The Elf

by Max Dune

  Thankfully my glum mood hasn’t affected my appetite. My mouth waters the moment I enter the cafeteria. Rich aromas of fried meats and freshly baked pastries waft in the air, beckoning my empty belly. Zeb and I rush to the buffet-style line and wait for our turn. We arrived early today so it doesn’t take long. I serve myself the usual breakfast. Golden waffles topped with lots of strawberry jam and butter. And coffee. I can’t start my day without that sweet caffeinated elixir. I pour myself a jumbo-sized cup from the silver coffee dispensers, then take a quick gulp right there. I shudder in delight. “Man, that’s good.”

  Zeb nods, sipping his coffee too. “Preach! It tastes better every day. I wonder what the secret ingredient is. Love? Sunshine? Unicorn blood?”

  “Or just freshly ground Columbian beans?” I suggest.

  “Or that.”

  Leaving the line, we scan the cafeteria for an empty table. In the distance, I spot her waving at us. Lily. The most beautiful girl in the world. Just the sight of her lifts my mood and makes my heart flutter. I wonder what it is about her that has such an effect on me. Her slender, willowy frame? The way her black hair cascades down over her shoulders? Or those dazzling emerald eyes? Yeah, it’s definitely that last one. It was those eyes of hers that first drew me to her, like deep lakes of jade. But it was her kind heart that really sealed the deal.

  Sitting next to her is Chance. He’s another good friend of mine. He, along with Zeb and Lily, have worked hard to keep me from sinking further down into my depression. “Hey” we all chorus when we arrive at the table. I sit next to Lily and Zeb takes the seat next to Chance.

  Lily gives me quick kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, handsome,” she says, prompting me to smile like an idiot in love.

  “Morning,” I respond shyly.

  Zeb makes a gagging noise while Chance chuckles.

  “Ah, love is in the air,” Chance says.

  Zeb frowns. “Chance, don’t encourage this. It’s nauseating.”

  “Hey,” I warn. “Watch it or Lily might not help you with Pepper.”

  Lily nods in amusement. “Mm-hmm.”

  Panic spreads across Zeb’s face, then he smiles widely and lets his usual theatrics fly. “Wait, did I say nauseating? I meant to say precious. Look at you two! Here.” He whips out his cell phone and snaps our picture. Then he admires it lovingly, placing a hand over his chest. “Aww. #truelove #beautiful #nofilter.”

  Everyone laughs.

  Zeb keeps lathering it on. “See, Lily, this...this could be my future with Pepper. Provided we stick to the plan. Which reminds me, have you talked to her yet?”

  Lily offers an apologetic smile. “Not yet, sweetie. I haven’t seen her. She’s been working overtime.”

  “Join the club,” Chance says. “By the way, Zeb, our department has to work an extra six hours Saturday. Mini-helicopters are in high demand this Christmas, I guess.” Chance doesn’t appear to be bothered by the news, though. Remember the optimistic gene I mentioned? Well, Chance has it in spades. Along with some of the best work ethics I’ve seen here.

  “Oh my llama,” Zeb groans. “Sixteen hours?!”

  I lift my Styrofoam cup. “Just drink more coffee. This will give you all the energy you need to get through your shift. Without it, I’d drop dead after an hour of chopping.”

  Lily takes a more sensitive approach. “And think of the joy those kids will receive when they fly those helicopters you built. How their faces are going to absolutely light up! It’ll be worth it, Zeb.” I place my hand over hers, touched by her encouraging words, her selflessness. It just makes me love her even more.

  Zeb, however, keeps a sourpuss face. It’s only when Gordy, our choir director, walks by that he switches into happy-mode and jumps up. “Greetings, Gordy! I was wondering if you’d received my volunteer application for the choir team. As well as the Christmas carols I submitted for your consideration. All songs are 100 percent original, written by yours truly, of course.”

  Disdain registers across Gordy’s features—just for a split second—before being able to collect himself and plastering a smile. “Ah, yes, yes, I did! Unfortunately, we have enough singers at the moment.” He pats Zeb’s shoulders. “But your generous offer is greatly appreciated all the same. Truly!”

