After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) (26 page)

I glance to the trigger camera. It’s on, and the sheet I wrapped around it so long ago has finally been removed.

‘And what happens now?’ I whisper. Alixis’ voice is steady—vacant.

‘I wait, I give birth, I give them my baby. Then I fight.’

I swallow. No words, again.

‘I’m . . . I’m sorry. You know I didn’t tell Coral, don’t you?’

Alixis nods, speaks slow, vacant words.

‘It doesn’t matter now anyway.’

When she turns to me, I don’t think she really sees me at all.

‘Good night, Sola,’ she says. She’s still smiling that empty smile which makes me want to cry. I nod, untwine my arm from hers and clamber into bed without changing.

I NEVER THOUGHT I would think this, but the Demonstrations have become welcome in my life. My tour is well and truly zooming past. The fainting seems to be getting better, too, although I now stand a lot farther away from the criminals’ gate. My kill count is going up and up and up until there’s no more room for dead eyes left in my dreams.

I cut down five elderly people in city Uniform. Drawing the fight out so that the contestants thought they stood a chance . . . all the while thinking about my number of followers. Right now, the thought of surviving my last Demonstration is all that’s keeping me going.

Time at the camp has become unbearable. All the life has been sucked from Alixis, leaving her a vacant, bump-growing machine. She stays in our pod all day, reading the Book of Red Ink over and over until she wanders out to the refectory. It’s as if she’s living in a world of shade, only seeing and hearing the things right in front of her. Every day she falls deeper into her own empty space and there’s nothing I can do to drag her up again. Each time I see her purple-ringed eyes, a fear creeps up on me more terrifying than anything I’ve ever felt in the Stadium.

I’ve tried talking to Shepherd Fines, begging him to change his mind. He says it’s out of his hands. He ‘has to obey the rules in the Book of Red Ink like everyone else’. That doesn’t make any sense to me, considering I know he has the power to implement change on every single one of those rules. He only has to persuade six others, and it’s done. But no, he has his ‘father’s legacy’ to uphold. The baby will be taken, and what happens to the child after is none of my or Alixis’ business.

I just hope Dylan was right, that the baby will be given to a family who wants a child.

Dylan and I are still not speaking. Somehow, it’s turned from me being mad at him to the other way around. You would think he would be happy—I’m spending more time with Shepherd Fines than ever. Didn’t Dylan give us his royal blessing? Yet, now that we lack Alixis to glue us together, we stride past each other at camp with our heads held high and without a sideways glance.

No one ever told me that in order to ignore someone, you had to be painfully aware of everything they’re doing
all
the time.

I miss him. I miss Alixis. I miss Mum being my mum and Dad being my dad.

***

A FORTNIGHT AFTER THE PARTY, Shepherd Fines and I return to the camp from a Demonstration in Romeo, where I killed two women for conspiring against the Shepherds. The moment I step through the gate, I know something’s changed. The air is quiet but full, like poisonous gas has been channelling between the buildings, and no one can breathe or speak.

‘Sir, is everything all right in there?’ I motion across the empty field towards the camp.

‘Of course, my dear. Now you go and get some rest.’ He waggles a finger at me.

The Shepherd has abandoned all pretence of having business in the cities where I demonstrate, and I have to admit, seeing his face in the crowd when I fight gives me more strength. It reminds me I have a shot of finishing this thing. Of getting out of here.

I’ve heard the rumours of course; Debtbook is rife with speculations about the school-girl Demonstrator and her Shepherd. Some people think it’s sick and that I’m his favourite pet. Others like to believe it’s true love, and we’ve found it in the least likely of situations. I think it’s a little mix of both. Maybe love, on his side, maybe control for both of us.

The wind turns colder as I reach the playground. Shepherd Fines heads down a separate path, on his way to who-knows-where.

A low sob hiccups through the silence. I follow the sound until I reach a huddle of Demonstrators at the bottom of Shepherd Fines’ stairs.

Four of them sit tightly together, while one paces behind.

‘It’s Sola,’ I hear one whisper. The pacing boy stops.

‘Did you know about this?’ he demands. I don’t have time to answer.

‘Of course she did. She is sleeping with
him
, after all.’ The man sitting on the stairs looks me up and down. I recognise the disgust in his eyes. There’s a murmur of assent from the rest of them.

‘Whatever,’ I say. ‘I came to see whether you were all right, but forget it.’ My fists are little balls as I turn away. I’m not sleeping with anyone, but if I am, what business is it of theirs?

‘Dao’s dead.’

I stop breathing. Everything inside me freezes. Dao’s last Demonstration was today. We said goodbye last night. He was going to win. I knew it.

‘Your Shepherd blinded him. What a fun twist,’ the boy spits out at me.

‘I . . . I . . . I didn’t know,’ I whisper, still facing away from them. I close my eyes against the image of gentle Dao unable to see in the Stadium, desperately trying to hear those around him. I’ve been so obsessed with my own fights, my own misery that I didn’t think to ask Shepherd Fines to go easy on Dao. I didn’t consider his poor count of followers.

The message is simple: if the crowd doesn’t care about you going home, you don’t go home.

***

GIDEON DOESN’T LEAVE HIS POD FOR DAYS. From the nasty looks various Demonstrators shoot me as I wait by his pod shaft, I know I’m blamed for Dao’s death. I’m just about to give up and head to my pod when someone scans out of the shaft. It’s him.

His eyes are ringed with grey bags, his skin practically draping from his cheekbones. I wonder when he last ate.

