by Lily Herne
Lungi snorted. ‘Okay? Hayibo, sister. I tell you something, you watch yourself. You are going to cause some trouble tonight!’
She didn’t know the half of it.
18
‘Leletia!’ The Mantis’s eyes were bulging so far out of their sockets they were in danger of plopping onto the kitchen floor. ‘Where did you get that dress?’
‘A friend gave it to me,’ I said. Well, it was true, wasn’t it?
‘But it looks brand new!’
‘So?’
‘What about the other one? It cost me a fortune in trade credits!’
For once Dad stood up for me. ‘Just let her wear what she likes, Cleo,’ he said.
‘But –’
‘You look beautiful, Lele,’ he said. ‘You really do.’
I gave him a small, grateful smile. But the Mantis hadn’t finished. I tuned her out and concentrated on settling Jobe for the night. He’d been acting strange all evening – clinging to my legs and whimpering under his breath. I was almost grateful when Zyed showed up.
I had to admit he looked good. For once the feathers were absent, and his tailored black suit must have cost an arm and a leg. I wondered if Thabo and Lungi had also kitted him out for the evening, or if there were a whole series of suppliers. He did a double take when he saw the dress, but did his best to hide his shock. Smiling politely at Dad and the Mantis, he turned on the charm, but as soon as we were outside, his face shut down.
‘Look, Zyed,’ I said, climbing into the rickshaw he’d hired for my night. ‘I don’t want to do this either, ’kay? So let’s just get it over with.’
‘Fine,’ he snapped.
We sat in silence as the driver pulled us out into the thoroughfare. But I hadn’t forgotten about what I’d said to him. Guilt made me speak again. ‘You worried about the Lottery?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he said
‘Because the chances of you getting picked . . . They’re not that great.’
‘You really think my father would allow me to get chosen?’ he said scornfully, staring out into the city. ‘When we get there, you’re on your own. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me; as far as I’m concerned you don’t exist.’
‘Ditto,’ I snapped. If he didn’t want to make an effort then there was no way I was going to.
But even with the world’s most miserable date at my side, I still couldn’t help but feel my excitement building. Thabo would be there. And the way he’d looked at me when I’d tried on the dress – I was sure it meant something.
The rickshaw had barely come to a stop before Zyed pushed past me, leapt down and stalked through the gates. I climbed down with difficulty. Lungi had loaned me a pair of red high-heeled shoes that clashed with the dress, but went better with it than my boots. I did my best, trying not to break an ankle as I skittered through the deserted courtyard and onwards to the classroom. The place looked even uglier at night, the rays of the crappy sun statue spreading shadowy fingers across the desolate concrete.
I stood outside the door, listening to the beat of the band inside the classroom, then I took a deep breath and walked in.
I managed to time my entrance with the end of one of the band’s songs, and, caught by a sudden gust of wind, the door slammed behind me. Heads turned. Eyes stared. Pretty much everyone was dressed in clothes from before the War, but in comparison to mine, most of their outfits looked shabby and old. A flurry of excited whispering followed me as I did my best to walk across the room without tripping over my feet.
The crowd parted and Thabo walked towards me. He looked fantastic. He was wearing a long leather coat, a gleaming white T-shirt, black jeans and boots.
‘You’re late,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘But you’re worth waiting for. You scrub up well.’
‘So do you.’
‘Huh? What do you mean?’ he said with his trademark grin. ‘I always look this good.’
He held out his arm. I linked mine through his, and we walked slowly towards the stage area, the crowd parting in front of us.
‘Would you like to dance?’ Thabo asked, looking deep into my eyes.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’d like that very much.’
And then, just like in all the best fairy stories, he took my hand and led me to the centre of the room, and everyone gasped and couldn’t believe how beautiful I was and how handsome he looked and even Zyed couldn’t help but smile at us, and then, one by one, everyone in the room began to clap slowly as Thabo and I glided across the dance floor.
Right now you’re either about to throw up or you’re thinking: Ahhh, how sweet. What a perfect ending.
