After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian)

by Rivers, Rosanne

  ‘Deal.’

  THE NEWLY-TRODDEN GRASS crinkles under my boots as I steady my crouching pose. We’re far out, near the fence that runs around the fields. I keep my eyes locked on Dylan. Gone is the awkward man I’ve seen run his hand through his hair so many times. Now a warrior stands opposite me. His eyes are intense, his jaw set and firm.

  He’d tried to get the plastic swords. I told him no. No weapons. Just you and me.

  His head cocks to one side. He raises his eyebrows. It’s an invitation.

  Fine by me.

  Like a swimmer on their marks, I crouch lower before blasting myself towards him. My bones throb with renewed energy.

  I try to jab him in the stomach. He hits my wrist out of the way again and again. I change to attack his side, but he’s ready and he deflects my blows lazily. Each time I fail to make contact, frustration bites at me. Grunting, I desperately try to land something home. My top is damp with sweat, and yet Dylan stands there, moving only to block me.

  Next time he grabs my wrist to deflect, I swirl behind him and grip his arm too. I throw him away from me and leap backwards, putting some much-needed space between us. My short gasps send shock into my lungs.

  No more playing by his rules. I try to encourage the rage inside me, feed the creature like I do in the Stadium. I close my eyes and breathe in the frosty air.

  When he comes for me, I’m ready.

  He goes for the most obvious move to get me on the floor: a leg scoop. I jump over his leg, and land my right foot onto his thigh. Instead of kicking, I take hold of his shoulders and launch myself onto his back. Wrapping my leg over his shoulder I tip my weight forwards. He’s pulled down with me, and I ignore the thud of the ground as I try to find his arm in the heap of our bodies. Dylan’s too fast. He rolls away swiftly, and I’m glad to see he’s breathing hard.

  I charge once more, aiming to jab his neck with my palm. He sidesteps. I recognise too late I’m about to collide with his outstretched arm. It hits my neck, choking me. My legs swerve forwards and I land on my back, struggling for breath. The idiot winded me. I hardly have time to curse before he goes to pin me down. I roll away and clamber up.

  We’ve travelled even farther away from the camp now. Behind Dylan, the ground slopes before it dives, meeting a collection of willow trees at the bottom of the hill by the far side of the gate. I wonder whether Dylan’s noticed; if I can unbalance him onto the slope, I might have the advantage.

  He steps towards me. Within moments, we’re back into the fight, and I aim a side kick to his head, but he ducks and pushes my leg forwards, throwing me off-balance. I spin like a dancer, swerving out of his attack before raining down a combination of elbow, palm, and knee jabs. He blocks, grabs, even tries a head-butt, but I see it coming and land an elbow on his neck.

  That’s when I hear a cheer. White speckles appear in my vision. At first, I think I’ve got concussion but then I realise Demonstrators are cheering us on.

  The world twists upside down. I’m rolling, tumbling through the air. Dylan has blocked my attack with a jump and hooked his leg around my waist. As he tumbles, I go with him, over his body and landing with a painful crack.

  Somewhere around me, Shepherd Fines cheers my name.

  Our misty breath mingles together now. We tussle on the floor, trying to get on top of the other. My chest is bruised, my lungs are straining, my hip and sides are screaming out, but I won’t give up.

  I go to grab one of his attacking arms, and with the force I fall over his body—

  Grass then trees then sky then grass. I’m rolling. My fingernails scrape through soil as I try to stop. We’ve tipped over the slope and now we both crash over one another, still fighting as we flip down the hill. I scratch flesh semi-by-accident. A knee smacks my jaw, and my own teeth jam into my lip. Something bony collides with my head.

  We roll onto even surface. I pummel my arms into what I think is Dylan and try to get hold of myself, to figure out what’s sky and what’s ground. My shoulder slams into a tree trunk and suddenly we’re underneath the willow trees. The falling ice is welcome on my body as the tree shivers to life.

  It takes a moment for me to recognise I’m on top of Dylan. Holding his wrists in a vice-like grip with his legs pinned underneath my knees.

