After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) (36 page)

I’m seeing the sand from my tryout.

But William’s gone. The arena is empty.

I’m staring out at Juliet’s Stadium just the way it is. The mob screams with perverse pleasure. This is it.

One step. Two. The floodlights sting, but I stare through the light. My body tenses, strength rippling through each muscle.

My steps cause stomping and cheers so loud it’s as if someone’s yelling right into my ear. I have to admit, seeing my stern face on the screen, Rochelle was right. I look amazing. She’s painted metallic silver all over my eyelid. The paint arches under my brow and flicks up to my temples like a glistening pair of insect wings. It matches the shimmer of my shirt exactly. What I wasn’t expecting was a thick purple line running underneath my eyes and lining the very edge of my eyelid. It must pay tribute to the bruises I suffered on my first Demonstration. I look like an ethereal bandit, or a criminal ghost.

The rest of my face has been left natural, with only the loosely curled strands of hair falling from the knot on my head to frame it. My mother’s four-leaf clover shines brightly through my locks.

I hold my head up high, smile an acknowledgment to the raging audience, and turn to the archway.

As if accepting my invitation, Coral steps out.

She’s beautiful, but ugly all at once.

I hardly have time to register her loose, thick hair cascading around her shoulders or the bright splashes of red, yellow, and copper makeup which make her look as though her eyes are bleeding fire. She smiles that horrid, sickly sweet smile to the screen, blows a kiss to the audience, and then, like a tarantula which has been lying in wait for its prey, she leaps forwards.

The hate in her eyes is matched only by my own.

Blinding heat suddenly rages behind me. All around us, flames billow up from the ground. We both freeze, rotating circles as we try to figure out what’s happening.

Another twist. I swallow. The inner rim of the arena blazes. Tiny metal pipes jut from the ground and spit out tornadoes of fire. We’re trapped in a circle of deadly heat.

While I’m still staring, Coral rushes at me, her blade raised. In the time it takes to blink, I’ve read her body posture. She’s feigning. I duck under her arm as she makes the false move, aiming a swift jab into her ribs. The touch feeds the monster inside.

I
want
to kill her.

The buzz of the crowd numbs my senses; all goes quiet except the crackles from the fire.

In a flurry of red and white, Coral twirls, swinging the sword around in a fast arc. Her perfume—sweet, flowery, and everything she isn’t—makes me gag. I dodge the sword, once, twice, three—

Not fast enough. The tip of her sword slits my skin right underneath my collar bone like an enormous paper cut. I grit my teeth and cry out. Coral’s smile blossoms as the blood expands on my shirt.

She’s fast. But so am I.

All our training comes down to this—her slicing and swinging, me dodging, ducking, and swerving for my life. Each of us trying to keep two steps ahead of the other.

Persistence and resistance.

Hours pass, or maybe it’s minutes. All I understand is the sweat sticking to me and our grunts as we dance in an effort to both kill and live.

Finally, though, Coral begins to slow.

A rush of triumph bleeds through me, and I could kiss Dylan all over for pushing me so hard on the tree pull-ups. I step closer, ready to disarm her gun and turn the sword on her.

I spot a glint in her eye. Then I track the easy way she swings her sword—too easily for someone who’s tiring . . .

I try to backtrack, but she’s too fast. She catches me again, this time dangerously close to my scar from her father. I scramble backwards as another ugly patch of blood seeps through my shirt. A sudden force of heat warns me I’m too near the edge of the sands and I roll sideways, clenching my teeth as I grasp at my cut.

It’s bad, deeper than a flesh wound, but I’m not dying yet. The sand sticks to my injuries, marking them like the shadow of a beard.

She’s cutting away at me. Piece by piece, as if she were preparing a slice of meat for dinner. She could end this all right now with one shot of her gun, but I figure she won’t use the bullet unless she’s backed into a corner. This is the public show she’s dreamed of—a chance to prove she’s better than me at everything: Killing, fighting, seducing,
living
.

She stalks towards me, taking her time, allowing me to languish in my pain.