But this isn’t the end. And of course it didn’t happen like that at all.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
This is the part where it gets really hectic.
Part Two
1
My head was pounding . . . I kept as still as I could for several seconds, breathing in deeply. My mouth tasted weird and metallic, the saliva gummy on my tongue. Gradually, I began to realise that I was lying on a dusty wooden surface, and wherever the hell I was, it was dark, and the floor seemed to be rocking from side to side. It smelled strongly of sweat, rotten vegetables and mouldy wood. I finally managed to lift my head and pulled myself onto my hands and knees. For a horrible second I was hit with a wave of dizziness, and I was sure I was going to be sick. My stomach lurched and then, as fast as the feeling had come upon me, the nausea was gone.
I tried to sit up, and finally managed it on my third attempt. As the rest of my senses kicked in, I could hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in the background, and there was another sound – hitching gasps as if someone close by was sobbing.
‘Hello?’ I called. My voice sounded groggy, almost as if it was arriving from far away. Had I fallen? I ran a hand over my scalp, but I couldn’t feel any damage.
‘She’s awake!’
The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
‘Who’s that?’ I said, struggling to place it. Then it started coming back: what had actually happened at the dance.
And, suddenly, I knew exactly where I was.
Zyed and I had arrived at the school just like I described, but when I’d walked into the classroom, Thabo wasn’t waiting for me. In fact, I couldn’t see him anywhere, and although several students glanced at me curiously, nearly everyone’s attention was focused on the stage – the packed room humming with excitement.
Acid Face Pelosi was standing in the middle of the stage, basking in the attention – her bright pink dress fitting her body like a sausage skin; her Resurrectionist amulet swinging in front of her bony chest. Comrade Xhati and Comrade Nkosi stood to her left, and behind them a grim-faced nurse with swollen ankles and two burly men dressed in Resurrectionist robes stood rigidly to attention.
As I pushed my way through the crowd, searching for any sign of Thabo, Comrade Nkosi glanced at his watch, murmured something in Comrade Xhati’s ear, and with a nod in Acid Face Pelosi’s direction, stepped off the stage and disappeared into the crowd.
Acid Face Pelosi clapped her hands and started saying something, but I didn’t bother listening, and besides, I only had eyes for Thabo – I’d caught sight of him at the far side of the room. I started edging my way towards him, waving to grab his attention until he finally saw me and shot me a grin and a thumbs-up.
I’d opened my mouth to tell him to join me, when his smile instantly snapped off.
I looked behind me, trying to figure out what could be wrong. ‘What?’ I mouthed at him.
And then it dawned that he wasn’t the only one who was looking at me as if I’d just sprouted another head.
‘Leletia de la Fontein!’ Acid Face Pelosi called. ‘Come up to the stage, please.’
I looked up at her. ‘Huh? Why?’ The room was now silent, and my words rang out clearly.
She smiled at me coldly. ‘You have been picked.’
I gazed at her stupidly. ‘Picked? For what?’
I felt my mouth dropping open. I suppose I must have looked ridiculous, but my image was the last thing on my mind right then. I struggled to find my voice. ‘But . . . but that’s impossible!’
‘Come on, Leletia!’ Her smile was fading fast.
‘But I can’t be chosen!’ I stammered.
‘I’m afraid that is not so,’ Acid Face said.
‘My brother – I’m not eligible! I told you this! Comrade Xhati, tell them! Please!’
‘It is an honour, Leletia,’ Acid Face Pelosi said cheerfully, grinning down at me as if she were giving me good news instead of basically handing down a death sentence. I didn’t like that smile. Not one bit. It was the kind of patronising smile you give to someone who’s delusional. I looked around for Comrade Nkosi – who I suspected was the only one with the power to stop this insanity – but he was nowhere to be seen.
I think it was then that I knew I wasn’t going to talk my way out of this. I knew I had to flee, right that second. But thanks to the shock and the part of me that didn’t believe it was actually happening, I hadn’t noticed that the two burly men had left the stage and skirted around behind me. In the split second I decided to make a run for it my arms were grabbed from behind and I was propelled forward.
