After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian)

AFTER THE FEAR

by Rosanne Rivers

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the permission of the publisher. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

Copyright © 2012 by Rosanne Rivers

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-938750-84-7

For my amazing Mum.

Sola Herrington has not attended a September Demonstration

Sola Herrington is attending
Coral’s 17th!!!!!
tonight (touch to follow link)

I SHOVE MY DIGIPAD back into my jeans. The last place I want to be is at Coral’s birthday party, but Dad needs to get cosy with the Shepherds’ Liaisons if he’s ever going to get promoted. Unfortunately, Coral is the daughter of such a Liaison. ‘You received an invitation and it would look strange if you weren’t there,’ so Dad thinks.

Really, it wouldn’t be strange at all, seeing as Coral hates my guts and was probably forced to invite me, but there’s no way I can tell Dad that. So now I’m standing on the rail, obsessively checking Debtbook for updates of a cancellation.

I recognise a couple of girls from school farther down; they hold onto the handles like clothes dangling in a wardrobe as we trundle through the city. I stay back, rearranging the silver pin which holds my frizzy hair in place. It’s shaped like a four-leaf clover and is supposed to bring me luck. I figure I’ll need it tonight.

One of the girls, Moni, carries a Book of Red Ink under her arm.
Suck up. 

‘Uh oh . . .’ Moni studies her digipad. ‘Coral’s written on Debtbook that she’s wearing red and if anyone turns up in the same colour they’ll be sent home immediately.’ She looks down at her crimson halter-neck.

Now why didn’t I think of that?

The other girl examines the screen. ‘Hmm, she’s put LOL, but maybe you should go back and change just in case. You don’t want to miss you-know-who!’

She leans forwards and whispers something to cause Moni’s eyes to widen.

‘The Demonstrator?’ Moni asks as the rail begins to slow.

I wait until the girls have hopped off the metal platform before scanning out myself. I have another rail ride and two short walks before I reach Coral’s. The rail is the only way to get anywhere around here and the electric tracks run in perfect circles, situated a mile apart from each other until they reach city Juliet’s border. Sometimes I imagine if I looked down from the sky all the circular tracks would look like target practice, with the Stadium sitting right in the bull’s eye.

The girls must have decided to change, because when I arrive at Coral’s street there’s no one around. Not even Herd officers. I do a little run and jump up her path, just because I can.

’Sola.’ Coral’s tall, thin father opens the door before I’ve even knocked. His fixed smile makes me want to shrivel up and disappear. When he turns away to look back down the long hall behind him, it’s as if I can hear the creak of his bones moving.

‘Evening, Mr Winters. I’m here for the party,’ I say, batting a drifting balloon away from my face. The whole house is covered in them, like colourful bubble-wrap.

He turns back.

‘Coral is in the guest-living-room. The Demonstrator is giving a speech so please slip in quietly.’

I repress a shudder. Why does he speak so slowly? It’s as though everyone to do with the Shepherds are forced to pronounce each and every syllable: heaven forbid we miss one precious word of theirs. Still, I’m quite impressed he managed to remind me I’m late while implying no one will be happy to see me all in one greeting. Hey, like father, like daughter.

I run the scan chip in my palm over the discreet scanner fitted into the front door and step in. The stench of new leather hits me straight away. If Mr Winters wasn’t walking right behind me, I would cover my nose. He follows me through the hall until he finally turns into his study. It’s silly, but I always associate Coral’s father with needles. I think it’s because when I was eight, I walked out of school with a cut knee. Mum was waiting with Mr Winters and when I showed her my leg he produced a needle from his Liaison uniform pocket. I remember crying, but he acted like he had misinterpreted my tears, voicing something about cleaning the wound. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the tip of the metal disappearing into my skin.

Urgh. The perks of having a Liaison as a family friend.

I push the guest-living-room door open a fraction and peek through the gap. Standing opposite me, at the front of the room, is the Demonstrator. I recognise his face from Debtbook. Half the girls at school are in love with him, spending hours trawling over his profile. Yet I wasn’t expecting that voice. It’s low, his speech a song of unusual inflections and intonations.

His qualities aren’t lost on anyone else, either. Every girl at the party practically salivates at the sight of him, and even the boys are paying attention to his speech. Coral lies to his side in a blood-red dress, taking up a whole chaise lounge to herself. Her sweet perfume mingles in with the leathery smell of the furniture.

