Read The Elect: Malevolent, a Dystopian Novel for Free Online Page B

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.