I take a deep breath and test the waters.
‘Sir?’ I say, first quietly, then louder. No reaction. I give his arm a shake. He grumbles something inaudible before settling back into his deep sleep.
Every inch of my mind is on high alert as I creep over to the desk and take his digipad. That’s it now. I’ve gone past the point of no return. If he wakes up, there’s no explaining away what I’m doing.
It’s kind of ridiculous that I’m scared of him. I could end his life in a moment’s notice. It’s the power he holds over everyone—the whole country, including those I love—which really frightens me. I know deep down that I wouldn’t kill him, either. In the Stadium, everything is black and white. The fear controls me and forgives what I’m doing. Kill or be killed. Outside, life is harder to decipher.
I tiptoe back to the sofa. Holding my breath, I take Shepherd Fines’ limp hand. The Italian-American voices are talking quietly on the large screen, but I recognise the tone of coercion.
Please no gun fire, I beg the film silently.
Shepherd Fines twitches. I freeze in position, not daring to gasp. It’s as if the whole room is counting with me. One. Two. Three. Breathe.
His hands are surprisingly soft. The navy blue cuff of his sleeve hangs over his wrist. Peeling his forefinger straight, I swipe the tip of it across the digipad. The small screen glows white before activating back onto the film list library.
Slowly, I settle Shepherd Fines’ hand to dangle over the edge of the sofa and start to navigate around his digipad. The software is completely different than mine; everything I need to use is on my Debtbook—libraries, contacts, download sites—but Shepherd Fines hasn’t got a profile, only a blank home screen with separate icons.
There’s nothing which hints to William. One icon marked ‘November charges’ brings up a list of names with various offences attached to them, and even as I’m staring at it, another name appears at the top of the list. I close it down and instead double click on an icon titled, ‘October sales’. My breath is fast and shallow, my fingers leaving little moisture marks on the screen. The display shows yet another list of names, this time with titles of countries next to them. I narrow my eyes and tap in ‘William Wilson’ in the search box. One match . . . The country’s title next to him is Greece. I tap on his name feverishly fast.
Damn! It’s asking me for a password. I chew on my nail, my chest hurting with how many times it’s flipped in the last minute.
Come on, come on. I look at Shepherd Fines, racking my brain.
‘F-R-A-N-K-E-N-S-T-E-I-N’ I type. I tap enter.
A loud chord strikes from the digipad, telling me I guessed wrong. My stomach and guts leap into my mouth and I start, whizzing around to face Shepherd Fines. He rubs his eyes, groans, and turns onto his side to continue his heavy nasal breathing. I can’t try again. I’m out of ideas, and bravery.
With legs like empty, wobbly shells, I replace his digipad on the desk. It rattles with how much my hand is shaking when I put it down. As soon as it’s out of my grasp, there’s a flutter of relief. Without a second thought I run to my room, bolting the door behind me and dragging my laundry box across the entrance just in case.
As I get under three duvets, hiding my head within the mountain of pillows, I add some factors to my ever-growing mental list of things I know for sure.
-I have now killed seven people.
-As soon as I see Dylan, I’m going to tell him how I feel.
-For some reason, William is in Greece.
-Shepherd Fines tried to drug me tonight.
IF I COULD, I would hit the ground running. Instead, I wait with agitation pulsing in each fingertip for Shepherd Fines to unlock the gate in Zulu. We’ve hardly spoken all morning. I’ve been avoiding him like I would a spider I’m too scared to get rid of, while most of his sentences have started with him clearing his throat. I have to face it: he knows I checked his digipad. I forgot to change the screen back onto the library list, and I cringe to think of him unlocking it to the words ‘password needed’ when he woke up. To complicate matters, I have no idea where we stand on the whole ‘you tried to drug me but fell asleep yourself, do you know that I know?’ saga.
As the wind from the spinner drops, settling my hair back on my shoulders and giving my ears some respite, the gate beeps open. My breath is practically condensing on the metal bars because of how close I’m standing, and I jolt with the impact of it opening. That familiar garden scent welcomes me back.
