After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) (6 page)

Stepping onto the familiar streets seems wrong. Everything should be different.
I’m
different. With each distant cheer, I startle, sinking away from excited passers-by who eye the group hungrily. For the first time in my life, I’m glad that no one will mess with a Herd officer.

I grit my teeth against the pain which comes in pulses now that the fight’s over. My hand is the worst. It’s as though someone has injected pins into every nerve ending. I’m almost glad when we turn into city Juliet’s hospital, but then I remember what Dylan said about treating me at ‘camp’. Why are we here?

‘Dylan—what?’ I manage to get a few words out as the lift we’re all huddled into passes the 23rd floor and keeps going up, up, up. Blondie, or Alixis as I should say, looks at me, chewing on her bottom lip. The medicinal scent makes me feel faint.

Dylan doesn’t respond, but I think his grip around my waist tightens for a second. Then the lift beeps and the doors fly open and we’re not looking at a ward at all but we’re high in the night sky, the roof of the hospital spreading ahead of us like a desert.

And just like a mirage, Dad stands at the far end, next to a huge metal spinner which I’ve only ever seen miles high in the air before. I can’t help myself. I wrestle from Dylan’s hold and attempt to scramble over to my father. My shouts must be stifled by the spinner’s whir because he doesn’t respond, just stands there stoically, un-loving and unknown. The blades slice through the air, casting a foggy wind around the vision of Dad. It wavers for an instant, and I pause, blinking away grit from my one open eye. The image begins to distort, as if the atmosphere is manipulating itself, and I see him. Not my father. Only needles and pain. Mr Winters stands in his Liaison’s coat, looking at me through grey-ringed eyes.

All my instincts tell me to run, but my body and mind have disconnected. Dirt crisps away from my face as my hair whips at my cheeks, the wind urging me forwards then pulling me back. Alixis strides past me, followed by the two men. Then Dylan passes with a tap on my back, his silent way of telling me I must follow. It might be my imagination in hyper drive and tainted with delirium, but I imagine there’s a warning in that tap. A threat. So I move.

Mr Winters follows me with his eyes. I wonder what will happen to Dad now; whether Mr Winters will sack him; whether he struggled to get to me in the Stadium; whether—a flurry of self-loathing battles in my stomach—he saw me spear that man in the neck.

Clambering onto the spinner, I sit next to Dylan and strap myself in with a wince. The machine only seats seven so the Herd officers stand back, shielding their eyes with their hands while Mr Winters climbs beside the pilot in the front.

There are no windows, just huge gaping holes on either side—open doorways which I’m still hoping will close even when the engine roars louder and I know we’re about to ascend. Dylan places cool, soft pads over my ears. I catch his eye. It’s the first time we’ve really looked at each other since before the tryouts. I want to smile, to do anything so he’ll show a flicker of emotion about the fact that I’ve survived, but he gives me nothing. Those never-ending blue eyes have become hard pools of frosty water. Without warning, Dylan darts his attention to Alixis.

We’re setting off. The aircraft lurches upward, swaying as though we’re dangling from a piece of string before we rush into the sky. The force pushes me against the back of my chair and my fingers whiten as I cling to my seat with my good hand, convinced I’m about to topple out and squish on the hospital roof. One of the men who sits in the back of the spinner lets out a ‘whoa’ as we ascend.

I’ve heard people say that when a bomb detonates, you feel the impact before you hear the explosion. Well, right now I’m feeling that bomb, waiting for the explosion to catch up with us. The constant roar of the engine rumbles into one long continuous noise.

Despite the lurch in my stomach, I inch my face closer to the gap in the side and gasp. The city is below us, expanding and yet shrinking with every passing second, as if I’m zooming out on a camera lens. The wind stings both eyes in different ways but I strain to keep one open. I want to drink this sight in. I’ve never noticed just how beautiful Juliet is. I see now why the Shepherds are so proud of this city. It’s a place worth fighting for.