  “Oh, okay,” Zeb says, sounding like a sad puppy. “Well, what about the songs I wrote? Would you consider using them for the annual Christmas concert?”

  Gordy claps his hands excitedly. “Your songs, oh, they were splendid. It’s just that...” He pauses, looking for the best words to let Zeb down gently. “Everyone is expecting a certain amount of Christmas cheer from our musical selection. Now more than ever, given the recent tragedies, and I feel our classic carols will provide that.”

  Zeb’s face falls. “I understand. Thank you for your consideration, Gordy. Perhaps next year.”

  “Perhaps, yes!” Gordy cries. “Stay cheerful, Zeb!”

  “Stay cheerful, Gordy...” Zeb says quietly. Once the older elf scampers away, my friend slumps down to his chair, a mixture of anger and frustration. We all exchange a worried look; this probably won’t end well. Oh what the heck? Might as well make the first move.

  I reach over and pat Zeb’s arm. “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”

  He swiftly shakes me off. “Don’t you dare quote The Help to me right now. Don’t you dare.”

  “What? I thought you loved that movie.”

  He scowls. “Well, of course I do! It’s a masterpiece. It should have won every Oscar that year—but that’s not the point right now, Lucian.” He massages his temples. “The point is my soul hurts. And nobody will ever know how much it hurts.”

  I hide a smirk.

  Lily slaps my side before comforting Zeb. “Sweetie, don’t let that dampen your spirits. Everything happens for a reason. There’s always next year. I bet you’ll be in the front row of that choir then. Keep the faith, Zeb.”

  Chance gives an agreeing nod. “Yeah, man. Chin up.”

  But Zeb appears unwilling to let it go. He raises both hands in his dramatic fashion and closes his eyes. “I’m taking a vow of silence for the rest of the day. Does everyone hear me? Not...another...word.” He gestures like a zipper across his lips and pretends to throw away an invisible key over his shoulder.

  Boom!

  A deafening explosion outside suddenly shakes our building and shatters a nearby window. The mighty blast knocks us to the ground and showers us with glittering pieces of glass. We lie for several moments in shock, out of breath, trembling, ears ringing, trying to process what just happened. I manage to gather myself and quickly reach for Lily, who’s on the floor beside me. “Are you okay?” I ask, frantic.

  “Y-Yes,” she says, eyelids fluttering. “Just... dazed.”

  Our group slowly sits up. There’s all sorts of anxious murmuring around us.

  “Zeb? Chance? You good?” I ask.

  Both nod in affirmation, much to relief.

  Just then, the intercom buzzes and a robotic voice speaks. “Code Ice. Code Ice. All elves, please remain inside.” And with those simple words I understand exactly what’s going on—Jack Frost is in the village.

  He’s come to destroy us.

  Once and for all.

  Chapter Three

  We aren’t given much respite. A moment later the thunder starts up again. Explosion after explosion booms, and more glass and cold air is blown into the hall. My fellow workers fly into a panic all around me. I’ve never seen so much chaos before in my life. Elves running around in terror, screaming hysterically, stomping over fallen comrades as they come toward us in a stampede. I quickly pull Lily back into my arms to help her escape being trampled.

  I know we won’t survive long in this madness. Looking around, I search for the safest place to hide—somewhere out of the way, with a barrier that’ll offer protection. It doesn’t take long to find one.

  Holding Lily tight, I shout at my friends. “Get under the table!”

&
nbsp; I point at the piece of furniture nearby that is still upright. The others obey without hesitation. Huddled together and shivering in the cold, all we can is watch and listen. Then an elf jumps on top of our table, trying to escape the mosh pit swirling around us. His plan, however, fails, because seconds later he lands on the floor in a sickening thud. Someone must have knocked him off during the confusion.

  Suddenly a nearby guard notices us. He peers down at us with curiosity, jumps on another table, then fires several rounds into the ceiling. This stops everyone dead in their tracks.

  “Enough!” yells the guard, waving the smoking gun. “Everyone needs to get under the tables and stay there!” He fires another round to prove his seriousness. “That’s an order!” Other guards follow his lead, climbing tables and taking the high ground, with their weapons out in full view.