  Neither of us speak. Just catch our breath together. Blood streams from his nose. There are two deep scratches on his forehead and his clothes are soaked from sweat and frost. I swipe my eye with my shoulder. Crusty soil rubs off onto the white T-shirt sleeve. There are no cheers from the spectators; we’re hidden away under the crescendo of willow branches.

  After an age of breathing, Dylan croaks out, ‘You win.’

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ I say back to him, pushing down on his arms. Despite the blood which flows over his lips, he grins.

  ‘You can.’

  I scowl. Somehow I think he’s getting the better of me. I tentatively bring my hand away and, when he doesn’t move, I swipe the blood from his mouth.

  ‘You look disgusting,’ I explain.

  ‘You look beautiful.’

  Huh? Before I can open my mouth, I feel his hand snake around my neck. He leans up, still pinned underneath me, and presses his lips against mine.

  Hot explosions erupt in my chest. Instinct yells at me to push him off, but I don’t.

  I part my lips slightly and kiss back. First urgently, then softly. His blood tastes just like mine, and I don’t care. I just keep kissing, letting him explore with his perfect tongue and lips and—

  His palm’s at the back of my neck, his fingers extending into my hair. I slide my knees from his legs and he tips me over gently, still holding me tight. My back meets the cold, hard ground. Dylan is leaning over me, lying on his side but with one leg wrapped in between mine.

  Every touch is a lightning bolt, and I crave the electricity. His fingers are like silk as they caress my neck. From his desperate touches, I can tell how long he’s wanted this. Each kiss erases a separate doubt I had over how Dylan feels.

  He goes to pull away, but I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeper. He tastes like iron and sweat and sweetness.

  Eventually, he breaks free, and I open my eyes. His face hovers above mine. When I go to speak, Dylan gives me that mischievous smile I’ve missed so much.

  He’s beautiful. Beautiful, and he’s kissing me and it feels so right and so natural. There’s a burning flourish in my tummy which spreads up to my throat. When he leans down, my breath catches, and I think he’s going to kiss me again, but instead he winds his way up to my ear.

  ‘I don’t want you to die,’ he whispers, ‘because I’m in love with you.’

  His words find purchase deep within. Everything tingles, as though my body is crying. I lean my head against his, wrap my arms around his neck and savour being this close to him. We’re holding each other so hard I wonder if he can even breathe. Then we’re kissing once more, our lips meeting, nibbling, exploring. I want all of him, need all of him.

  We only have seconds longer.

  Footsteps are making their way closer. Down the slope and into our hidden cavern. Dylan leans me back onto the ground once more, continuing to kiss me as he places his knees on my legs. He traces the lengths of my arms with his fingers and entwines them around my own.

  Just before the willow branches are pulled back, Dylan drags his hands so that they’re grabbing my wrists, and draws away from me.

  ‘Who won?’ asks Shepherd Fines, peering in through the parted branches.

  Dylan doesn’t turn to look. Just stares down at me, his smile gone. Yet I can trace happiness in the lines around his eyes, the curl of his mouth.

  ‘I did,’ he replies.

  THE NEXT MORNING, as I make my way to the spinner, Dylan catches my eye. We don’t dare say a word. Our gaze plays out a conversation that in my mind goes like this: we kissed last night. Let’s kiss again. Don’t die so we can kiss some more.

  Even when Shepherd Fines tucks
my hand into the crook of his elbow and guides me away, I turn back, watching Dylan. I’m smiling and wishing and loving so hard that my chest feels full and on fire.

  The spinner is already waiting for us on the landing pad. Coral stares out of the gap as Shepherd Fines climbs in beside her. He taps the other seat next to him, and I pull myself into it. Even knowing I have to fight alongside Coral today won’t extinguish the excitement that tingles through me. I’m still imagining my and Dylan’s next kiss when the spinner hovers over Juliet.

  Home.

  We descend onto the hospital roof. After two months, I breathe in the smell of my home city. The sights rush back to me, familiar and crooked at the same time. Everything looks askew, as if it’s been knocked down and rebuilt wrong. Was it always this small?

  Scaffolding leans against new buildings like climbing frames. Something’s different. The place seems less like home and more like the cities I’ve visited since being chosen. . . .

