Elite

Sylvie’s hand stilled in their discourse and she felt her smile freeze unnaturally on her face. The little girl’s eyes closed again, oblivious to the shock her introduction had given her new caretaker. Sylvie started to ask if the girl knew where her parents had heard the uncommon name, but her question was interrupted by another.

“How’s my favorite patient?” called Doc’s voice from the end of the bed. His smile, intended solely for the little girl, was genuine and kind. And the warm tenure of his voice bought an excited response.

“Much better today!” Ellena said with forced brightness. The cheerful tone, though well intended, did not reach her weary eyes. But it was a sign that the Doc decided to ignore.

“That’s great!” he replied, giving a jaunty thumbs up. “But do you mind if I take a look at you anyway?” You know, just for my silly doctor records?” He tapped the clipboard he held dismissively.

“Sure!” she said, pulling her hand free from where Sylvie still held it and used it to push herself laboriously into a sitting position. The simple act brought a bead of perspiration to her pale face, but she hurriedly wiped it away.

Sylvie moved off of the bed and away to allow Doc to move in and take her place alongside the tiny girl. She peered up at him adoringly as he checked her faint pulses and erratic little heartbeat. The etch of worry across his brow told Sylvie that the news was not favorable, but he gave Ellena a reassuring pat and a lying smile before rising to go.

“Will I be able to play soon?” she asked, hope glittering in her innocent eyes. Seeing it there and knowing it was false was too much for Sylvie to bear. Afraid she could not say goodbye without giving away her remorse, Sylvie slipped silently from the little stall.

“Not easy to see, is it?” Doc asked as he quietly joined her on the other side of the makeshift door.

“No, it’s not,” she said quietly. All of her life, Sylvie had always had a soft spot for children and that compassion did not end at the ones that stared back at her with OPTIC illuminated eyes. Rebels or not, children were children and it hurt her to see them hurt. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know? They don’t have to be sick.” She swallowed hard. “They don’t have to die.” Sylvie glared up at him, her accusation as clear as if she had said it aloud. The Rebels were killing them—just as sure as if they put a bullet in their hearts.

At least that would be mercy, she thought ruefully.

Doc met her gaze head on, reading every lone of blame written in her stony expression, but they left him unchanged. “There are worse things than weak bodies,” he said evenly.

“And what is that?” Sylvie challenged, drawing her eyebrows together into one rigid line.

Doc looked her over one slow, deliberate time as if his answer was somehow emblazoned on her for his reference. Then, in a meticulously pointed voice, he said, “Weak minds.”

Before the full weight of his insult could settle onto her shoulders, Sylvie heard a loud bustle of confusion as three men burst through the door from the courtyard. In their arms they held a boy, eleven or twelve years old, clutching his abdomen in agony. Labored moans ripped from him and his eyes, unfixed, rolled back into his head blind with pain.

“What happened?” Doc demanded, brushing past Sylvie to get to the injured boy.

“A tower of crates fell over. They landed right on him!”

From her left, Sylvie saw Anne appear, sliding an empty cot toward them. The men lowered the broken body down onto the bed and quickly moved out of the way. Hating what she saw, but unable to look away Sylvie watched as the Doc stripped the young boy’s tunic away revealing a bruise blackened chest. It was almost unrecognizable, distended with swells and what Sylvie suspected was a shattered rib cage.

She had seen broken bones before and had even had one herself. When she was 9 years old, Sylvie had fallen off a stool trying to reach something on the top shelf in her mother’s closet. She had long since forgotten what had been so important for her to find, but to this day she still remembered the pain in her broken arm.

It had been consuming—mind rattling—and all she had wanted was for it to end. Luckily for her, her MedChip almost instantly recognized the injury and automatically began to repair the break. The pain was completely gone in no more than an hour, but no such luxury existed for the wounded boy. Sylvie did not care what Doc said, anyone that would allow this to happen were the ones with the weak minds

Sylvie started to back away wanting to distance herself from the cruel reality. It was bad enough little children were withering away from preventable and treatable disease, but to see someone die writhing in agony was just too much for her to bear.

“What’s going on?” called a feeble voice from behind her. Ellena stood at the end of her bed, one hand holding the sheet door aloft and the other rubbing her weary eyes. Horrified that the little girl may see the grisly sight, Sylvie reached down and scooped the little girl up into her arms.

“Oh it’s nothing for you to worry about,” she whispered into the girl’s hair. Sylvie cradled her head, tucking it under her chin as she ducked back behind the flimsy screen.

“But I heard yelling,” Ellena said, her little voice muffled against Sylvie’s chest. Sylvie searched her mind for any explanation that would sate the girl’s interest, but as she laid her down again on the small bed. The tiny bit of exertion it had taken her to get out of bed had drained Ellena of all her energy.

As Sylvie pulled her hands away, the little girl’s head went slack against the pillow. Her tired eyes danced behind her lids, her curious mind lost again in fretful sleep. Sylvie stayed with her—hidden away from the horror that waited just beyond the door.

It wasn’t long before the commotion died away, just as Sylvie knew the boy had done. But she sat there for what seemed like hours, clutching the tiny hand of the little girl, drawing strength from the only person who had none to give. Sylvie was sure that Anne and the Doc had forgotten all about her when late that afternoon, the curtain was pushed aside.

