Elite

The rest of the evening passed Sylvie by in a muddled blur. Once Jack had been satisfied she was unharmed, he had passed Sylvie back off to Jules who had not let her out of her sight once since. Together they had worked to make the cold, barren classroom into something resembling a place the unmarried females could call home.

On any other day, Sylvie would have pointed out how miserably short they fell from that goal, but she could not quite find the effort it took to put her any of her thoughts into words. And if she could, design flaws would have been at the bottom of the list. Instead, she might have asked why Rex had been so violent toward her?

Or better yet, why everyone else had been so kind?

Sylvie spied Jules, the kindest of them all, as the group that had assembled in their room readied themselves for bed. She had set up her cot in front of Sylvie’s, who had nestled her own into the furthest corner from the door. She stood as a sentinel against the inquisitive eyes of their many roommates and for that Sylvie was thankful. She had enough questions of her own without having to worry about anyone else’s.

Weary from the day, Sylvie failed to notice the roughness of the blanket that covered her, or the lack of cushion beneath her tired body. All that concerned her was closing her eyes and escaping her dire reality—even if it was only for a moment.

But sleep provided Sylvie no reprieve.

Her dreams were haunted with visions of Rex, larger than life and wielding sadistic means of torment prepared especially for her. Jack could not save her from the scenarios created in her mind. Each was more terrible than the last until a scream ripped her from her trouble subconscious. Sylvie’s newly awakened eyes darted around the sleeping quarters, sure her distressed cry had broken free of her nightmare and escaped her lips. But no one cast a look in her direction as they began to stir.

Rays from the early morning sun fought layers of dirt clouding the windows across the back wall. The successful glimmers dotted across Sylvie’s blanket in a daytime constellation that seemed much too cheerful for the world they illuminated.

“I got you some new clothes,” Jules said, setting a neat stack on the foot of Sylvie’s bed. “They should fit. I think you and I are about the same size.” Sylvie looked from the bundle and then back to Jules, noting the way her hand seemed to hover over the simple garments. She knew instantly that Jules had not brought her just some clothes—they were her clothes.

Sylvie thought guiltily of the small sack Jules had claimed housed all of her belongings and she knew just how much the girl was giving away. “Thank you,” Sylvie said earnestly and reached out to hug the gift to her chest. Jules smiled sweetly and nodding her head turned to finish folding the blankets on her half made bed. “And Jules,” Sylvie said, stopping her short. “Thank you for being so kind to me.”

She did not wait for Jules to reply before sliding off her trundle and busying herself with changing out of her ruined clothes. Tossing the torn blouse on the bed, Sylvie hoped to shrug off the memory the frayed fabric represented just as easily, but she knew it would stay with her long after the threads were worn away and gone.

Wordlessly, Jules retrieved the top and made quick work salvaging the small metal pins she had used to close the brutal tear the night before. She then spun the wrecked cloth into a tight roll and tucked it away out of sight. Sylvie should have known it wouldn’t be thrown out like she had hoped. Everything in this world had value—even tattered remains of an event better forgotten.

“Miss Price?” A small voice penetrated Sylvie’s thoughts and drew her gaze up to a familiarly freckled face.

“Hello, Anne,” Jules said warmly, giving the girl a sweet smile. Anne’s face erupted in a bloom of uneven red patches that made her pale skin practically transparent in contrast.

“Good morning, Jules,” she managed to choke out, but the way she rung her hands in front of her proved it was a struggle. “The Doc wants Miss Price in the clinic today.”

Sylvie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention as if the Doc had asked for each one of them by name. She wanted to demand to know why or refuse to go all together, but the way Jules smiled and nodded along with Anne’s request quieted Sylvie’s dismay.

“If you will just follow me,” Anne said to her and with a forlorn look back at Jules, Sylvie let Anne lead her out of the room.

Their footsteps rang crisp and loud as they moved through the sprawling building. The phantom pieces of far away conversations drifted in and out in indistinguishable waves, but the two of them said nothing. The straight, guarded way Anne held herself was a telltale sign that she knew she had said too much the first time they had met. Sylvie would have to be extra creative to get anything out of her now.

Once they had reached the end of what felt like a never-ending hall, Anne pushed open a set of large double doors. Beyond them lay an enclosed courtyard mottled with benches and tables, each positioned in the shade of low hanging trees. The space was alive with movement as a score of men moved and stacked crates along the interior perimeter.

