After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian)

by Rivers, Rosanne

  Mr Winters’ moves become less definite; his arm slower, less precise. My sword collides against his curved blade and his face twists as he tries to push me off. I throw my weight forwards. He stumbles back, panic and desperation breaking his usually calm gaze. He keeps looking behind me although I know no one is there.

  I press on, waiting for that weakness in his defence. Eventually, his thin head shakes, and his cold stare finds its way into my eyes.

  ‘I always helped you, Sola. I could have told Shepherd Fines about the sword that boy gave you in your tryout,’ he says, and his words resonate within me. ‘That night I saw you sneaking around at Zulu, I could have reported you.’

  My hand wavers in the air. He’s right. I stare at the white grains of sands below as if they could give me answers. Could he have cared, all this time? Shepherd Fines already knew about the sword, but my creeping around—

  The crowd gasps. There’s a red hot burning in my belly. Far too late, I figure out the ruse.

  Stupid, stupid!

  Blood seeps through my school uniform, spreading like a river over my shirt then down my leg. It’s dark. Darker than it should be. I see the large slash to my stomach in the screen and then up close. It doesn’t look real. It doesn’t even hurt. Just burns. Mr Winters draws his scythe back, the blade now painted crimson.

  All I hear is silence. Mr Winters swings for my neck. I block him instinctively. My body works for me, deflecting and attacking, not letting his blade come close again. I’m persisting, but resisting is much harder. The slow burning churns into a searing torment deep in my gut. I just think of injections. It’s like the sickening pain as someone roots around with a needle inside of you, trying to find your vein. All you can do is sit there, waiting . . . waiting.

  Energy is seeping from my body. I stagger forwards, the scene before me blurring.

  Mr Winters’ scythe clatters to the floor, the sound like claws tapping a table. I didn’t even realise I’d knocked his weapon away. My limbs are so heavy. Sleep calls to me. Why is the sand so unsteady? I draw my sword back. Mr Winters doubles in my vision and all four eyes widen in terror.

  ‘Sola, your father. He’s watching. You don’t want him to see you do this, do you?’ Even now, his voice seems full of authority. I’m not sure if he’s alluding to the fact that he could be my father. My feet stumble to keep me upright.

  ‘My dad would understand,’ I say. Using both hands, I swing my sword down and separate both of Mr Winters’ heads from both his bodies. The last I see of him is a flash of memory: him standing in my kitchen the day I was chosen for the Debt.

  Far away, people cheer. Every sense except my smell has dimmed. Metal, iron and rot. It’s revolting. I wrap an arm around my belly. It’s hot, but I’m so, so cold. I squeeze, try to stop the blood. I need to keep some for me. Medics are coming this way . . . so is something else.

  A person. Rushing towards me. A sword high above her head. Coral.

  A medic grabs to stop her and she cuts him down.

  I back away on treacherous feet. Then I run. RUN!

  Under the gateway where the prisoners were. Down through dark tunnels. Hands meeting stone and metal—I bounce off the walls and force myself onwards. I skid past workers who yell that I can’t be here, but I keep on going, hoping they will slow Coral down. I’m leaving a trail of red in my wake. It reminds me of an old fairy tale. I fall. My knees cracking against a hard, cold floor. I force myself up, running down steps, forcing doors open, setting off alarms. Trying not to remember that Coral has a gun.

  Only when I’m deep into the bowels of the Stadium do I slow down. No footsteps behind me. No screams for my death. I stumble towards a door. Something is jamming it. My palm finds the scanner but it beeps red. With the last of my strength I curl my fingers around the side, wrench it open and force it shut behind me. Coral can’t get to me here.

  I slither down the back of the door with a low screech as my blood lets me slide. I land in a heap on the floor. I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

  For some reason, that’s funny. I think I’m giggling. Tears wet my face. My body shudders violently. My eyes adjust to the dark. I squint and blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.

  Just inches away from my leg, someone’s outstretched hand is curled into a ball like a baby’s is when it’s born. They’re dead.

