After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) (29 page)

***

AFTER FORTY LAPS, I run one extra for each person in my life. I forgot to go and see Tabby last night despite my promise to her, and when I saw her this morning, she asked more questions that I couldn’t answer.

Sweat tickles my eyelashes. I blow mist from my mouth in time with the pound of my boots against the mud. In and out. Left, right, left, right. The field is tipped with white. Ice crackles up each blade of grass, weighing heavily on any remaining leaves and biting into the tree bark like a disease.

Lap forty one: for William. Not in my life but far, far away, all because I saved him in the tryouts.

Lap forty-two: for Tabby. A cautious child who’s seen far more of life than she should have. Who in my dream last night whispered to me, ‘Where are the others?’

Lap forty-three: I run this one fast. It’s for Dao. Blinded and murdered after twenty-four Demonstrations.

Forty-four: my legs start to burn. For Alixis and her baby. For my best friend who has given up on everything. For her child who I already love but blame for taking Alixis away from me.

Forty-five: the pain in my calves is welcome through this one. For Shepherd Fines. Who has written on my Debtbook that we are in a relationship. Whose secrets I need to discover.

Forty-six: red hot anger sears up my legs and through my arms. This. One. Is. For. Coral.

Seven: Dylan. My mind is going to mush. My vision is blurring, lungs are bursting. Legs are going to cripple. Dylan. Who thinks I’m selfish. Who tries to control me just like Fines. Who I hate.

Who I love.

Eight: I can see them at the end of the lap. For a dad who might not be my dad. For a mum I never knew. Not really.

My legs go from underneath me. I fall to the ground, the ice stabbing me the moment I touch the floor. I don’t know when I started crying, but salty tears mingle in with sweat. I grab my numb legs up to my chest and curl into a ball on the field.

I need to get up before the cold claims me completely.

***

‘SOLA!’

My body freezes as I limp my way towards the Wetpod.

I’ve trained by myself once again. My fight alongside Coral is tomorrow. And for some reason, Dylan is calling my name for the first time in over seven weeks. He jogs up by the side of me.

‘I’m headed this way, too,’ he says by way of an explanation. My feet hit the ground faster, my gaze unwavering from ahead.

‘Big fight tomorrow. I saw your practice drills.’

If this is his way of making conversation, he can forget it. Maybe he thinks I’ll die tomorrow and wants to ease his conscience by making up beforehand.

‘Fine. You don’t want to talk’ he says. ‘I only wanted to say you need to keep your arms in; you’re exposing your sides too often.’ He sounds annoyed now, as if he’s tried oh-so hard. I reach the entrance to the Wetpod, but I don’t want us to be trapped in there together, so I stalk past it and across the next field.

‘Thanks for the heads up. Will you go now?’ I snap once I realise he’s following me.

‘I’m trying to help!’

‘You can help by leaving me alone.’ A fallen twig snaps underfoot as I stomp ahead.

‘You hate me, I get it. Maybe you’ve finally caught on that this is all my fault.’ He speaks as if he’s being sarcastic, as if he would be annoyed if I really did think that. Yet, I’m not sure. My mind is fried, and I can’t deal with stupid Demonstrators who want to mess with my head.

‘Just don’t let it get you killed,’ he adds.

And that’s it. Something inside me explodes.

‘Who do you think you are?’ I ask, spinning around. ‘Going round, telling people how to feel? How to act? How to stay alive? I’m sick of it, and I’m sick of you!’ I step forwards. His face flashes surprise, then resilience. He stays where he is. ‘So I’ll fight with my arms waving in the air,’ I continue. ‘I’ll fight without a gun. I’ll fight without Shepherd Fines’ help and I’ll fight without you even if it
does
get me killed!’

Silence. We’re inches apart. I embrace the heat which flushes my face, my chest, my tummy. He nods.

‘Throwing another lifeline away. How unlike you,’ he says quietly and turns away. I hate him for not shouting at me. I hate him for being calm and disappointed and only caring about me out of guilt when I love every inch of him. After he walks a few paces, I catch up to him and grab his shoulder, spinning him round.

‘Fight me,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘You think I can’t handle myself. So fight me. Don’t hold back. Whoever gives up first loses.’

‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ He says it as though it’s an answer. He’s already turning away.

‘I know you’re not. Come on; if I win, you don’t get to tell me what to do ever again. And if you win . . .’ I scratch around for something which he might want.

‘If I win, you wear a gun tomorrow,’ he says slowly, angling himself to face me once again.

Mum flashes in my mind. I don’t think I could pull that trigger . . . then again, I won’t lose this.

‘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.