‘Don’t forget the party I’m holding for all the Demonstrators on Thursday. I believe I . . . mentioned it last night.’ Shepherd Fines tries to force his cheery tone but it sounds mechanical and awkward. I notice how the party ‘for me’ has turned into one for everyone. Well, perhaps some good has come out of last night after all.
‘Yeah, you did. See you later,’ I say without even glancing in his direction. I slip through the gap in the gate while it’s still widening and sprint down the path, searching the white uniforms on the fields for Dylan’s muscular, tall frame. No avail.
I head to the refectory and sweep my eyes over the tables . . . nope . . . nope . . . ugh. Coral leans back on her stool, listening to Gideon speak with his arm around a disgruntled-looking Dao. Jamey’s on her right, staring at her with a gooney grin. I’ve only been away for two days, but it’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time since she arrived. She’s different. Her body looks strong, with a toned roundness to her forearms and thighs. Every movement she makes is with such grace I wonder whether I look like Jamey right now, staring opened mouthed. She took dance classes in city Juliet, one of three girls in my year who could afford it, and coupled with her obvious strength and conviction in everything she does, even the way she moves her hair from her neck, amazes me.
As though she can sense yet another pair of eyes on her, she turns from her conversation, her half-closed eyes locking on me. In a quick, easy motion, she blows a dainty kiss my way, followed by a swift smile before turning back to her group. None of them react, and in that second I wonder whether I’m going mad and conjured the whole scene up in my head.
No.
She sits there, laughing and joking with her friends. And she almost looks nice. Fun to be around. If I was anyone else I might be tempted to think that the kiss was an invitation to join them. The thought of walking over, being part of her group, still mesmerises me.
I hate that.
Anger broils up from my feet, spreading through my legs, stomach and up to my throat. It’s not even for her, but for myself. For being so weak. The force of it takes me by surprise and my face flushes hot. I spin on my pumps and storm straight out of the refectory.
I haven’t checked the Wetpod for Dylan, so I head over there. The November cold seeps through the blue jumper which I found in the hotel wardrobe this morning. It’s the only thing I’ve worn except my school uniform since I’ve been here that isn’t white. I have no intention of giving it back. I scan in, ignore my locker, and head straight to the hot pool on the first floor. My pumps leave rebellious brown smudges on the wet floor, and I get more than a few funny looks from the swimming costume-clad Demonstrators who lounge around, working out their cramps from the morning.
I take three flights of narrow stairs rather than the busy shaft. I glance up to the next floor. There’s only the plunge pool level left. Well, that’s not strictly true; there’s the open-top level which I’ve only ever seen from the spinner, but that’s no entry except with special authority. I know exactly why—the same reason any high rise buildings in Juliet are jump-proof. Suicide.
I pad up the stairs and slide the door open to the plunge pool level. A wall of cool, misty air hits me. When the door slides shut, it locks out the chatter and splashing noises from the floors below, cocooning me in the silence of the large space. I’ve not been up here before, preferring the hot water and steam rooms like everyone else. It seems ghostly; a cold, empty parody of the bustling places underneath.
I wal
k through the wide corridor of showers before coming to the edge of a large, oval-shaped pool. The rim runs all the way around, thick enough to walk on. Splashes and movement tell me there’s one person swimming.
Dylan’s body cuts through the water like a wave breaking. He’s front crawling straight down the middle, his sharp breaths punctuating the splashes from his legs. I draw breath, fighting the twist in my tummy at the sight of him. His white swimming shorts are the only thing he’s wearing, and his perfect body shimmers underneath the surface.
Wow.
I pull off my pumps, roll my linen trousers up to my knees and sit at the edge of the pool, near the apex of the oval. The water is freezing, so I quickly abandon the plan to dangle my feet in the pool and instead tuck them underneath my bum.
Dylan hits the opposite edge, turns, and begins to swim back. I desperately try to steady my breathing, waiting for that inevitable moment. Why on earth didn’t I look in a mirror before coming here? I run my hands over the frizz which is my hair.