‘You need to leave,’ he says. I take a deep breath. For hours, I have been preparing myself for this, but imagining how much he hates me is nothing compared to the emptiness in his voice.

‘Gideon, I’m sorry about Dao.’ When he doesn’t reply, I continue. ‘I don’t care who else blames me for what happened, but I need you to know that I didn’t have anything to do with it. I had no idea—’

‘Maybe you could have asked, then.’ He interrupts. ‘Maybe you could have cared? One word from you, and this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘That’s not true! I don’t even have influence over my own Demonstrations. I can’t control what Shepherd Fines decides. I loved Dao. I—’ I’m rambling now, trying to quell the stickiness in my throat and burning in my eyes.

Gideon interjects. ‘Fine, Sola. It’s not your fault he’s gone. But why do you still cosy up to the man who killed your so-called friend?’

I shake my head. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. How any of this can be pinned on me?

‘It’s his job! And why are you still friends with Coral?’ I shoot back. ‘She is the reason I’m here. Not to mention how she told Shepherd Fines about Alixis’ baby.’

Gideon stares back at me. The hollowness of his gaze, the way his mouth sets, makes me shudder. It’s as though he’s looking at a corpse.

‘Coral didn’t murder Dao,’ he says quietly. ‘You know, Coral’s not perfect. She isn’t going to be rescuing orphaned kittens anytime soon. But she looks out for those she cares for. Which is more than I can say for you.’

I open my mouth to tell him we must be talking about different people when he speaks again.

‘Look, you and I were never great friends to begin with. Let’s just stay out of each other’s way from now on.’

He turns and scans back into his pod shaft before I can find any words. This was not how I imagined our conversation ending.

***

I WISH THINGS HAD BEEN peachy since then, but that was two weeks ago, and I’ve given up on making friends in this place. Demonstrators leave on the spinner every day. Some come back, some don’t. I try not to let myself think about stuff too much. That’s why I’ve been fighting non-stop since Dao died, adding a new scar to my criss-crossed body almost daily.

Dylan didn’t mention this part in his little plan to keep me alive. ‘By the way, whenever anything bad happens, everyone will blame you because they all think you have influence with Shepherd Fines. Thanks to Coral’s and various other status updates, the whole camp thinks you’re together . . .’ I even heard someone whisper Shepherd Fines had given me drugs to make me a better fighter.

The whole way through this month from hell, I keep thinking that I might have a sister living yards away from me.

So, what kind of person does it make me that all I want is to destroy her?

TODAY IS CHRISTMAS.

Or at least it used to be.

Shepherd Fines told me that since religion was declared illegal, people get restless on December 25th. I know he’s approved whatever fight has been planned for me; he’s been a mixture of frantic excitement and genuine worry for days. Even Dylan stops tapping on his digipad when he sees Shepherd Fines and I walk across to the gate.

‘You don’t have a Demonstration today, do you?’ he shouts across to me. I nod, but keep my pace up.

‘But, it’s a tryouts day. We get the time off.’ Dylan sounds confused, anxiety flitting into his low voice. Worried about his conscience, no doubt. I let the Shepherd do the talking like my own personal bodyguard. He tells Dylan some speech about how I’ll get more followers if I demonstrate when no one else does. I walk away without a second glance.

***

VERY SOON, I wish I’d listened to Dylan. At city Hotel’s Stadium I’m rushed into a different type of room than usual, equipped with not one, but two workers with understanding smiles. The place is oddly silent, with no open archway, just another door.

One of the workers grins. ‘Sound-proof,’ she tells me, looking delighted. Instead of handing me the usual leather belt, she picks up a long, oval, metal clamp from the table. She runs her scan chip over one end and it opens up like a jaw. Beaming that condescending smile, she instructs me to put my arms up. When I do, the woman places one half of the clamp over my body so that it runs from my shoulder to my hip. The other side is pulled down over my back, and the two ends join together with definite clicks. I look down to see an angry red circle on the clamp, like the lens of a camera. It sits right over my heart.

‘What is this?’ I ask.

‘Something slightly different. You have to work out the rules when you get out there.’

She nods to her colleague, who I notice is holding a tiny controller in her hands. Her hands move and something buzzes through my chest. I scream out.

‘Fantastic, it works.’

I barely register the woman’s words. My breath is rushing out of me, my heart going twice as fast. I want to be sick. The electric shock was like a hand reaching into my rib cage and scratching my organs.

‘Don’t worry. You won’t feel that again. And if you do, you won’t be around to experience it for long.’

***

THE OTHER DOOR leads out onto a staircase. At the bottom, I’m escorted to the open archway and practically pushed out onto the empty sands by the two workers. I roll my shoulders underneath the clamp. It already weighs heavily, pulling on my neck. No one cheers as I walk to the centre of the arena, but I do hear a cough. It’s this that tells me I’m in trouble—people are too excited to speak in case they miss something. Anticipation hangs in the air like a thick fog over my head. My hands are idle and useless without my sword, so I end up fidgeting while I wait for something to happen.

I knew today would be different. People are getting restless with me. My ticket sales are creeping down. They’re bored of my signature cartwheel move, bored that I always win. Even my gate-induced fainting has lost their interest. Some have written on Debtbook that I should get a new quirk. They prefer Coral, her deadly dance-like moves, her clear enjoyment of the fight. That seductive lack of compassion.

I’m shuffling ever closer to getting home, and I’m rewarded with disdain.