  I need to get up. They’re everywhere, covering every inch of the ground in this low-roofed basement. No—wait. They aren’t dead. Their chests heave. They’re alive and for some reason, that’s worse. Blacked-out windows built into the walls blur in my vision.

  Maybe I’m hallucinating. Death must be catching up with me.

  Or the tryouts. They might be here for the tryouts.

  Yet something’s not right. My brain is slow, useless. I force myself to think through the fog. On each of their brown uniforms there’s a piece of paper pinned to their chests. I crawl to the nearest person. A man. He’s old. Maybe seventy.

  The ink on the paper wobbles before my eyes.

  December Sales—Juliet—East Bound

  Flight booked: 2nd Jan 2100

  I don’t know what that means! Despair catches up with me in overwhelming waves. How can I help? I can’t help. I’m dying.

  My eyes struggle to stay open despite the cold adrenaline pulsing through me. I grapple at the door now. Need to get out of here. Need to breathe. Need to tell someone—

  ‘Hey, Kim! Quick! One’s awake!’

  A voice from somewhere—behind the windows? It’s muffled. I open my mouth, but there’s no sound. My bloody fingers scrape at the door. Someone’s walking towards me. Must be another entrance somewhere. Using all my strength, I haul myself upon the door one more time. It doesn’t budge. I slide down.

  ‘She’s wounded. Wait a minute . . .’

  The voice dims. I blink as the blackout edges in.

  I list the things I know for certain.

  -I’m dead.

  VOICES. Smothered. Then shouting. One of them is familiar. I want to say their name but I can’t move. The dark turns to grey. I breathe in and awake a deep burning down my throat.

  Needles. No more needles, please.

  Red light blazes behind my eyes. I’m being dragged—no, carried.

  ‘What did she see?’

  Angry, worried voices.

  I blink. Shepherd Fines’ face hovers above me. He’s joined by medics with sanitary masks. They stare with big, goggling eyes.

  ‘She’s waking . . .’

  Another long needle comes towards me. I think of Mr Winters, clench my eyes tight. Then there’s nothing but the black cold.

  ***

  A DRY, FIRM HAND strokes my forehead. With each touch, I wake a little more. A hard pillow supports my head, while a smooth cotton sheet winds around my legs and over my arms. Something beeps. The stench of antiseptic and bittersweet medicine surges up my nose.

  Before I’ve even opened my eyes, I check my body. Bare skin meets my hand. I’m totally starkers, but at least my stomach’s not oozing blood. I touch the usual array of bumps along my skin that signal my collection of scars, but I stop when I reach a thick gash just right of my belly button; there’s the fuzz of hundreds of tiny stitches. The pain has disappeared along with every other sense in my body. I don’t want to think what’s in the IV drip that lives in the crook of my elbow.

  ‘Sweetheart, you’re awake,’ a smooth, soft voice says. For some reason, it puts me on edge. I open my eyes gradually. Shepherd Fines sits next to me, stroking my forehead.

  ‘What happened?’ I croak. My mouth’s as dry as a fur rug.

  ‘How . . . how much do you remember?’ Shepherd Fines asks, his voice notching higher. When I look at him, I mean, really look at him, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him worried. A small part of my drowsy mind tells me to shut up. Whispers that I shouldn’t say the truth. But my mouth seems to talk without my permission.

  ‘Bodies,’ I say. ‘Sleeping people with signs on their front.
They were being sold . . .’ I trail off.

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’ He sighs, looking at me as if I were in a coffin, not a bed.

  ‘Don’t worry. The Liaisons wanted to kill you. Announce that you died of the wound, but I wouldn’t let them. I’d never let them.’ He clicks his tongue. ‘I can’t stop them telling the other Shepherds, though.’ Another long, whistling sigh.

  ‘What’s going to happen to those people?’ I ask, although deep inside my throbbing mind I think I already know.

  Shepherd Fines peers around although we’re in a private room. He takes hold of my hand through the thin sheet. I’m way too conscious of the fact I’m naked.

  ‘The Debt, Sola. It’s huge.’ He gives a little chuckle. ‘We owe nearly every country out there billions. You Demonstrators earn a tiny bit in ticket sales, but that mostly goes into keeping the specific cities happy. It doesn’t touch the real deficit.’