Sylvie’s eyes found Jack almost immediately. The shirt he had wrapped around her the night before clung his skin, wet from exertion. But despite the laborious work, a smile still played around his mouth—its presence bringing an unexpected twin to Sylvie’s lips.

She found herself seeing him differently in the early morning light. His features, before so wrong individually, now somehow seemed to work. The crinkle around his eyes proved the sincerity of his grin and the crooked set of his mouth was confident and sure. He stood apart from the group of men so starkly that Sylvie had no idea how she had missed it before. She saw now what Jules had seen all along.

He was beautiful.

The realization struck her almost like a blow, leaving the sting of its mark somewhere low in her gut. Sylvie ripped her eyes away from Jack, forcing them to focus on anything but him. She should not be affected this way. Beautiful was certainly nothing new to her. Davis was beautiful and that had never made her care about him. So why did she find herself caring now? Unsure of whether she wanted the answer, Sylvie quickened her pace until the yard and the nagging question were far behind her.

***

The clinic—as it was very loosely described—was just beyond another set of heavy metal doors on the opposite side of the courtyard. Cots were situated in neat rows and thin sheets had been strung up between them so that only shadows shared the small spaces of each ailing patient.

It was a far cry from the hospital they had left behind. And a joke compared to the medical facility in New Eden. Since the implementation of the OPTICS, disease had become virtually nonexistent. Daily body scans completed by MedChip technology detected and eliminated illness before the host was even aware of its existence. Sylvie had not had so much as a common cold for as long as she could remember. But that didn’t mean she was a stranger to medicine.

Sylvie had been her mother’s shadow in the laboratories where she worked in New Eden. Ellena Price revolutionized the Biomedical field, creating advancements that practically eradicated the concept of age and death. Sadly, though, they had not been able to save her from her own untimely end. Not even the most brilliant mind could undo cold-blooded murder.

After the Rebel’s attack, her mother’s body had not been fit for viewing at the funeral, robbing her of the chance to even say goodbye. She felt the bitterness like bile in the back of her throat grow more acrid at the sight of the senseless sickness around her.

Small children lay weakly on well-worn mattresses that were more like reminders of those who have been infirmed before than tokens of any comfort. Their tiny faces flushed with fevers that would never break and coughs that would forever wreck their feeble bodies. Each and every one of them was brought down by problems Ellena Price could have cured in an afternoon, but instead most of them would never recover.

That reality did not appear to be lost on the man she knew only as Doc. She watched him move methodically from berth to bunk, the same weary expression never relinquishing the hold on his features. “What do I need to do?” Sylvie asked, mentally tabulating a list of needs she knew would never be met. She rolled up the long sleeves of the tunic Jules had given her and looked to Anne for her answer.

“The children need baths,” she stuttered, a little taken aback by Sylvie’s eagerness. Smiling modestly, Anne piled Sylvie’s arms high with a porcelain basin, soap and soft, clean rags. “You can get fresh water from the large barrel right outside. The sun has probably warmed it enough by now.”

Sylvie nodded and ran to fetch the water, finding that Anne was right. The surface was balmy and pleasant as she ladled it into the waiting bowl. Careful not to spill any of the contents, Sylvie quickly made her way back inside. Not wanting to waste the precious warmth of the water, she went directly to the first bed and moving the sheet door aside, she slipped in next to her first patient.

Midnight curls spread across a thin pillow framing the tiny, cherub face of a little girl. Sylvie guessed she could not have been more than four at the oldest, though her undernourished body made a completely accurate guess impossible. Next to her small cot sat a stool that was just sturdy enough to hold the basin of water.

Setting down the tub, Sylvie took one of the dry cloths and dipped it together with the crude soap Anne had given her into the water and worked the two into a lather. The little girl had not stirred at Sylvie’s approach, but as she touched her small hand with the wet cloth, there was a slight flutter of ebony lashes.

Like the wings of a dying butterfly, Sylvie watches them bat against fever stained cheeks before opening to reveal a pair of vibrant blue eyes. They fixed on her almost instantly and Sylvie thought she could feel them peeling back every layer of pretense to stare at exactly whom she was deep down inside. “I’m Sylvie,” she heard herself say, answering the question before it even had to be asked.

“Hi, Sylvie,” the little girl said. She rubbed her eyes; all her strength funneled into giving Sylvie a tiny smile. “I’m Ellena.”