After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) (10 page)

Just then we pause instinctively as Shepherd Fines waves to us from the path which leads to the spinner landing pad. Alixis groans, repeating, ‘Please don’t come and say hello,’ underneath her fixed, fake smile. I laugh and beckon him over.

I don’t mind him at all. He’s always the picture of cheery hellos and bad jokes whenever he wanders over during our training; his favourite is pretending he’s scared of us. I still fake laugh, although Alixis turns away whenever he approaches which, come to think of it, actually makes me laugh for real. No wonder Shepherd Fines thinks we’re friends.

This time, he points to the gate and raises his arms in an over-the-top,
got to go over there; can’t do anything about it
kind of way. I mimic him and wave again as he heads down the path, an even bigger grin now on his face.

‘You’re a lucky lady, Sola, because if he had taken one step towards us I would—hey what’s going on over there?’ Alixis stops mid-rant and points at the playground. A group of Demonstrators have dragged chairs to the centre and are staring at the side of the watchtower—which I now know is actually Shepherd Fines’ office. The Herd officer I’ve seen pretty much every day stands near the throng of Demonstrators, looking agitated.

I shrug, and without speaking we change our direction from the refectory to the playground.

As we approach, a square of the watchtower’s wall unhinges and swings around to reveal a large digiscreen. A man of about twenty years paces in front of the screen, head down, chewing on his lip.

I scrutinise the small crowd for those familiar blue eyes, floppy dark hair, and that occasional smile which makes me hope he’s never looked at another girl the way he’s looking at me, but Alixis spots Dylan first.

‘What’s happening?’ she whispers, taking a seat next to him.

I plonk myself down at the end of the row, envious of her easy way when she’s around the man I’m obsessed with.

‘See that guy at the front?’ Dylan motions towards the pacing man. ‘That’s Gideon. His partner begins the tour today, so we’re watching the Demonstration on the screen.’

At this, I lean forwards. Although I should be chomping down my carefully portioned dinner right now, I need to know what to expect when my own tour starts. And if I’m honest, I want to say something so Dylan will acknowledge I’m here.

‘Do you think she’ll win?’ I ask.

Dylan looks past Alixis at me and raises a strong eyebrow. It seems as though he’s trying not to laugh.

‘I think
he
will win, aye.’

Oh. Gideon has a boyfriend. Great, the only thing I’ve managed to say makes me look like a total idiot. I manage to mumble, ‘That’s good’ before leaning back, eyes firmly ahead. A tiny, selfish part of me is pleased that Demonstrators dating Demonstrators is obviously allowed, but then I remember that this man might be about to watch his boyfriend die, and it doesn’t seem so great after all.

There’s a fanfare of noise from the screen and Gideon darts into his chair. The screen flickers yellow and a red banner swirls across the middle. It reads:

Demonstration in city Yankee. Dao Zheng vs. criminals convicted of breaching Act 03: strictly no conspiring against The Shepherds.

After a brief profiling of Dao, where certain stats and background information are typed out on screen, the camera cuts to a sweeping view of the Stadium before broadcasting live from the arena.

Ebiere Okiro appears, stunningly fashionable in a daring blue evening gown, her black hair knotted to her head. She gives an evocative speech about the virtues of compliance, praising the audience for their good sense and condemning the criminals for their ingratitude. She asks so many rhetorical questions about the Debt and how the audience is in danger because of other people’s stupidity that my head spins. Thankfully, she wraps up her soliloquy and announces Dao before long.

A slight Demonstrator armed with a sword and gun belt enters the arena. When the camera zooms in on the boy’s composed face, so close I can see the cornflake-shaped birthmark on his cheek, Gideon moves on his chair as if he were about to jump up. Yet he must think better of it as he stays seated, his wide shoulders heaving with a deep breath. I wonder what, in his mind, he’s telling the person that he loves, and whether anyone will care that much for me on my first fight.

Without warning, I’m staring at an arena gate clicking out of place. It slides up, just like it did that day for me. . . . That electronic ticking is so loud I swear I’m back there.

That room. That stench.

William next to me, alive and not stabbed.

Suddenly, I can’t see clearly anymore. I’m in the Stadium. About to kill. I can’t tell whether the gate’s clicking is coming from the screen or inside my mind.

Can’t breathe. I’m drowning in the vision: so close and real I smell the blood in the air, choke on the dust in my mouth, taste the sweat which drips down my face. Rasping breath fills my ears; I think it’s mine. I close my eyes and when I open them I’m still on the sands.

There’s blood on my hand and over my wrist and please stop staring at me! The man’s eyes bore into my own. His freckles spell out murderer. His sweat stinks of the deceased.

The gate carries on clicking until suddenly, all sounds are extinguished. It’s like my head’s underwater. My face is hot yet my lips are freezing. My breaths desperate and suffocating.

The sands fade. Dylan’s face shines for a brief, glowing second. Then everything disappears.

HAIR DYE AND ANTISEPTIC. The horribly familiar smells of the Medic’s Cabin drag me to consciousness. Edges of my vision blur and re-align before sharpening into focus. The ceiling stares down at me, along with an IV pole to my left. The tube sticks into my arm like a finger underneath my skin.

Then, fresh bedding. Is it crazy that I recognise Dylan’s smell before I clock him, hunched to my right with a hand nursing his forehead? His eyes are sharp and intent, staring at nothing.