  Nobody argues. One by one, elves crouch and crawl under tables, turning the knocked-over ones upright again. Still scared, but compliant. For the first time I can remember, I’m actually thankful for the intimidating guards’ presence—and for the way they regained control of the situation. They saved many lives today.

  Another nearby explosion sounds outside. My eyes cut to the window. I spot Jack, blue and white against the gray sky, flying through the air. I clench my teeth. Without thinking, I crawl away from my friends, toward the shattered window.

  Behind me, Lily cries out, “Lucian! Get back here!”

  But I can’t. It’s as if a magnet keeps pulling me.

  I have to see Frost.

  At the window, I peer out. Jack Frost is soaring over the village, dropping bombs that explode on impact. One lands near a group of guards and detonates in blinding flash of flames that obliterates them. Now he changes course, making a beeline in the opposite direction. I know exactly where he’s headed. Santa’s house.

  The guards outside figure out his plan, too, and they quickly fire their machine guns.

  Then the unimaginable happens.

  Frost falls to the ground, seemingly hit.

  A surge of hope fill me. Is it over? Is it finally over?

  The guards keep running toward Frost, still firing on full auto. But he is full of surprises and manages to summon his last bit of strength and fly away, albeit in unsteady, zigzag patterns. He must be severely wounded. Still, the guards don’t look like they’re taking any chances; they head to their snowmobiles and follow the diminishing Frost towards the treeline. From what I can see, Oleg is leading the charge.

  The intercom buzzes again. “Code Ice is clear. Code Amber is in effect. All elves must remain inside until further notice.”

  Shivering, I re-join my friends under the table. Lily has her arms wrapped around her. Her eyes flash angrily at me. “What was that about?” she hisses.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I pull her into my arms. “All the adrenaline, I guess.”

  Zeb is curious. “Well? What’d you see?”

  “Jack Frost was blowing up everything till the guards shot him down.”

  Lily’s jaw drops. “Oh my God!”

  “So Frost is...dead?” Zeb asks.

  “I don’t know,” I confess. “He still managed to fly away somehow. But I’m sure he won’t last long.”

  Meanwhile, Chance has grown pale and is swaying from side to side.

  “Chance? You okay, buddy?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. He just keels over on floor, his limbs shaking wildly, with rivers of blood gushing out of his nose..

  I gasp. “Chance!”

  I look back at the other two. Lily is welling up. “Chance, no, please!”

  Zeb looks me straight in the eye. “He has the virus.”

  “Yeah,” I say somberly, turning back to the elf twitching on the floor, among the shards of glass. “We need to get him to the hospital. Help me.” I grab Chance’s arms, then look over at Zeb. He hasn’t moved an inch. “You know it’s not contagious through contact or blood,” I remind him. “Now hurry up and grab his legs.”

  Finally, he does as told, crawls over and grabs Chance by the boots, keeping his gaze turned to the left.

  “I know it’s not,” Zeb explains. “It’s just...Man, blood makes me woozy.”

  I turn to Lily. “Stay here and keep your eyes open. Frost could return any minute.”

  She just nods, holding her cheeks as tear continue to flow down them. “Be careful,” she says in a scared voice.

  I don’t want to leave her. I really don’t, but I also can’t let Chance die here. She’s in the middle of the hall, I tell myself. Surrounded by guards. She’ll be all right.

  We carry the moaning Chance to the exit door but get stopped by one of guards. I note his tight double-grip on his gun.

  “Where are you going?” he snaps. “Nobody leaves until Oleg says so.”

  I gesture at Chance’s blood-covered face. “Look at him! He’s infected. He needs the doctor, and Oleg is busy chasing Frost.”

  After taking a glance, he mutters something in Russian, then moves out of the way and opens the door. “Fine. Go.”

  Stepping outside, we pause for a moment to examine the decimation Frost left in his wake. The building where Zeb works in was hit hard. The front entrance looks like a flaming fist punched through it. Smoke and fire billow out. Alarms—shrill and deafening—wail from within.