I watch the Demonstrator as he talks, his voice creaking gently when he goes too low and his eyes never catching Coral’s despite her legs writhing together like two snakes. Something about the way he occasionally gestures with his hand—a seemingly unconscious flick here or there, as if he’s trying to conjure his thoughts into words—makes me smile. I’m still gawping when his gaze darts to the back of the room. He’s staring right at me.

Crap. He pauses mid-sentence. I need to do something—anything . . . Yet all I can concentrate on is the heat flushing my face. I’ve never gone along with the Demonstrator crushes, so what’s wrong with me? Coral gives a little cough.

‘Sorry, Miss Winters, but another one of your guests has arrived.’ The Demonstrator speaks with a slight smile, not taking his eyes from me as he gestures to the door.

‘Really? Oh, it’s only Sola. Anyway—’ She leans over and gives him a playful tap on the arm. ‘I told you to call me Coral; everyone else does.’

Not everyone, I think. Not when you can’t hear me, you spiteful, spoilt—

Her glare interrupts my thoughts and for a panicky moment, I worry I’ve been talking out loud. But I realise I’m still hovering in the doorway, and the Demonstrator is obviously waiting for me to come in. Ignoring everyone’s eyes on me, I tiptoe across the room. A few of the boys shuffle away when I pass, but I just stare straight ahead, hoping the Demonstrator doesn’t notice.

‘Any other questions?’ he asks once I’ve sat. His resigned tone tells me he knows there will be, and sure enough, most of the girls dart their hands up. A few wrestle and chuckle with each other, trying to stick the other’s hand in the air. I can guess what kind of question they want to ask.

Eventually, a boy sitting near the front shouts out, ‘What was it like being chosen to be a Demonstrator?’

‘Not good,’ the Demonstrator replies. When it’s obvious the whole room is expecting more, he sighs.

‘I found out from the status update on my Debtbook. I had been chosen to help pay back the Nation’s Debt.’ He stresses the last bit. I get the impression they’re not really his words. ‘My parents explained that I would help the Debt by either becoming a Demonstrator or working at the Demonstrator camp. What they didn’t tell me was that only the elderly work at the camp, and, as you all know, I wound up in the tryouts.’ His musical tone flattens during this speech.

‘How did you survive?’ a girl asks.

‘By doing what I’ve done nearly every day since. By killing.’

I cringe at the gasps from the party-goers. They don’t seem to register that this man isn’t play-fighting, isn’t spinning off propaganda for effect. He’s telling the cold, hard truth. The excited questions go on and on. ‘How many criminals have you killed?’ ‘Can you teach us some moves?’ ‘How much Debt do the other cities owe?’

‘Where are you from?’

I look up at this one. The Demonstrator, whose name I now know is Dylan, smiles for a flicker of a second.

‘City Victor. But it used to be called Belfast, Northern Ireland.’

An excited whisper spreads through the guests. We’re not supposed to know the old names, and definitely not allowed to talk about them. If this was anyone else’s home, the trigger camera would have sprung to life with that comment, but it hangs placidly in the corner. I doubt it’s even wired into the system.

City Victor. I’ve heard what they’re like over there. People say they believe in so many superstitions that they’d kill someone on sight who wasn’t from their city. I’m pretty sure we’ve paid more of our Debt back than them; otherwise, Dylan probably wouldn’t be so welcome.

‘I thought so,’ Coral says, nodding her head. ‘Now, will you answer my one and only question?’ She leans up so she’s resting on one elbow. ‘Do you like coming to these kinds of parties?’

I hate how perfect her smile is.

‘Aye, it’s my favourite part of being a Demonstrator,’ he replies. His tone is still hard around the edges. If Coral had half a brain, she would notice that he was being sarcastic. But she doesn’t, so she bites her lip and giggles.

‘I lied. One more question! Will you stay for some drinks?’

‘I’m contracted to stay for another 96 minutes, so yes, I’d be delighted.’

I don’t stifle my snort quickly enough. Coral shoots me a glare but overall seems thrilled with his comment. She even moves up to let two of her friends share the lounger with her.

Within seconds, conversations have sprung up between groups, making the gap between me and everyone else devastatingly obvious.

The moment I stand, headed for the bathroom to kill some time playing on my digipad, Coral’s silky voice calls out to me.

‘Oh, Sola? Get us some more drinks if you’re going that way?’