An involuntary groan comes from my shaking body. I spit black-red blood onto the sands. The jab to my stomach is worse than I thought.

Coral takes another lazy step, and I rush forwards, rolling ahead and barrelling into her legs before she can register I’m moving. I pull her ankles towards me, ducking her frantic sword throws as she tumbles to the ground.

She lands like a cat, but before she can push herself up, I yank out my hair pin and jam it through her right hand as though I were ringing a gong. Her scream gives me a feverish thrill. She flops to the floor, breathing in a mouthful of sand. When she lunges upwards, I’m thrown off her back. Her white Demonstrator’s uniform is stained with my blood.

She swears at me, spitting sand from her lips as she transfers the sword to her left hand. I coax her forwards, revelling in her anger.

She fights well with her left hand, but not well enough. I deflect her blows, and leave my defences open for a moment. She falls for the ruse, eyes lighting up at the opportunity to slash me once more. Unfortunately, I have to sacrifice a hit for my plan to work. I can’t swerve the attack without giving up my chance to hit back. Her sword comes down and I leap towards her. There’s a vicious ripping sensation in my cheek. I ignore it, spinning into her side while grabbing her arm. I kick her hand with more force than I ever used on the punching bag. Dylan was right. Her fingers give in easily, and the sword flies from her grip.

We’re so close, I can hear her high-pitched wheeze. Without warning, agony darts through my face. My nose cracks under the side of her head as she head-butts me.

I’m choking on blood. It covers my face, inside and out. I wrestle from Coral’s grip and gulp down breath. Maybe now I’ll match Dylan with his twice-broken nose.

A flicker of movement tells me I shouldn’t have given myself a moment to recover.

Coral is going for the sword.

So do I.

She moves so fast I swear I’m watching her dance. She skids on the sand, launches herself on tiptoes, spins around, and grabs something from her belt.

The gun.

Don’t think, don’t look, don’t scream
.
Just act
.

Lean.

Grab the gun away as she brings it from her belt. Just like I did with Dylan—only faster.

Coral’s eyes widen as I wrench her wrist around. I’m still running, so we crash to the sands together. This time my hand clutches something solid. She punches and scrapes, but I loop an arm around her scrawny neck and pull the back of her head up against my chest.

I don’t even know what I’m doing until I look up to the screen.

I sit, legs apart, flanking Coral. She’s frozen with fear, her chest thumping as hard as my own. The black makeup covering my eyes has smudged into the sticky red blood pulsing from my nose. My cheek is barely recognisable; a dark gash runs from the side of my nose to my jaw. And in my hand, barrel hard against Coral’s temple, is the gun.

All I can feel is calm. It’s as though time itself pauses just for me. I see every jaw-slacked face in the crowd staring down at us from above the layer of fire. I see the hatred in my own eyes. The fear that lives in me and everyone in this Stadium. All this time I’ve been embracing it, letting that monster inside fight for me to survive. Just like everyone in Juliet embraces their fear of other cities.

Dylan was right, I can’t change the world.

But I can make my own choices. I can find a balance between who I was and who I am now. I can still be a fighter, a Demonstrator, and not lose
me
.

With a heavy, slow hand, I pull the gun away.

‘I can’t shoot you,’ I say, but my voice is a wheeze. Coral rolls sideways, quick as a slap. I cast the gun behind me and hear short, high-pitched laughs coming from Coral.

‘You’re still obsessed with me. Why, Sola?’ Her eyes dart to the sword, an equal distance from both of us.

I drag my bleeding body to my feet.

‘Don’t you understand that the more you try and be nice to me, the more I hate you?’ As she talks, she edges towards the sword. She thinks I haven’t noticed. I close the gap between us with stumbling steps.

‘My whole life, you’ve been there. Like a whiny pet. You take things which are mine, then act like an angel. What do I have to do to get you to despise me like I despise you?’

She rushes towards the sword. I barrel into her, and she ricochets from me onto the sands. I don’t turn to watch her scramble up. I’m forcing my body towards the sword. My hand clamps around the cool handle, and I haul it up.