  My head hurts. What’s this got to do with—

  ‘Every month, we choose people to help us pay the Debt. The young and reasonably healthy of those who are chosen go into the tryouts. That was your journey. Others, however, are sacrificed to help us get this country back to what it once was. Great Britain.’ He says the words with reference, pride.

  ‘No, they’re not. They come and work here at the camp,’ I say, although I already know that’s not true. I’m like a kid trying to cover their ears when they’re told their pet has died.

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t already worked out that’s not the case. Many Demonstrators question that lie rather quickly. That’s why they don’t survive their final fight.’

  I recoil at his answer. But my desperation to understand gets the better of me.

  ‘How?’ I whisper. ‘How do the others help the country?’

  ‘Through sales, of course. Each person is worth thousands of pounds. Some countries will pay five, maybe six figures for the right medical experiment subject. Others want servants.’ He looks at me through the corner of his eyes. His eyebrows slant.

  ‘Of course, my dear, people would object if they knew. My father used to say everyone wants to be a hero. They don’t understand the practicalities of our situation.’ He speaks as though this is happening to some lowly beings disconnected from us.

  I shake my head. All I see is William’s young face, the word ‘Greece’ next to his name on Shepherd Fines’ digipad.

  ‘How can you be okay with this?’ I ask, my voice small and breathy. ‘Selling people?’

  ‘Now now, my darling. You’re tired and recovering and have a serious amount of drugs in your system. It might take a while to get used to, but please don’t make a fuss. I’m hoping to persuade the others that you don’t remember the holding room.’

  ‘But why us? Don’t the other countries care?’ I’m not sure how much sense I’m making. Shepherd Fines looks down. Something registers in his features. It resembles regret.

  ‘The citizens of these places don’t know, of course. The leaders . . . well, how they see it is that we got ourselves into this mess, and they’re helping us by purchasing our people and reducing our Debt. They wouldn’t want to risk a revolt by using their own subjects.

  ‘I know you all think you’re reporting to us Shepherds, but we’re reporting to people, too. We just owe so much money.’

  I suck my breath back in huge, aching gulps. My skin burns hot. I suddenly want to scream, to rage against Shepherd Fines and scratch and him and hit him and—

  ‘Why have you done this to me?’ I shout, but it sounds like a sob.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I’m not paying back the Debt—’ I gasp, needing more air. ‘If I’m not helping anyone, why have you made me kill people? Why have I killed so many people?’ I ask the last question to myself.

  Looking perplexed, Shepherd Fines takes a moment to answer.

  ‘Now, now. It’s obvious. Why do you think they are called Demonstrations? It’s to demonstrate our power. Do you not realise what an uprising we would have if cities knew we were selling people at random? Whenever someone works it out, they go into the Stadium. And every other person watching knows how easily they can be eradicated.

  ‘You’re doing so much good, Sola. You keep the crowd entertained, their minds elsewhere while reminding them they can’t change a thing.’

  At my expression, he hastily adds, ‘Look, I don’t like what we’re doing, but an uprising would only increase our Debt. Then we’d have to pursue more extreme measures to keep everyone contained.

  ‘You and I, we’re all doing this for the greater good. Once we’re out of Debt, we will stop selling people. Eventually, as the cities are gradually built up, the Demonstrations will stop, and this nation will emerge as one of the best.’

  I look away. Tears are pooling in my eyes, and I don’t want him to see. I hate him. But I won’t die now for knowing too much.

  I pull my sheet up to my chin just like Tabby did days ago.

  ‘Coral?’ I ask.

  Shepherd Fines grimaces one of those ‘what-can-you-do’ faces.

  ‘She requested to stay at the camp as a Demonstrator. Of course with her ticket-selling ability, we had to grant her wish. The family of the medic she killed will be compensated, naturally. And you have round the clock protection while you’re in here. Not that my best Demonstrator can’t look after herself.’ He winks. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ he says, although I never mentioned how I felt. ‘I should go and blow all this under the carpet.’