  A glance at Coral tells me she’s noticed too. She breaks her cool facade to lean out of the gap, gasping at our home. An unwelcome pang of jealousy hits me. Coral gets to go back today. Everyone knows the Shepherds are going to give her an easy twist. In the lead up to this final fight, Coral’s followers overtook mine, and no one has bought tickets to see her die. The crowd want their hero rewarded.

  It will be me soon. Just seven more Demonstrations before my final fight. I’m not sure if that thought delights or terrifies me.

  Coral’s out of the spinner faster than if her seat were alight. We don’t say one word to each other as we’re led by a thick group of Herd officers through the hospital and the city streets. I’m too busy standing on my tiptoes, desperately searching for Dad. People stare back, and a crowd slowly forms, following us to the Stadium with whispers and squeals of excitement. I catch sight of a new digital billboard I’ve never seen before.

  To my surprise, both my and Coral’s faces fill the pixels. We’re smiling. I recognise the pictures as school photos taken before we were chosen.

  I look so . . . young.

  Underneath our faces reads: the heroes of Juliet, chosen for you by the Shepherds.

  Then I understand. The scaffolding, the vibe that something has changed. It has. We’ve changed it. Two of the most popular Demonstrators and both from Juliet.

  To me, heroes of Juliet equals we’re making people rich.

  I don’t look up again until we’re led through the depths of the Stadium. I’ve gotten accustomed to the interior of these places; each one’s built the same. So my suspicions rise when we walk past the usual room with the archway. I recognise soundproof walls as we scan into our waiting room. If it’s anything like the room in city Hotel, that door opposite us will open to reveal a staircase to the archway.

  Thankfully, the Stadium workers don’t strap any clamps onto us, just hand us the usual leather belt, sword, and for Coral, gun.

  As we wait for the workers to open the door, Coral lets her hair down. Right then, I wish I had let the makeup girl work her magic on me, too.

  The stuff plasters Coral’s face; she has dark liner rimming her eyes and stark powder bronzing her cheekbones. Her long hair has been curled at the ends. The red ringlets bounce down her back and contrast with the white uniform, which sets off her crimson lips.

  I, on the other hand, am dressed in a tighter version of my school uniform. My face is untouched, and my hair’s scraped back into a pony tail with the pin sticking out of it like I’ve been caught in a game of darts.

  It’s a good job we’re on the same side. Otherwise, I know who the crowd would be rooting for.

  I wonder how many people from school will be in the stands tonight. Not that it matters now. That life belongs to someone else. I’m not Sola ‘tease me and laugh and pretend you can’t hear anything I say’ Herrington anymore.

  I’m a Demonstrator.

  The thick silence is punctured by the workers scanning the door open. Coral stares ahead, shoulders back, head up, sword ready. Tall, toned, and beautiful. The loaded gun on her belt sways with her hips. Before we step out of the room, she looks over her shoulder at me.

  ‘I’ve got your back, sis.’ Even though her tone isn’t sarcastic, I know she’s laughing at me.

  I grip my sword, breathe deeply, and follow her out into the open.

  The Stadium has transformed since my tryout. Yellow lights lick the edges of each stand, barrier, and gate. Dramatic music blasts as we enter, and outdoor heaters droop over the crowd like super long walking sticks hanging from the ceiling. Through the incoherent screams and general buzz blurting from the stands, I hear the audience chanting, ‘Ju-li-et, Ju-li-et!’

  In all my visits, I’ve never seen the place so packed. People squeeze into every available space. The steps are no longer clear aisles that run up and down the stands but seats to anyone who can fit onto them. It reminds me of the cash machines in old arcades. One more penny and the people leaning over the barriers would spill onto the sands and never stop falling.

  Coral looks up at her fans through thick eyelashes, smiling and drinking in the applause. I turn to the gate, crouching with one foot forwards. Let’s get this over with so Coral can go home, and I can finish my tour in peace.

  The familiar clicking sound causes the audience to hush and the music dims. Up on the screen, Coral bites her lip and grins at the gate. I may not agree with the Shepherds’ way of enforcing their power, but right this second, I see that Coral was born to do this. To kill others and make herself feel good. I put another step between us and calm the raging fuzz that overtakes my mind.