The many pavements twine around each other, lit up by the street lamps like illuminated grey letters scribbling words around tall buildings. Through the blanket of night, the bull’s eye image I always pictured when thinking of the rail has vanished, replaced by moving light from the rail carriages. They run circles around the city, each one a giant glowing insect guarding a section of Juliet, which gets smaller, and smaller, and—

We’re leaving the city.

I don’t know where I thought we would go. I’ve seen the spinners flying around before and knew Demonstrators came in from other cities, but I thought it would be through some kind of mythical guarded gate somewhere around the border. Despite everything,
this
is what panics me. It goes against years of instinct. Wherever I go, I won’t be welcome. No one is.

It’s all explained in the Book of Red Ink. With each city trying to pay back their Debt, competitions arose. People began fighting. Now, we’re only safe in our own city. With our own people. The Shepherds protect us from each other.

Unfortunately I’ve learned that being afraid of something doesn’t stop it from happening. I lean farther out of the spinner and as we rise, I see it all. My breath is stolen by the sight and the choking wind. The night above us is pure, untainted by the thick mist of pollution. I swear I can taste the clouds. Everything is salty. Cold and crisp and clear. It’s as if I’ve been cured of cataracts, or tuned the digiscreen so it’s no longer fuzzy around the edges.

For that second, I’m hovering in the apex of the world. It’s one of those moments where everything stops and the city inhales, about to wish me goodbye. I suddenly see Juliet as one big, puffy cheek; a cheek which blows me away with a great huff as the spinner angles and zooms higher.

I’m thrown sideways. Alixis nearly falls through the gap on her side and our eyes meet in joint terror. Thankfully, we straighten up, and by the time I can breathe again we’re no longer in Juliet.

Even as we fly away, I look back, straining to keep the city in view. When it finally disappears into nothing but a collection of sparkles in the distance, I breathe out a long, slow breath. I know it’s time to look ahead. But I’m scared. Because I know that once I stop staring at the world through a layer of pollution, everything will become clear.

HOURS INTO THE JOURNEY, I spot the first clues of sunrise. Time has gone all too fast, and I’ve spent most of it peering out of the side of the spinner. My face is pretty numb right now, which is exactly the opposite of how I am inside. Everything has come alive; each sight sending waves of excitement right down to my toes.

I’m the only person who seems to be enjoying the view. Alixis has somehow managed to fall asleep, her head occasionally lolling onto Dylan’s shoulder. He ignores her, spending the whole journey staring ahead. When I notice another city on the landscape, maybe Bravo or Foxtrot, I can’t hide my excitement. I tap Dylan’s shoulder ferociously until he turns to look. He nods a stony acknowledgment, but when he glances at me I see a sudden, genuine grin. I’m aware that my expression is probably similar to an astonished monkey, and I think he’s laughing at me, but I don’t care. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile since Coral’s party. It’s enough to make me feel as though I’ve drank a hot drink. It’s like that second before your body gets used to it and the heat travels right down your throat.

After that, I become acutely aware of how close we are sitting. Our shoulders are practically squished together, and my crushed hip aches from being pressed into his side.

Part of me knows I could blame him for all of this. Our kiss brought this on, after all. Yet I can’t hate him. His eyes change so frequently; one second they’re cold—hard around the edges—but then he looks at me, and all I see is a warm intensity. Anyway, Coral is to blame, not Dylan. Even her name makes me want to spit on something. I contemplate spitting into the air and chuckle when I visualise it coming straight back at me. That would
really
impress Dylan.

I catch sight of another city in the distance. It sits like a globule of phlegm on the charcoaled landscape of what used to be England. After everyone relocated to cities, the Shepherds burnt a lot of the countryside to stop us from travelling so we would be protected from each other. At the time, there were a few rumours that the fires were to massacre anyone who refused to move, but Dad said those thoughts were quickly quashed by the threat of becoming a contestant in the Demonstrations.