  “Let’s go,” I tell Zeb.

  We amble to the hospital, trekking over cracked sidewalks, careful to avoid the steaming black craters and empty machine gun shells littered about the snow and slush. Some guards shout at us to stop, but we ignore them and press on toward the hospital. The automatic doors swoosh open, and I immediately start calling for help, shivering so hard that I can barely keep a grip on Chance’s arms. My hands are numb from the cold. I realize neither Zeb or I bothered to put on our coats before leaving.

  “Doc!” I shout. “Where are you?”

  Doc Billings runs out to us from behind a counter, his white coat flapping in the breeze. “What happened to him?”

  “He had a seizure. He’s infected,” Zeb says, struggling to keep a hold of Chance.

  “What!? Impossible,” Doc murmurs. He rubs his graying beard as he analyzes the situation. Then he makes some sort of medical determination and motions us to follow down the main corridor. “Bring him this way!”

  Minutes later, Chance is lying on a hospital bed in the ICU. Zeb and I watch helplessly as Doc checks Chance with various instruments. He first inserts an IV into our friend’s arm and administers sedation. From our seats, I glance around the large room. A dozen other beds occupy this ward, most of them containing a sick patient. They all appear to be in critical condition. Like Chance.

  I turn to Zeb. “You guys work together. Chance hasn’t shown any of the usual symptoms, has he? Trembling hands, headaches, nausea?”

  “No,” Zeb says shaking his head. “Never. I would’ve seen it.”

  I sigh. “I just don’t get it. The virus doesn’t show up full blown and the seizures are supposed to be the final stage.”

  “I know, but you heard Doc. Even he seems surprised.” Zeb shrugs. “Maybe Chance had those early symptoms but just somehow hid them.”

  “Why would he even do that?” I ask, more confused.

  “I don’t know.” He pauses. “Maybe it’s because he’s near the end of his contract.”

  That’s right. I remember Lily had mentioned throwing him a secret farewell party. Every elf employee had to commit to a four-year tenure. It used to be less, but as our production quotas and deadlines increased, there was a need to minimize employee turnover rates.

  Just as I am about to speak again, a whimpering sound draws my attention. I look around and recognize one of the elves beneath white sheets. Pluto. He worked in my department, helping the engineers design the newest crossbow model, before he was promoted to drone delivery programmer.

  I remember him leaving completed five-star Sudoku pads about the office whenever he finished his work hours ahead of the rest of us, wh
ich was often. His IQ is off the charts, and it allowed him to graduate as valedictorian from school. He’s one of the smartest elves among us. Now he’s also one of the sickest.

  Pluto thrashes for moment, whimpers pitifully, then quiets down.

  My heart breaks for him. The poor soul.

  Doc Billings joins us, with clipboard in hand.

  “Does Chance have it?” I ask him, hoping against hope that it’s a better diagnosis, something treatable.

  “I’m afraid so,” he says.

  Zeb’s voice comes out small, like a child’s. “How bad is it?”

  The doctor exhales. “I’m sorry to say his condition is...extremely serious. The virus has spread into his brain. It’s the final stage before....well, Chance will be lucky if he makes it through the night.”

  I drop my head at the news. I didn’t really expect a promising prognosis, but it is a crushing blow to hear the doctor actually confirm my fears.

  Zeb reacts with anger, snapping, “Isn’t there anything you can give Chance? I mean, those scientists have been working forever on this. Are you saying they’ve still found nothing?” He gets up and storms about the room, knocking his chair over in the process. “Chance is dying, and you won’t do anything!”

  “I know you’re upset,” Doc says, face twisted in sympathy for Zeb’s anguish. “But you’ve got to realize our scientists have been working non-stop to find a cure. They often work past midnight, well into the wee hours, skipping sleep and meals because they’re so desperate to save lives. We’re doing everything we can, but this virus... it’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen. It’s highly resistant to every vaccine that exists and anything experimental they’ve come up with so far.”

  Hearing his calm explanation, Zeb manages to regain composure. He sits back down and stares at the floor.

  “What if we captured Frost?” I ask. “He created this horrible disease. He must have the cure.”