Coral’s speech was wasted. I never said I couldn’t
kill
her. I only said I couldn’t
shoot
her.

I turn.

Coral stands opposite. One arm dangles by her side, the other points towards me. In her hand is the gun. All my hope evaporates from my chest.

‘You really need to work on predicting your opponent’s move. Why would I go for a sword when there’s a gun right here?’ she asks. Her face looks almost disappointed.

I drop the sword. I’m a fool.

I’m still expecting something more. Some grandiose event or word to mark the end of my life. But there’s just a sound like a champagne cork popping and a sting in my chest.

I look down. My shirt’s so saturated that the black blood pumps right out of it. I don’t know whether everyone is really this still or if time has stopped.

As I’m staring at my wound, the sting wakes up. It spreads pain through my chest, like a giant claw tearing my body to shreds.

I can’t breathe. My breaths are half screeches, half notes of a song. My knees hit the floor. My body curls itself around the wound, like those old paper fishes that twist in your palm to signify your mood.

The flames lining the arena edge singe my back. I must be lying down, because Coral’s legs walk up to me sideways-on. Behind her, the night sky beckons me towards it, the smoke from the fire making swirling patterns in the air.

I try to get up, scrambling around on the sand just like I did that day on Coral’s trampoline. It’s no use. I’m dying in so many different ways, and Coral hardly has a scratch on her.

‘Sorry, I missed. I’ve never used a gun before.’ She talks to me as if we’re discussing a burnt dinner or something. ‘No matter.’ She crouches down.

Hot tears mingle with blood on my face.

‘I don’t want to die,’ I whisper. My body hiccups with each painful sob. I know she just shot me, but as my vision clouds around the edges I reach my hand out for Coral to hold. I can’t go alone.

My hand is left cold.

‘Please, Sola. This is embarrassing. None of this is fun if you don’t hate me!’ Coral snaps.

I close my eyes against the image of her face.

‘How about this. Listen to me.’ She sounds desperate now, more concerned than she has this whole fight. ‘What about if I tell you I celebrated when your mum died?’

My muscles clench, the agony making me cry out.

‘That’s doing it, isn’t it? Not only did I celebrate, Sola, but I think of it every year and smile to myself. It’s the 20th of May, isn’t it?’

My back slams into the floor. I think I’m convulsing.

She giggles. Her laugh is like a thousand needles injected into my ears. The pain travels through my body, translating into manic shouts in my mind. The fire behind us blazes and ebbs as if it’s responding to my scattered thoughts.

‘I guess this year, I’ll have two dates to celebrate,’ she whispers.

Something’s pulling at me, dragging me down. Coral’s words slither like a snake towards me. I make sense of them, arranging them so I can understand.

Then, it’s clear. Once more, that white calm washes over me. It could be that I’m dead, so I smile and hum the notes of my mum’s favourite melody. They drift from my mouth, encapsulating me. Giving me strength. Lifting me up.

I’m not dead. Yet.

I’m Sola Herrington.

A Person.

A Demonstrator.

Unafraid.

Coral doesn’t even have time to pout as I push my ruined body to its feet and grab her shoulders. She’s still laughing. I sing.

And I twist.

I push her towards the fire.

Her arms flay up like hair underwater. The surprise in her wide eyes turns to realisation, and then to fear as she tries to grab onto something to stop her fall. I step away, pulling my hands far from reach. There’s a second of disbelief on her face when she falls. She didn’t think I could ever do it. That I would ever let go.

Her red hair goes first, burning like a crimson halo.

My knees hit the ground once more. I can’t watch the flames consume Coral. My old best friend, my possible sister, my attempted killer.

Yet I feel it—the moment she dies. The link holding us together for so long breaks, as if I’ve had a rope binding me to her all this time. I lean backwards with the full weight of myself.

The edges of my vision blur and cave in on me. The screen shows my dying face while music blares. I read the dancing words.

Sola Herrington has paid back her Debt.