Elite
Chapter Nineteen

The hush that filled the hall was almost more frightening than the scream of artillery that had first alerted Sylvie to the arrival of the Elite. At least the noise of assault gives an idea of what is going on, but in the silence anything is possible. Sylvie skirted the courtyard, assuming it of all places would be occupied since it was the location of all Rebel supplies. Instead, she wound her way through the back hall and came upon the clinic through a side door near Doc’s office.

Flickers of light ran across the floor through the space at the base of the door alerting Sylvie to movement on the other side. Pressing her ear to the facing, she listened for any sound that would reveal who waited for her on the other side.

“Shh, it’s ok,” called a muted voice and Sylvie knew the owner almost instantly. Opening the door, Sylvie peaked her head inside to replace Anne knelt down among a sea of tiny, worried faces.

“Sylvie!” Ellena called out, jumping up from her place amongst the little group. She ran to Sylvie’s side and in seconds had her little arms wrapped like a vice around Sylvie’s waist. Wrapping her arms around the little girl, Sylvie scanned the room for any sign of the Elite, but the clinic was untouched.

She wasn’t too late.

“Anne,” Sylvie said, lifting Ellena into her arms and making her way to the girl’s side. “We have to hide the children. Do you know somewhere they could go?” As she spoke, Sylvie motioned the children toward her. They had to move now. The sharp bark of unfamiliar voices drifted in from just outside the yard and tiny pinpricks of red light ricocheted off the walls through the small window cut out of the door foreshadowing the arrival of the guns that bore them.

“There’s a closet in Doc’s office,” Anne said, her eyes darting madly between Sylvie and the door. “It’s where we store our supplies.” Sylvie feared that it was not going to be enough, but she knew it was the only option that they had now. She nodded and with Ellena still in her arms led the way into the office.

Once inside, Anne ran ahead and opened the small door that was tucked away next to the long counter that ran the length of the wall. Sylvie remembered it vaguely from her visit the day before and hoped her own dismissal of its importance would be parroted by anyone else who may come inside.

“Everyone in,” Sylvie said, limiting her voice to a fevered whisper. “Squeeze in tight and stay as quiet as little mice.” She pressed her finger to her lips and felt her heart break as their tiny hands mimed her action. The complete trust that gleamed in their red-rimmed eyes taunted Sylvie as she ushered them into the tiny room. If they knew the fear that mingled with it was her fault, they would have placed that trust somewhere else. “You too, Anne,” Sylvie said after all the children were stowed away. “And turn off the flashlight.”

Snapping off the switch, Anne started to follow the little ones inside, but she stopped short. Reaching out, she placed a tentative hand on Sylvie’s arm. “What will you do?” she asked and Sylvie knew she did not mean tonight. She was asking a much larger question. One whose answer would reveal so much more than her actions in the hours to come.

And while Sylvie knew her answer, she only said, “What I have to do.” Without waiting for Anne’s reply, Sylvie gently nudged her through the little door and closed it silently behind her. Turning around, Sylvie stood for a moment staring out into the darkness of the room. She wished there had been time to replace Jack and tell him what she was planning to do, but even as the thought occurred to her, she knew that it was foolish.

To tell would be to endanger everything.

Standing there, wondering how on earth she would accomplish what came next, Sylvie watched through the small row of windows along the ceiling as outside the clouds drifted away allowing the moon to peak out from behind their blackening cover. For just an instant, a soft brilliance filled the room and winked off a piece of glistening metal across the room.

The scanner.

Without another thought, Sylvie strode toward it and hid the device away in the folds of her clothes. With the rigid metal pressing against her thigh, she felt just enough confidence to walk out and face her next challenge: a literal firing squad.

***

“Help!” Sylvie bellowed, bolting out of the clinic door into the yard. The red ghosts of flare light gave the appearance of day, but added no warmth. The cool night air hit Sylvie’s lungs intensifying her breathlessness. Before bursting through the doors, Sylvie had ripped at the collar of her shirt and pulled her hair from its braid in erratic and wild angles. She even scratched at her face and collarbone for effect.

The Elite would never buy her story of capture and torment without some sort of proof. It would be the details that sold this story. With wide, crazed eyes and hands lifted in the show of surrender, Sylvie was met by a dozen tiny red hellos. The laser sights of the Elite weapons found and held her the moment she breached the door, making the panic she was feigning suddenly very real.

“My name is Sylvie Price,” she said as loudly as she could manage, hoping that the right ears would hear her before the wrong fingers did any irreparable damage.