‘Thabo!’ I yelled. ‘Help!’
He’d been standing, frozen, staring at me, but as soon as he saw the two men in Resurrectionist robes grab me, he leapt into action and started fighting his way towards me. I tried to struggle, and even managed to wriggle free, but then one of the men forced my arm up behind my back, and the pain that shot through my shoulder took my breath away. If I fought much harder I’d be in danger of breaking my arm. ‘No!’ I screamed as they hauled me up onto the stage.
‘Let her go!’ Thabo yelled as he forced his way to the front of the stage, but when he tried to climb up, one of the men kicked him in the chest, sending him flying backwards.
Acid Face Pelosi glanced at the nurse and gave her a small nod. She started walking towards me. I tried to back away, but the man still held me firmly. When the nurse was close enough, I lashed out with my foot and landed a vicious kick in her stomach. She doubled over, staggering, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. Grimacing in pain, she stood up and shot me a cold, professional smile. It was then that I realised she was holding a syringe in her right hand.
‘It’s okay,’ the nurse murmured as she jabbed the needle into my arm. ‘Your reaction is quite normal.’
‘Wait!’ Acid Face Pelosi said. ‘I think we should –’
Then everything went dark.
2
My eyes were starting to adjust to the gloom, and I could make out the four shapes of the other Lottery winners. I knew that two of them must be from Malema High, but it was too dark to make out any familiar faces. All I knew for sure was that we were in the back of a high covered wagon, and judging by the way it rocked and shook, we were travelling over rough terrain.
‘That was quite a performance you put on at the dance,’ the same voice said. ‘The nurse had to leave the room after she injected you.’
I tried to make out his features, finally recognising the outline of a pair of taped-together glasses. It was Zit Face.
‘You sit next to me in class,’ I said.
‘Well, duh.’
‘I don’t even know your name,’ I said. I didn’t bother to sound apologetic; it wasn’t like he’d never been nice to me.
‘Paul.’
‘What did they give me?’ I asked him.
‘Who knows? Some kind of sedative, I guess. You went out like a light.’
‘Didn’t they give it to you, too?’
‘I didn’t fight,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
He paused. ‘I knew it was going to happen,’ he said in a small, tired voice. ‘I had a feeling. You can’t stop them.’
‘This can’t be happening,’ I groaned. ‘I’m not supposed to be here.’
‘Get used to it,’ he said, but not unkindly. ‘We’re screwed and there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘How long have we been in here?’ I asked.
‘Couple of hours. We’re in one of the relocation wagons, I think.’
The sound of sobbing was intensifying.
‘Who’s that crying?’ I asked.
‘That’s one of the guys from one of the other Resurrectionist schools. Hasn’t stopped once.’
‘Who else is here?’
‘Another chick I don’t know.’ Paul gestured over to where a small figure was curled in a ball in the corner of the wagon. ‘She hasn’t moved or spoken. And Lucille de Beer. She also goes to Malema High.’
The name wasn’t familiar.
‘Do not fear!’ a girl’s voice cried. ‘We are the chosen ones.’
‘Excuse me?’ I said.
‘That’s Lucille,’ Paul explained. ‘She’s totally lost it.’
‘I have not!’ Lucille whined. ‘We should be looking forward to our rebirth as part of Heaven on –’
‘Oh, shut up!’ I snapped. The last thing I needed right then was an earful of Resurrectionist crap.
‘You can’t talk to me like that!’ Lucille cried. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘Someone who’s getting out of here,’ I snapped. And, suddenly, saying it out loud made it seem possible.
Using the side of the wagon as support, I pulled myself to my feet.
‘You really think we can escape?’ Paul asked. ‘How? I’ve tried the back flap and it’s totally secure.’
‘I’m working on it,’ I said.
