After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) (16 page)

‘DO YOU STILL STAND BY WHAT YOU SAID?’ Dylan asks me, his head cocked to one side. We’re leaning against the old oak tree after an intense day of training. I haven’t even hit the Wetpod yet, although Alixis limped there over an hour ago.

‘What did I say?’ I ask, smiling. There’s only an inch between us; since Coral’s tryout, that uncomfortable silence has disappeared. Maybe it has something to do with my first Demonstration being tomorrow afternoon—we’ve run out of time to be awkward.

‘That, she
isn’t that bad really
.’ He inclines his head towards where Coral trains with Gideon on the other side of the field. When he tries to do my accent, I crack up.

Still smiling, I shrug. It’s been easy to keep out of Coral’s way since she ‘joked’ Dad had died; I’m training all day and so is she, albeit a little obsessively.

‘When did I say that?’ I ask. Dylan grins, that cute, embarrassed grin that gives him a little dimple.

‘The night that—the night that I met you.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ There’s silence now, but I kind of like it. We’re both smiling and avoiding each other’s eyes. I pick at the grass in between us.

‘It’s hard to explain,’ I offer, ‘but with Coral it feels like there’s . . . unfinished business. Like all our lives there’s been something which connects us, whether it’s friendship or hatred or whatever. And that’s still there.’

I can almost sense Dylan raising his eyebrows.

‘Just think about it. Coral’s here because her parents chose me for the Debt which happened because . . . well, because of something I did to annoy her, which she reacted to because she hates me and she hates me because we used to be friends, I think.

‘So I guess there’s always been this link between us since we were really little.’

‘Aye, I understand that, but I still think she’s a nasty piece of work,’ Dylan says.

‘Aye, me too,’ I try to do his accent but I just sound like a pirate from an old film. He looks over as I laugh, seriously unimpressed.

‘How are you feeling about tomorrow?’

‘Okay actually,’ I lie. ‘I completed my forty laps this morning, I have my signature move and—’ I sneak a side glance at him. ‘—I can beat you in a parry. I’ll be fine.’

Dylan purses his lips as though he’s considering this.

‘Hmm. I’m not so sure you
can
beat me in a parry, Sola. But, for what it’s worth, as long as you remember to ANTICIPATE, I think you’ll be fine. The Shepherds wouldn’t have re-done your profile if they thought you’d lose.’

I’m about to ask what the Shepherds have done to my profile when something occurs to me. I grin.

‘Have you checked my Debtbook profile?’

Dylan turns to me sharply.

‘No. Well, aye, but I have a right to. You know, as your trainer.’ He holds his head up a little too high. I can’t help it; I burst into laughter.

‘I can’t believe you’re pulling the trainer card on me!’

He holds his stoic expression, a blush crawling up his cheeks, before giving in and letting out a low chuckle.

‘I’m just putting you in your place,’ he replies, then pauses. ‘That sounded a little weird, didn’t it?’

Oh no, I think I’ve got the giggles. I cover my mouth with my hand and cackle, nodding my head. He must think I’m such a little girl, but who cares? He’s chuckling too, shaking his head slightly so that his hair brushes his forehead.

‘Tell me something,’ he says, still smiling. ‘Do I make an idiot of myself
every
time I see you, or just on the odd occasion?’

Never, I think, but I pretend to ponder, counting fake numbers on my fingers. I nod, as if I was delivering bad news.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s every time.’

‘Thought so.’ He sucks in a deep breath. Coral and Gideon are now nowhere to be seen, leaving us surrounded only by the evening air, grass, and the occasional falling leaf. The sound of Dylan breathing next to me is like a warm breeze, one which carries me to a different, perfect place. He starts to pick at the grass in between us, too, our hands centimetres apart. There’s not going to be any greenery left at this rate.

‘While we’re on the subject, I’m sorry about what I said, that time in the Medic’s Cabin,’ I say, taking the plunge.

‘I was about to say the same thing,’ Dylan replies.

‘Oh, okay. Well, I wanted you to know that I know you must have a good reason for staying.’ Wow, that’s a lot of
knows
.

Dylan murmurs, ‘I do now.’ My heart leaps, but he swallows and gives a small shake of his head. We both stop picking the grass. His blue eyes stare hard into mine and, although he doesn’t change his expression, I know he’s thinking about something important. His eyes get that edge—angled, yet soft all at once.

‘Everyone who stays has their reasons. I’ll tell you mine, one day.’

I like that. I like the way it sounds and its implications and the way he’s looking at me, head angled to the side.

‘Yeah, one day,’ I repeat because one day isn’t today and it isn’t tomorrow. One day is far in the future.

He holds my hand then.

One day.

DON’T THINK AHEAD. That’s what Dylan told me before we parted last night, and that’s what I’m doing. The trip to the Medic’s Cabin is easy enough. The old lady I dashed past a couple of weeks ago checks me over and declares me fit to fight before handing over a pile of clothes to change into. I look at her quizzically: Demonstrators always fight in white uniforms, not this bundle of red, black and white.

‘That’s what I’ve been given,’ she croaks out before gesturing for me to go behind the curtain.

As soon as I put on the white shirt, I recognise the outfit: My old school uniform. Or should I say ‘new’ old school uniform. It’s an exact replica, not torn and blood-stained from my tryout, but fresh and pristine. The fabric’s cold against my skin.

I guess it figures. Shepherd Fines told me that my school uniform was quite a hit in the tryouts. I was such a late choice for the Debt that they didn’t have time to prepare me in those brown potato sack things that the others wore.

