I can tell. “I think I made a mistake.”

“This is only the beginning. You can’t give up.”

Mattie stares at the bread, flipping it over in her hands. “I had no idea it would be so physical. I thought we would be working with computer drones. Writing code. Programming robots. Not this. Not running.”

I take a bite of my bread. It’s stale and bland. Nothing like the bread Mother baked. A pang of homesickness twists my stomach. “Maybe knowing computer code will be important later. Like I said, this is only the beginning. When we get to that stuff I’m going to need you. We can help each other through this. It may be the only way both of us can make it.”

Mattie’s lips curl into a smile. It isn’t a big smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. But it’s better than the watery frown she was wearing. “Yes, together. We’ll get through this together.”

Jay clears his throat. “Good morning, recruits. Today is a big day. Your first day of training. We will be training you hard, preparing you for every possible danger you may face out there. I think by now you realize it won’t be easy. We can’t make it easy, or every single one of you would die your first day on the job.” He looks at Mattie. “There are now thirteen of you. Five trainees failed the first test last night. It’s time for your second test.”

Another test? Already?

Mattie and I exchange worried looks. Although the bandages seem to be helping, I’m too sore to run, or walk, or even blink my eyes. If the test has anything to do with computers or electronics, I’m in big trouble too.

“Follow me.” Holding a gas lantern, he leads us through a door and down a long, dark staircase. The air is stale and cold. The corridor at the bottom is narrow, with red brick walls and a low ceiling. Water oozes from cracks between the bricks. The sound of something scratching up ahead makes my nape tingle.

Mattie grabs my hand. “This is freaking me out,” she whispers. But her words bounce around the hollow space, amplifying them. Someone behind us snickers.

“Is someone scared of the dark?” a voice taunts.

I squeeze Mattie’s hand and give her an ignore-them look. She nods and squeezes back.

At the end of the tunnel we climb another set of stairs. This one is longer, several flights long. We go up, hit a landing, turn and continue up another flight. Higher, higher. We are inside a tall building. Ugly graffiti covers almost every inch of the walls. The floors are numbered. One, two, three. Jay opens the door on the fifth floor and motions us through. We gather in the hallway and wait for him. The sound of the door slamming behind us makes me jerk. I’m jumpy. So is Mattie. Wind blusters through the space, brisk and sharp, even though we’re inside the building. We stand close together and try to look brave as we wait for our instructor to tell us what to do.

He pushes to the front of our group and gives me and Mattie a strange look. “Follow me,” he says.

We follow, although I don’t want to.

He stops at another door and opens it. A gust of wind blasts us, making my eyes water. I see, as we step up to the door, where the wind is coming from. The floor and walls in front of us is collapsed, and so are the floors below it. A huge piece of the outer wall is gone. We’re five stories up. Solid ground is a long way down.

Mattie’s grip on my hand tightens.

“You will scale down to the ground,” Jay tells us. Then he grabs a pipe sticking out of what was once the floor and starts down.

I step closer to the fractured edge of the floor. Mattie remains back, her fingers locked around my hand. I watch Jay swing and stretch and leap as he descends the rubble. He makes it look easy. I know better. I’m shorter than him. My arms and legs won’t reach as far. And I’m guessing I’m not as strong, either.

My gaze searches the broken pieces of the building, looking for handholds and footholds. Several trees are grown into the rubble a few stories down, limbs reaching into the building like arms. I’ve climbed my share of trees. Those, I know I can climb. If I can reach those tree limbs I’ll be okay.

If.