Just then, Dylan stops, the water rushing past him from the rhythm he had built up. He sees me. His head bobs on the water about half way down the lane.
My stomach flips as though my whole body is waking up.
After a long second, he swims to the side of the pool. Water cascades from him as he hoists himself onto the edge.
What was I going to say to him again? Speech abandons me. All I do is watch the man I fantasise about every waking moment grab his towel from the hook and walk over, drying his neck in an obvious attempt not to look ahead.
I close my mouth, still staring at his face, his arms, his firm torso. Hopefully my smile will hide my nerves.
‘It’s freezing in there!’ I half laugh/half breathe out.
He pauses about a metre away from where I’m sitting and looks out onto the rippling water.
‘I’m not training today.’ His voice is as cold as the water.
‘I know. I just . . . came to see you,’ I say quietly.
‘Did you enjoy your time away?’ he asks, his tone flat.
‘Yeah, my favourite part was nearly being killed by some crazily strong she-wolf,’ I reply, seeking his eyes with mine. He nods ever so slightly.
‘Yeah, she looked tough.’
‘Not as tough as meee.’ I make my voice go playfully high, teasing him out of his dark mood. He finally looks at me, the edge of his mouth itching into a smile.
‘You were lucky.’
Standing now, I close a foot between us.
‘You’re the lucky one,’ I say, keeping his intense gaze.
‘Why?’ he asks, and I step even closer, my jumper nearly touching his damp skin.
‘Because you know how to swim,’ I whisper, allowing a millisecond for what I’m saying to sink in. Then I push.
Maybe it’s the high of finally seeing Dylan after the night I’ve had, perhaps it’s the thrill of knowing I could have died so many times yesterday, or maybe I really am going insane. But right now it’s as if anything’s possible; it’s like I’m a kid again, back when pushing someone in a pool was honestly the most hilarious thing in the world. I’m laughing when Dylan resurfaces, shaking the water from his face like a dog. He works to keep himself afloat.
‘You’re such a rookie, Sola,’ he shouts.
I lean down. ‘Oh yeah, why’s that?’
He reclines in the water so he’s facing the high ceiling. The room echoes his words, making them sound quiet and loud all at once.
‘Because now I’m wet, it can’t get any worse. You, however . . .’
I take a step back from the edge. He doesn’t look, but it’s as though he senses my movement.
‘Aye, don’t worry, I won’t do anything yet. Nah, I’ll let you sweat. Because that’s what happens when you have everything to lose.’ Why does that sound so flirty in his accent? I giggle, finding what he’s saying—how I’m feeling—ridiculous. Then, while he’s still facing upwards, I whip my jumper and T-shirt over my head, unzip my trousers with nervous hands and chuck them down next to me. My breathing comes fast, like I’m having some kind of psychotic episode. Maybe I am.
I don’t stand long enough on that edge for him to see me.
‘I’m not afraid of losing!’ I yell as I jump.
The cold greets every part of me, around my ribs and under my arms, gripping my throat. My hair separates underwater, flaying around like seaweed trying to ensnare my face. Shock travels up my body as I lurch upwards. Soon, I break free of the surface, gulping back breaths.
Through the liquid whooshing in my ears, I hear something whole and real bouncing across to me. It’s Dylan. He’s laughing. Really, really roaring. There are splashes and coughing and what I think is the start of my name then more chuckles. It fills me with happiness, knowing I’ve made the most serious person I know laugh, knowing our amusement connects us.
With a few strokes, Dylan has swam beside me, all traces of his earlier annoyance gone. His eyes are wicked, full of mischief. He regards me side-on, a brilliant grin on his face. I guess now, neither of us have anything to lose.
Then, the most amazing thing happens.
We play.
It’s stupid, twenty- and seventeen-year-old killers mucking around in a freezing cold pool, but that’s what we do. At first I keep to the water, too aware of my now transparent underwear. Then, after rounds of who can hold their breath for longest (it’s him) and who can reach the other side fastest (mainly me), Dylan pulls himself out before taking a run up and dive-bombing in the deep end. Without really thinking, or caring, I follow suit and as I jump, I yell out the rudest word I know.