My Demonstrator brain forces me to think about the pluses of being a novelty act. The crowd will recognise me; I’ll get more followers, and as Alixis reminds me daily, the more followers, the less sinister the twist in my final fight.

Don’t think ahead
! I reprimand myself.

I broke that rule this morning anyway when I tapped out a status update on Debtbook.

Thanks to all my followers for their support. It’s you I’ll be thinking of when I fight
.

Hopefully, Dad will see it and catch on that it’s meant for him.

Once I’m in the uniform, a young girl pulls the curtain back and stands there admiring me for a moment. Her skin is puckered with spots which lie underneath a thick layer of foundation. The nude colour smothers her lips too, making her look ill, while her dyed-black hair has been curled all the way down her back. I’ve never seen her before. She carries a Tupperware box full of paints, grips and bands and if I didn’t recognise some of the stuff, I would think she were here to torture me.

‘Oh, I like it when they give me a semi-pretty one,’ she says to herself before dragging some colours from the box. ‘You need a bit of colour in your face though. Maybe some fake eyelashes.’

‘I don’t mean to be rude, but if you come near with that stuff, I can’t be held accountable for what I do in self-defence.’

The girl scowls, but doesn’t seem at all surprised.

‘Up to you. But if you don’t sell as many tickets for your next Demonstration, don’t blame me.’ She goes on tiptoes and surveys the mess which is my hair before indicating for me sit in the plastic chair next to her.

‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she mimics my jibe, ‘but that isn’t a request. I have specific orders to do your hair, and you aren’t fighting until I’ve done it.’ She smiles again and I know in that second that I like her. I sit.

Five minutes and a lot of painful brushing later, something scrapes against my scalp like a ghost running its fingernail over my head. I shudder, knowing Mum’s four-leaf clover hairpin must decorate my hair.

‘How long have you worked here?’ I ask, mainly to distract from the tugs at my nape.

‘Forever. I was born in Zulu, around the back of this place with all the servers and Herd officers. There isn’t much to do in this city except work here.’

‘What about school?’

She shakes her head. ‘Nope. There’s the camp. That’s it.’

I can’t help but wonder if she’s drawn the short straw. Out of all the cities, she’s been born in the one place dedicated to training killers just so the rest will be happy. She might as well have been chosen for the Debt and been forced to work here.

‘So, you’re just as much a prisoner here as I am then?’ I ask.

‘Huh. Except I don’t have to kill anyone or risk getting my head lopped off. Anyway, see you for your next fight, if you win.’

Well, she’s got me there. She gives me a patronising tap on the shoulder before picking up her Tupperware box and heading out.

At the landing pad, Ebiere Okiro and Shepherd Fines stand chatting. She’s laughing and touching his shoulder. When he sees me he breaks away, running his finger over the scanner so I can pass through.

‘You look nice,’ he says, with a nod to reaffirm his comment.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble.

I’m not sure it’s protocol for Shepherd Fines to accompany someone on their first Demonstration, but he says he has some business to attend to in Yankee and I try to believe him.

Ebiere ignores me, climbing elegantly into the front seat next to the pilot after Shepherd Fines dismisses the seat for himself. He waits until I’ve clambered in, leaves one empty space between us, and sits down. As the spinner rises, I run my eyes over the camp. I might never see this place again.

So I break Dylan’s rule for the second time. I imagine my return to camp. For the whole journey, I keep my eyes closed, trying to picture myself stepping from the spinner. Even in my imagination, my hands are covered in blood.

WE LAND FAR TOO QUICKLY. This time, the Herd officers wait for me to climb out from the spinner instead of yanking me out. There’s dozens of them here, and for a selfish second, I think they’re all guarding me. That I’m a really big deal over here or something. But they grip their guns tight as they surround Shepherd Fines, each standing about two metres away from him, giving him the illusion of space.

‘Good luck, Sola,’ Shepherd Fines says, and he actually sounds genuine. ‘I believe you can win this.’ He shows me a wink before walking ahead, the entourage matching their pace with his. After his majestic departure, it’s actually quite funny watching all of them try to cram into the lift.

I’m left on the landing pad with only four officers and Ebiere. We’re standing on the top of a high-rise building, with only the ground far below us and the lift as exits. The wind brushes past my neck, making my hair feel even tighter in its bun. Right now, I could really convince myself that I am back home, or even back in time. As if I’m walking on top of Juliet’s hospital, towards the spinner after my tryout, having no idea what is ahead of me. As I think it, I ache for that moment. Back then, I had already fought. I had already survived.

It turns out that we
are
on the roof of a hospital. As we descend in the lift, I turn to Ebiere.

‘Are all of the landing pads on top of hospitals?’ I ask.

Ebiere ignores me, leaving my question hanging in the silence until a Herd officer clears his throat pointedly.

‘Oh.’ she looks over without turning her body. ‘Were you talking to me?’ She’s not saying it in a nasty way, but her tone gives the impression that her thoughts are elsewhere. I nod.

‘Yes, they all are, I think. Not sure why. Do you know?’ she asks the Herd officer who had cleared his throat.

‘I do, miss,’ he replies. ‘It’s for safety. When our Shepherds were still in talks over how to pay the Debt back to the other countries, they were worried about important people getting bombed and things like that.’

With that, a creak alerts us all to the trigger camera in the lift corner. The red dot, now blinking, might as well be an eye. The Herd officer falters, his mouth working up and down. There’s a shift in the space, with the other three officers deliberately looking away.