‘What happened?’ I ask, though my throat is thick and foggy. Dylan jolts his head to me, his serious expression narrowing.

‘You passed out. When I brought you here the medic sedated you so your body could rest.’ He does that flick of his hand again, as if he were dismissing the medic away from his thoughts. He’s wearing a polo shirt today, I realise as I stare at him. The shape of the collar redefines his jaw bones and even in this stark white light he looks so stunning I want to rewind time and replay our kiss over and over again.

The thought makes me dizzy so I lean my head back down.

‘Wow. They even treat being unconscious with sedation. Do the medics actually know any other treatments?’ I know it’s a rubbish joke, but there’s no one else in the small ward and the silence between us is unbearable

‘This isn’t funny, Sola. What made you faint?’ Is it possible his accent makes him seem angrier than he actually is? I sit up and meet his hard look.

‘I think it was the noise of the gate. It’s the last thing I remember. Who’s winning, by the way?’ I think of Dao and Gideon. While I’ve been passed out, Dao’s been fighting for his life. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that life and death continue, whether I’m there to witness it or not.

‘Dao won. The fight’s over although he had to use his gun. He won’t get many followers now.’

More silence. I inhale, and the sound whispers through the ward, highlighting that we have nothing to say. Well, that isn’t true at all; there are a thousand things I want to say to him, but they’re trying so hard to get out it’s like they’ve jammed up the door and nothing can escape through it.

‘Do you think this is going to happen again?’ Dylan eventually asks.

‘I hope not. I don’t think my body can take much more “resting”.’ I add a little laugh to make it obvious I’m joking.

‘I can’t believe you.’

Huh?

‘You understand if that was you on the screen tonight, you would have died?’

Dylan stands quickly, his disgust so tangible I can practically taste it. ‘If this happens when you’re out there, then that’s it, Sola. No jokes, no second chances. Just you, dead. Is that what you want?’

‘Hey, I didn’t do it on purpose.’ I sit up straight, my skin tingling as though I have raised shackles. Who is he to question what I want?

It doesn’t stop him. He carries on, as if he’s been wanting to rage at me all week and now’s his big chance.

‘You have to survive twenty-five Demonstrations. It only takes one of those to kill you. I’ve seen it before! If you don’t push yourself, if you delay for one second, you’re dead.
You
couldn’t see a move coming even if your opponent gave a running commentary as he fought. Now this!

‘You don’t seem to get it. You might be trained, but there’re more of them. Three, four, sometimes five against one. They want to survive just as much as you. You know that if they kill you, they get to become a Demonstrator? They are fighting for their lives. Don’t you want to finish your tour? Don’t you want this all to be over?’

‘Of course I do!’ I shout, but he doesn’t stop. His lilt gets stronger and stronger, the irritation pouring out of his mouth and right at me.

‘You laugh this all off like you can laugh your way out of the Stadium. Like you haven’t got a parent waiting for you at home. You did well in the tryouts, Sola. You have a chance to get out of here. To fight and to win.’

‘So I can come back here and train other people to kill, like you do?’ I shout.

He freezes.

I’ve gone too far. I want to suck the words back in, but it’s too late. He gives me one more look and I can’t work out whether it’s anger or hurt or hatred. A second later, he turns and strides out of the room, the beep of the scanner as loud as if he had slammed the door behind him.

A HORRIBLE, SLOW MOMENT PASSES. It’s as though the whole ward is recoiling from me, rolling away in waves, and soon it will all cascade off a cliff top and pull me down with it.

That antiseptic smell intensifies. Do they use it as air freshener around here or something? I need to get out. Now.

I rip the IV tube from my arm then stifle my own scream. I wasn’t expecting it to hurt that much. Ignoring the sting of tears which burn my eyes, I slam my feet against the cold floor, leaving the bed sheet to sweep away behind me. I bang the ward door with my fist.

Why won’t it open? I’m not sure what I’m going to say to Dylan when I catch him, whether I’m going to shout or apologise or demand he tells me what’s going on between us, but I need to do
something
.

In a moment of clarity, I realise I haven’t scanned out. I bring my palm across the scanner. It glows red. The door doesn’t open.

I want to yell, but all that will come from my mouth are sobs. Hot, heaving sobs which take all my energy to quash. I’ve never given up on anything in my life. I didn’t give up on happiness after Mum was shot, I didn’t give up on our farce of a life desperately staying on the good side of Mr Winters, and I’m not going to give up on getting out of this ward.

I lay into the door as if it were another person—Coral, maybe. I slam my fists down again and again, the crack of my hands against the plastic like a whip in my ears.

Eventually someone scans in from the other side and the door slides open. The medic’s old eyes widen above her sanitary mask.

I don’t hesitate. I push my way through the gap and hurtle down the corridor. Darkness pools in from the main doors which are open, amazingly. Muffled shouts chase after me, but I sprint away, reaching for the freedom I know I won’t find outside. I break through the exit and throw myself into the unlit playground.

Straight away, I clock Dylan walking across the field. I take off again, words cramming into my mind as I try to figure out what to say. How can I explain why I’ve just broken out of a place which was trying to fix me?

Something soft bumps into my arm. I jolt backwards, but it’s too late. A firm hand takes hold of my shoulder, and I’m turned to face whoever it belongs to.

‘Sola? What are you doing out here so late? What’s happened to you?’

I look up to see Shepherd Fines’ concerned face. Dylan strides out of the corner of my vision.

‘I-I—’