Dylan’s cackling as I swim up.
‘You kiss your mother with that mouth?’ He laughs, before taking a sharp breath in. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think—’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, splashing water in his face. And it really is. It’s okay how inappropriate he is, how embarrassed, how we both know he’s put his foot in it. For some reason, Mum dying doesn’t feel like a secret I should carry alone when I’m with him. It’s not good, or cool, it’s just okay.
‘Anyway, I know a worse one.’ He grins again and gets out. When he jumps he shouts a word I’ve never even heard before, but it sounds disgusting. When I ask him what it means, he says he would never tell a lady, so he can tell me. Obviously, I splash him a bit more.
We head to the shallower end, and he asks me to climb on his back. I do so, fending away the claws of self-consciousness. Our skin is slick against one another. He tucks his strong arms underneath my legs before launching himself upwards. He jumps, leans back and lets go. I fall through the air, screaming until I plunge back into the cold water.
With that splash, it’s as though the past two months never happened. I sink, letting my legs, arms, and hair rise. Tiny bubbles jet around me as if I had jumped into a giant glass of lemonade; I peer through the fuzzy, stinging water. I wonder if this is what it is like to die. Then my body lifts up, pulled to the surface by the millions of living particles which make up me. I gasp and flick my hair away from my face.
This isn’t dying. It’s living.
I turn to Dylan, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
‘Your turn.’
LATER, WE HEAD TO THE REFECTORY TOGETHER. I had to change back into my clothes minus underwear and, although I did it far from Dylan, sharing the secret makes me feel cheeky, as if we’ve done something wrong and no one can know. I definitely have one up on the Herd officer who watches us as we make our way across the field.
The air is even colder than the pool and the camp already looks grey, like night is lying in wait, invading the sun’s time.
While it’s still just us two, I take a deep breath in and try to keep my voice casual.
‘You know, that time I left Shepherd Fines’ office in the morning. I’d fallen asleep there. I’m beginning to think I was drugged or something.’ I can’t let him think something happened for a minute longer. For some reason, I giggle, although it’
s not funny at all. Dylan looks at the ground.
‘Did, did he hurt you?’ he asks quietly, but I see his body tense. I shake my head. Dylan lets out a long breath.
‘Then it’s a good thing,’ he replies. ‘Not if you were drugged, aye.’ He forces a breathy chuckle too, and it seems hollow compared to our real laughing in the pool. ‘But that Shepherd Fines likes you. You should keep it that way.’
My ‘oh’ comes out disappointed. What did I expect? That he would be consumed with jealousy?
‘I’m not going to keep it that way, but I get what you mean,’ I say, although really I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me.
His eyebrows furrow. ‘Shepherd Fines can keep you alive if he wants to. As long as he thinks he has a chance with you, you’ll get an easy twist in your last game. You have thought this through, haven’t you?
‘I get that . . . but I’m not going to pretend I’m interested in someone who I’m not.’ I guiltily think back to the time I implied that Alixis and I were talking about Shepherd Fines in order to keep the sheet wrapped around the trigger camera.
‘So you’re not interested in him?’
‘No,’ I say, although my voice cracks. There’s a pause as I stare at my pumps.
‘Don’t throw an opportunity like this away, Sola. Everyone has to do what they can to stay alive.’
Am I imagining things, or does his voice have that cold edge back?
‘Shepherd Fines is not an opportunity. He’s a person,’ I say, although again, I’m not thinking that at all. I’m thinking, who the hell are you to tell me what to do? What exactly are you asking me to do? Jump into bed with the Shepherd because he can help me live? Then I’m not thinking at all. I’m getting hot and angry. I’m wondering what it is that makes everyone think they can make decisions for me.
‘Why do you refuse to save yourself? Don’t you know how lucky you’ve been?’ he asks.
I think back to our argument that night in the Medic’s Cabin. So long ago, yet the same points are being hammered home again and again. Dylan wants me to do everything his way, and if I don’t, I’m an idiotic little girl who doesn’t know how plush she’s got it.
After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) Page 16