“Hold your fire,” Sylvie heard a familiar voice call from somewhere in the masses. She sought its owner, sure she was wrong about the identity, but all her doubt was tossed aside just like discarded mask that revealed the matching face.

“Davis!” Sylvie exclaimed, both in surprise and relief. He had only just been assigned to work with her father, so replaceing him giving orders was a shock, but one that would work greatly in her favor. “Oh thank goodness it’s you.” Sylvie’s voice honeyed, reaching out toward him in sweet tendrils like a web of spun sugar. Her body followed suit and seconds later, Sylvie wrapped her arms around him completing the snare.

Davis returned her embrace even more fiercely than Sylvie had expected, breaking away only to inspect her self inflicted wounds. “What have they done to you?” he said, his brows knit together in worry. “I’ll kill the man who did this.” He cupped her face, his fingers gently grazing the fresh scratches on her cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” Sylvie said, shoving away his hand. She did her best to make the action appear bashful rather than frantic, but she couldn’t quiet the hard thump of her heart at his threat. “I just want to go home. Will you take me home, Davis?” Sylvie hoped that the personal nature of her plea would refocus Davis’s attention on her, where she wanted it to be. But for the first time, Sylvie found him undistracted.

“We have subdued a large group of Rebels,” Davis said, leading Sylvie to the heart of the yard. “Now that we found you, you can point out your kidnapper so that he can be dealt with.”

Jack.

Sylvie’s heart froze and her feet stopped cooperating. She stumbled and was sure she was destined to collide with the ground, but Davis’s arms shot out instantly. In one motion, he steadied her gait and brought her forward to stand before a long row of bowed heads.

Sylvie’s breath caught in her throat and her legs threatened to fail her again as she peered out over the humbled crowd. Men, women, and even children had been brought to their knees. Their wrists were bound behind their backs, the unforgiving plastic of their restraints digging trenches into their skin. The Elite soldiers were scattered throughout the collective and with raised weapons, dared any of them to resist. Most cowered, uttering only unconscious whimpers, but the fight had not left everyone.

“I’ll skin that Elite bitch!” Rex bellowed, just as the butt of a soldier’s gun crashed into the side of his skull. Positioned front and center, Rex was peppered in cuts and bruises, telling Sylvie this was only one in a series of outbursts from him. And from the wiry grin he gave the guard who struck him, anyone could see it would not be his last.

Next to him, stone faced and silent, Sylvie caught her first glimpse of Jack. A deep gash ran the length of his dominant brow and a steady stream of blood snaked its way down the side of his solemn face. Sylvie resisted the urge to go to him, but her resolve took quite a blow when he lifted his sapphire eyes to hers. A thousand emotions paraded through their ocean like depths and Sylvie read them all. Fear. Doubt. Hope. Staring back at him, she prayed he was able to read hers as well.

Trust me, they said.

“We are still scouting out the area,” Davis said, oblivious to the silent exchange between Sylvie and Jack. “I was preparing to send a sweep through the south building right before you emerged.”

“It’s empty!” Sylvie heard herself say before Davis could continue. She searched her brain for an explanation—any explanation—that would keep them away from the tiny closet and the precious contents inside. “I searched it myself. There is no reason to waste time going back through.” She knew instantly it was the wrong tactic. Anything she had ever successfully gotten out of Davis had been with coy smiles and inflated praise. She would get nowhere with her self-proclamation.

Staring at his blank face, Sylvie searched deep from what he needed to hear instead. “I am what you came for,” she said, sticking her lip out into a pull pout. “Aren’t I?” Davis gave only a curt nod, but his eyes were now glued to her lips. She had set the hook. “Davis,” she pressed, verbally caressing his name. “I want to go home. Please take me.” With delicate fingers, Sylvie lifted his chin to look into his eyes. “Don’t you want to take me?” Sylvie poured every bit of heat she could muster into her stare and did her best to ignore the sick twist it placed in the pit of her stomach. Her argument was weak at best, but she could see manipulation working in the gaps.

“I do,” Davis said and it was clear which question he was answering. Sylvie could feel Jack’s eyes on her as she worked her whiles on Davis, but she knew if she looked at him—even for a moment—she would lose her will to see her plan through.

So with a silent apology, she did what she knew she had to do to seal the deal. Before anything resembling a “but” could replace its way out of Davis’s mouth, Sylvie looped her hand around the back of his neck and crushed his lips to hers.