Free The Elect: Malevolent, a Dystopian Novel by Tamryn Ward Page A

impatient.
    “I apologize,” Alice murmurs.
    “No apologies necessary. Just shut your mouth and learn. It could save your life.” Satisfied he has gotten his point across, Jay continues, “Like I was saying, during level one, you will learn the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Afterward, you will be tested and ranked from highest to lowest before moving on to the second level of training. Only the top three graduating recruits will be allowed to select their positions within the agency. They will also earn a bonus. And you heard what George said about anyone who is injured and can’t train. Twenty-four hours and you’re out.”
    “What happens to the ones who don’t make it?” someone shouts.
    “Do you want to find out?” Jay counters.
    No one responds.
    He moves to a door, opens it. “This way.”
    We follow him into a room that is empty. A black circle is painted in the center of the grimy tiled floor. The walls are blank, a greyish white that had probably been pure white a long time ago. The weak light of lanterns suspended from the ceiling do a poor job of illuminating the space. Off to one side are several tall soft-sided cylinders, suspended from the ceiling. Jay points at them.
    “Pick a punching bag,” he tells us.
    Punching bag. I’ve heard the expression but had never seen what one looks like before. I stand next to one and give it a poke. It’s firm but not hard, covered in brown material.
    Jay stands next to me, feet set wide apart, arms crossed over his chest. “We will be teaching you how to defend yourself. The purpose of this exercise is two-fold. You must be prepared for any act of aggression, physical or mental, if you want to survive. Also, you must train your body and mind to respond to threats, instead of freezing like a bewildered deer caught in headlights.”
    I understand the bewildered deer reference. But headlights?
    “I will teach you several techniques this morning and this afternoon you will fight each other. Pay attention. Some of you will get hurt.”
    I will have to fight someone? And I might get hurt? My breakfast threatens to retreat up my throat. I’ve never hit anyone or anything in my life. This is nothing like what I’d expected. Granted, knowing that I was walking into a world I knew very little about, I didn’t really have any specific expectations.
    After teaching all of us several moves, Jay instructs us to practice with the punching bags. I punch and kick the bag as hard as I can, but it barely moves. The impacts hurt. My hands and feet become sore. But I keep going, afraid that if I don’t keep at it I’ll be thrown out. I see the others around me, their bags swinging from the force of their strikes. I’m weaker than all the guys.
    As we keep working, Jay wanders through the room watching, giving instruction and critique. When he stops beside me to watch, I become flustered. I almost topple over as I swing a kick and miss the bag. He grabs my arm to stop me from falling on my ass, and a rush of heat blasts through me. He tells me, “Focus on your target. And use your knees and elbows. You’re small, quick. Use those to your advantage, not disadvantage.”
    I try poking the bag with my elbow, but I can’t see how that’ll do me any good.
    “No, like this.” He demonstrates a move that looks deadly, but when I try it, it looks more like a dance move. “No,” he says quietly. “You’re too far back. Face me.” He swings his elbow up and I duck backward. “You see? If you’re too far away, your opponent has time to react. And you’ll either miss completely or hit him too softly.” Before I realize it, he cuffs the back of my head and pushes it down. His elbow contacts my cheek, but it isn’t a hard strike. It’s a soft nudge. Now we’re standing really close. Very, very close. Close enough that I can smell his sweet breath. Close enough that I can feel his heat. “Do this and you’ll not only stop him from dodging you, but also maximize the