“There you are!” Anne said in a voice just low enough not to rouse the sick girl. “I have been looking for you everywhere.” She stepped back out of the nook, holding the curtain back expecting Sylvie to follow. Reluctantly, Sylvie released Ellena’s hand and with a last sidelong look at her, followed Anne outside.

“Where are Ellena’s parents?” Sylvie asked once the curtain fell back into place. “I have been with her all day and no one has even come by to visit.” Sylvie had been burning to ask where they had come up with the girl’s uniquely familiar name. Especially since the only other person she had ever known to have it was her mother. But the opportunity to ask had never presented itself to her.

Or so she thought.

“Ellena is Doc’s little girl,” Anne said soberly. “She used to be his little shadow, following him wherever he went. Poor thing can barely get out of her bed now.”

Sylvie could not believe what she was hearing. It was bad enough that the Doc was willing to sit idly by while a precious little girl faded away. But his own daughter? Even the most heartless Rebel she had imagined in her mind had never been so heartless. What could his reason possibly be?

She wanted to find him and demand to know, but when her eyes scanned the primitive clinic, the Doc was nowhere to be found. Instead, her seeking gaze found Jack standing at the door to the courtyard, his face expectant. His presence there temporarily disarmed Sylvie of her fire to find Doc and left her fumbling to discern his purpose.

“He is here to escort you back to your room,” Anne provided, making her unspoken query unnecessary. “I’ll be by to get you again in the morning. Maybe tomorrow we will actually get some work done.” Sylvie turned her attention to Anne for just a moment to see if there was an accusation in her words. But her features held only fatigue. There was no malice to be found.

Sylvie bid the girl a hurried goodbye and crossed the distance to Jack. He smiled at her when she reached him, but Sylvie could see the toll the day had taken on him in the tiny lines around his eyes. She had not seen him when the injured boy had been brought in, but he had clearly not escaped the fall out of the event. Sylvie wondered how many times over the course of his short life he had witnessed such atrocities, but she was pretty sure she did not want to know. Especially since once had been more than enough for her.

“So how was your day?” Jack asked, his question followed by a hard laugh. He already knew the answer, but in this savage world, the answer was always the same.

Jack led her out the door and back through the enclosed yard. The evening light was dying in the violet sky—an echo of the boy’s death the day had witnessed. “I am really sorry about what happened to that boy,” Sylvie said, deciding to go ahead and say what both of them were thinking. She kept her voice low, wanting to offer the apology only to him.

Jack stuffed his hands deep into his worn pockets, saying nothing for a moment. In her experience, no matter how brief, Jack had always spoke in a series of sardonic comments each one laced with an air of nonchalance and humor. But they both knew that what they had witnessed today was no laughing matter.

“He was a good kid,” Jack said once they had left the open air of the yard for the empty expanse of the hall. “A hard worker. He will be missed.” The finality of his words told Sylvie to let the conversation end there, but she had never been particularly fond of listening to advice she didn’t want to hear.

“I can’t believe you would choose to live like this,” she said with more bitterness than she had intended. But the pale face of the little girl with her mother’s name danced behind her eyes and she could not hide it for a moment longer. “All of this sickness and death. It could be avoided if you would just join the Colony willingly. It is beautiful there—you saw it—and you could be a part of it too. But you would rather rot in a hovel like this!” She threw her hands in the air and let them fall noisily to her sides. The sharp sound sliced ribbons in the stillness of the hall, electrifying the air.

Sylvie expected Jack to argue, to return her insults twisted and mangled for his purpose, but his only reply was a sad solemn smile. His lack of argument left Sylvie feeling raw; the angst that had built up inside her during her tirade now had no target. It settled into her chest like a lump that she could not swallow.

“Why are you smiling?” she demanded, looking for the fight that would ease her frustration. “Are you even listening to me?” Sylvie stopped dead in the middle of the long hall and crossed her arms in front of her, demanding her answer. Jack walked on a few steps before joining Sylvie in her halt. He lowered his chin to his chest, the movement slow and deliberate. Then with a sigh, he turned back to face her.

The hall was draped in shadow, but Sylvie was sure she could have seen the gentle blue of Jack’s eyes even in the darkest of pitch. They bore into her now, coaxing away her anger with the soft flutter of his gold tinged lashes. Desperately, she reached out for her waning rage, wanting to wrap it around her as a shield against the soft stirring she felt start to take its place. Why couldn’t she stay mad at him? Ever since the moment they had met, Jack had been coaxing smiles from her. Even though he stood for everything she was against. Everything she hated.

“Well?” Sylvie heard herself demand, though her charge had lost some of its bite. She shifted from one foot to another, all the while cursing herself for squirming under his gaze.

“Are you really so innocent?” he said finally. It wasn’t a question, but instead a kind of revelation he was coming to all on his own. His look changed then to one of understanding. Like somehow he had found the piece he had been missing to figure her out.

Sylvie felt as exposed as she had when Rex had cut open her clothes and just as helpless to stop the trespass. She backed away from him, as if the distance would shroud her again in whatever mystery she had lost, but deep down she knew it was gone.

In that moment, Sylvie realized that one of the kindest of the Rebels had suddenly become the most dangerous. This sandy haired boy with his easy smile and knowing eyes had done what no one else had ever been able to do.

He had gotten to her.