  More clicks.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  Iron, death, dirt—the stench of my tryout comes rushing back. I look to Coral, but I see William. I didn’t want this today. Not when I have to be ready for whatever comes out of that gate. After my last Demonstration, I know there’ll be a twist.

  I say William’s name and feel him squeeze my hand, reminding me he was stabbed on these very sands.

  I swear, and the sound of it pulls me back. I’m swaying forwards, listening to Coral scoffing beside me.

  My vision clears in time to see the gate finish its upward slide. Just before two opponents step out onto the sands.

  My mouth goes slack.

  I stare at Mr and Mrs Winters.

  THE FOUR OF US stare across the arena in silence. I gasp, and it sounds like a can being opened. The colour slips from Coral’s face. She drops her sword, takes two running steps towards her mother, but stops.

  Seconds go by so slowly, the stillness so tangible that I can taste the excitement emitting from the crowd. They take in the scene greedily and in their expressions is knowledge. I wonder how many bought tickets purely for this moment.

  Mr Winters straightens up. He’s thinner than before. His skin so grey it’s almost see-through. He doesn’t drop his scythe. Coral’s mother looks to her daughter, then to her husband. She grips her staff, holding it in front of her chest like a baby.

  That’s when Coral begins to back away. Without taking her eyes from her family, she bends down and gropes around in the sand for her weapon.

  Even seeing Coral’s face—desolate and empty in the screen—I can’t bring myself to feel anything less than loathing for her. But no one deserves this. Not even her.

  I walk over, breaking the stalemate.

  ‘Coral, I can do this. You don’t have to,’ I shout. It seems to travel through the whole Stadium.

  She turns to me, venom in her eyes.

  ‘You’d like that. Kill my parents while I watch? Take all my glory? Go stab yourself, Sola.’ She spits at me, and I jump back to avoid it. The audience hiss and boo but I don’t know who for. Perhaps it’s just because no one has died yet.

  Coral advances. A thin lipped determination settles onto her features. Her mouth moves as she talks to herself. They form the same words over and over. ‘They’re already dead. They’re already dead.’ Her parents separate, and Coral look
s lost over which to follow.

  My throat goes dry. I shiver just standing still in this flimsy uniform. So I do the only thing I can do well in the Stadium.

  I overtake Coral, and I fight.

  Coral’s mother is first. She’s no good with the staff. I knock it from her hands in seconds. She keeps looking behind me to her daughter. I can’t tell whether it’s for help or in—

  Pain splits across the side of my head. My knees scrape against the sand as I fall forwards. I rush to get up. My left eye throbs where I was punched. I look around, and Coral takes my place in front of her mother, turning her back on me. So much for trying to help.

  ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

  That voice which triggers my automatic retch reflex creeps over the sands. Mr Winters stands paces away, watching the two women in his family stare each other down.

  ‘I think she’s going to kill us.’ He speaks leisurely, as if the whole thing is some mix up and we’ll all have a good laugh later. Eventually, his cold eyes settle on my face. There’s the scent of decaying soil in the air. Is it possible for someone to smell like death?

  ‘I’ve always liked you, Sola.’

  Ha! He practically chokes on my name. I keep one eye on him, one on Coral and her mother.

  ‘Perhaps you could take her on? If you kill her, they might cancel the Demonstration.’

  A horrible crack rings out. Coral has broken her mother’s neck. I gag.

  ‘Please, Sola. I always rooted for your father. I was going to promote him.’ He speaks faster now, backing away despite Coral not moving from the spot where she sits cradling her mother’s shoulders.

  It’s up to me to finish this fight. I breathe deeply, ignore the throbbing pain from the side of my face, and leap forwards to attack.

  Mr Winters is a surprisingly good fighter. His narrow eyes take in everything while his arms dart to deflect my blows. His scythe allows him to block from a distance, and he glides backwards, not letting me an inch closer. Yet this kind of parry is hard to sustain—a perfect example of Gideon’s words: if you can’t run this field forty times before you go out to fight, you’ll lose.