I don’t really understand how people can be so different in each city. Just as I don’t know why the Shepherds have to raise money by charging people to see others get killed, but it’s that kind of thinking which gets someone in the Stadium in the first place. So I try to remind myself that there’s a reason for it all. That the Shepherds are right and
there cannot be order without sacrifice.

As we head over the sea, the air begins to change; a shy, pink blush creeps over the cheeks of the sky while red freckles of light streak through the clouds. Then the tip of the orange sun peeks into the world. It hovers momentarily, as if deciding whether to surface or not, before rising with such strength it’s as though it never wants to take its sight off me again.

I always imagined a sunrise to be slower than that, like a quiet creak. Instead it’s a sudden rush—urgent and painful and beautiful.

I don’t breathe or speak or cry or move. My pain disappears. Like an addict from the times before the Shepherds, now I’ve breathed the fresh morning air I want more. I need the warmth on my skin—in between my toes and inside my ears.

The sun throws its early light onto the sea, and a patch of un-burnt land reaches into the water. We’re flying so low over the greenery I see patchworks of old fields. The hedges have grown so wild they’re like fabric hems where the thread has jumbled and snagged. Morning shadows stretch awake, and I sense the world turning, changing.

All too soon, I recognise the grey terrain which signifies we are nearing a city. The spinner slows as we reach the border. It’s way smaller than Juliet and I can’t see a Stadium. This must be it then. Camp.

As we descend, a sinking claustrophobia chokes me. I imagine the border of the camp growing over my head, encapsulating me and stealing my air. I stare out of the gap to try to ease my breath. Right ahead are three identical, tall constructions which look like metal plants growing from the ground. They each have one large shaft in the middle, and jutting from those are dozens of strange, translucent pods. We swerve through them. There are a few more buildings, but most of the camp is oval-shaped fields, with grooves in the grass reminding me of the how the rail circulates around Juliet. We land just after passing an open-topped building—giant and extending into the sky like a stretched egg. Inside, some of the floors are filled with either smoke or steam, and others are murky. I swear the roof is made of water.

Three Herd officers wait for us on the landing pad. I’m yanked from the spinner with the care given to a bag of old clothes and it’s all I can do not to collapse straight onto the tarmac. I rip the softening pads from my ears. My stumbles feel unnaturally slow, and the camp is weirdly quiet. Managing a few steps, I peer through the prongs of a metal gate which separates the landing pad from one of the wide fields I saw before. Those strange buildings sit farther in the distance.

‘Sola.’ A slow voice whispers in my ear. It’s too close, and a shudder tells me that it is Mr Winters’ hot breath on my neck. I turn, stepping backwards so that my back’s up against the cold bars of the gate.

Mr Winters smirks down at me.

‘I’m sorry you were chosen. My daughter was
ever
so fond of you. Do you forgive me?’

I don’t know what game he’s playing, so I shrug, not taking my eyes from his.

‘Good, because I noticed your sword out on the Stadium today. I wasn’t aware tryouts had such elaborate weapons.’ He smiles again, his glare intentionally moving to Dylan, who hangs back, pretending not to watch us.

Eventually Mr Winters turns to where Alixis stands, darting her head around as if she expects something to fall out of the sky and land on her at any moment. Mr Winters curls a finger and she cautiously walks over, followed by the two other tryout survivors from the back of the spinner.

‘Alixis Spires. You are from city Alpha, I believe. I’m sorry we have not been able to get more acquainted. And I’ve been informed you two are brothers.’ He doesn’t give either of the men time to respond. ‘I’m Senior Liaison for Juliet. Please cast your eye over city Zulu—the “training camp” to you.’

Mr Winters indicates past the fence to where I’ve just been looking. Alixis inhales a long, broken breath next to me.

‘How long will we be here?’ The taller brother asks, staring Mr Winters in the face.