  Clicking his tongue, he stands and leans over my bed. He quickly lands a kiss on my cheek before stroking my forehead once more and heading to the door. Before he reaches it, I call him back. I have one last question.

  ‘Sir, those brothers . . . are they sold?’

  He nods slowly.

  ‘Yes, my dear. One had anomalies in his test results. In a situation such as that, we had to sacrifice both of them, so the other wouldn’t cause a fuss. I hope you understand.’

  With a final smile, he turns his back to me. The light flickers off when he leaves.

  For a horrid second, I wonder if he’s lying about protecting me the way he lied about protecting Mr Winters. But the fear dissolves as soon as it comes. Although I never meant to, I know I make Shepherd Fines feel good about himself. He won’t do anything to hurt his ‘best Demonstrator.’

  Gulping down air, I clutch my sheet before throwing it over my head and curling up in a ball. It settles back on me like a cool caress.

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE NEW YEAR, I’m dismissed, and I can’t get out of the Medic’s Cabin quick enough. Straight away, I run over to the field where Dylan trains the Demonstrators I fought on Christmas day. He didn’t visit me, and although I know why, it doesn’t stop me missing him.

  At the sight of his floppy hair and kind face, my worries subside slightly. I give a little wave.

  He stops still and even from here I see his face change. He sets the Demonstrators all-too-familiar fitness drills and sprints over, stopping an arm’s length away. His blue eyes run over my body. It makes me smile. Instead of admiring me, he’s checking for injuries.

  ‘How’s your stomach?’ he asks, serious now. I grin, pulling my shirt up to show him my smile of a scar. His eyebrows raise and he exhales slowly.

  ‘I don’t want to say it, but—’

  ‘I should have seen it coming. I know.’

  He chuckles and steps forwards. Although I want so much to greet him properly, to repeat our perfect kiss from days ago and hold him close, breathing in every part of him, I throw a glance to Shepherd Fines’ watchtower.

  Dylan follows my line of sight, steps back, and straightens his back. This is the reason he hasn’t visited. We’re all too aware that Shepherd Fines cannot know about us. Not with my final fight so imminent.

  ‘Something has happened,’ I say, my voice low and grave.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s . . . I found som
ething. In the Stadium. I’ve known for a while something was up but couldn’t figure it out.’

  I breathe in deeply and glance around. The trainees are too far away to hear us, but I still whisper. I tell Dylan everything from seeing William on Shepherd Fines’ digipad to why no one who is chosen ever arrives at the camp to ‘work’. I tell him how Shepherd Fines is the only reason I’m still alive. How the Demonstrations are just a distraction. I end on my fear for Alixis’ baby; that he or she will end up as another number for the January sales.

  Throughout my rant, Dylan nods solemnly. Eventually he runs his hands through his hair, massages his temples, and then looks directly at me, eyes blazing decisively.

  ‘What they’re doing is awful, Sola.’ He sighs. ‘But you can’t fix it.’

  My expression must say it all. He continues, faster now.

  ‘Aye, I know you want to save the world, but you have to look after yourself. Keep Shepherd Fines on your side until your tour ends. Don’t mention the sales, and the other Shepherds will believe you didn’t see anything. Get back to Juliet and eventually you’ll be forgotten.’

  I chew on my nails, shaking my head. ‘Fine. That’s me sorted out. What about William? What about Alixis’ baby?’

  As much as I hate myself for it, the bottom of my eyes begins to sting. There must still be some medication in my system making me emotional. I duck my head and speak to my boots.

  ‘I hate this,’ I say sheepishly, aware I sound like a child. ‘I’m so angry all the time. I hate Shepherd Fines, he terrifies me, but I’ve tried so hard thinking he’s a good person that I can’t give up now. I really hate Coral, but she killed her mother last week. Worst of all, I hate myself for everything I’ve done. I can’t breathe with all this hate! I just want—I just want to be me again.’

  I half expect him to answer how I would—to say I need to grow up and that you can’t always get what you want. Instead, he tucks his finger underneath my chin and lifts my head so that I’m looking into those endless blue eyes.

  ‘Aye. You want to see the stars.’