‘Embrace the future!’ Lucille began again. ‘You don’t understand that –’
‘No, you don’t understand that if you don’t shut up, I’ll be shutting your mouth for you!’ I yelled, the fear and shock melding into fury.
Lucille let out a squeak, but stayed quiet, which was all I wanted.
‘Jislaaik, Lele,’ Paul said. ‘Way to go.’
I was beginning to like Paul, and I remember thinking that perhaps my first impression of him had been wrong. But, right then, the past didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting out of the wagon. I had to think. There was definitely light coming from somewhere, which was a start. I glanced up at the roof. There it was – a faint glimmer of moonlight slanting through a rip in the tarpaulin.
‘Has anyone got any matches?’
‘Here,’ Paul thrust a box into my hand. I shook it. There weren’t many left, but they would have to do. ‘You going to start a fire?’
I considered it. It wasn’t such a bad idea. But then I decided against it. It was too risky. We might only have one shot at this, and I didn’t want to risk burning us all to death. I lit one of the matches and held it above my head. The rip was about the size of a man’s hand.
‘You haven’t got a knife by any chance have you, Paul?’ I asked.
‘I wish,’ he said.
I’d lost one of my shoes, but I was sure I could use the metal heel of the other one to punch holes in the fabric and maybe make enough of a gap to squeeze through. It was worth a shot. The match burned down, singeing my fingers. Swearing under my breath, I lit another.
The first hurdle was going to be getting up there. The roof was more than a metre above my head. I needed to stand on something, but apart from my fellow Lottery winners, the wagon was empty. I assessed everyone. The sobbing boy was clearly the tallest.
‘Hey! You!’ I said to him. ‘What’s your name?’
‘J-J-Jamale,’ he stuttered.
‘Okay, Jamale,’ I said. ‘I need you to stand up.’
‘Why?’
‘I need you to help me. Please. Just do it. I’m going to get us out of here.’
‘Huh? Really?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
He struggled to his feet and I lit another match so that I could get a better look at him. I felt a pang of pity for him – the front of his trousers was stained a darker
colour, where he’d obviously lost control of his bladder, and waves of nervous sweat blasted off his body – but I could see from his height that if I sat on his shoulders I could easily reach the roof.
‘Listen, Jamale, I’m going to try to break open the tarpaulin so that we can sneak out. But I’ll need to balance on your shoulders. You cool with that?’
He nodded.
‘Okay. Shuffle over here.’
I positioned him underneath the spot in the roof, and handed my shoe to Paul.
‘Pass this to me when I ask for it, okay?’ I said to him.
‘You want me to go?’ he asked.
‘I’m lighter.’
‘No!’ Lucille screamed. ‘You can’t!’
‘Lucille,’ I snapped. ‘If you want to stay here and let the Guardians do . . . whatever to you, then fine. But if you interfere with me, then they won’t get a chance. Got it?’
‘But –’
‘I said, have you got it?’ I knew I sounded like I was turning into some kind of hard-core bitch, but someone had to do something. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ I said to Paul.
I was glad it was dark, as I had to shuck the dress up to my hips to climb onto Jamale’s shoulders. He staggered slightly as the wagon rocked beneath us, and for a second I was sure I was going to lose my balance, but then he steadied himself.
‘Okay, Paul,’ I said. ‘Pass me the shoe.’
My arms were killing me by the time I’d widened the gap. It was slow work, and I fought for every inch.
‘Hold still, Jamale,’ I said.
He grunted something. Using the edges of the tear in the tarpaulin to steady myself, I stood on his shoulders. My head poked through the top, and I dragged in a lungful of clean night air. Wriggling as best I could, I forced my shoulders through and used my arms to leverage the rest of my body up and out onto the roof.
But I hadn’t thought it through properly.
One minute I was catching my breath, enjoying the chill of the night air on my skin, the next I was flying through the air, swept off the roof by a tree branch that had sprung out of nowhere. I felt myself falling, and then the air whooshed out of me as I landed on my back, my head smacking the ground, my arm a bright burst of pain as it slammed against a rock with a sickening crack.