Deadlands (19 page)

Ash grabbed my elbow and led me towards a rickshaw. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We have to be quick.’

‘No training this afternoon, Lele,’ Hester said. ‘I think you’ve earned a break.’

What I really felt like doing was holing up in my room and sketching. My emotions were all over the place and I needed to download what had happened.

Ginger looked at me eagerly. ‘Tell me about the bomb. Was it a big one?’

‘Ginger!’ Hester snapped. ‘Not now.’

For once, Ash sat down on the couch next to me and I felt as if I’d passed some kind of test. ‘It wasn’t a bomb, Ginger,’ he said. ‘It was tear gas and a couple of grenades.’

‘Aw . . .’ Ginger looked almost disappointed.

‘What’s the fascination with explosives, Ginger?’ I asked.

‘Ginger loves anything that goes bang,’ Saint answered, sitting down on the floor and stretching out her long legs.

‘It’s true, I do,’ Ginger said.

‘I will make you some of my special chicken soup,’ Hester said from the kitchen.

‘Oh, ace!’ Ginger said. ‘Thanks, Hester.’

‘For Lele and Ash, Ginger,’ she replied with a smile in her voice. ‘They are the ones who have had a shock, not you.’

‘’S’all right, Ginger,’ I said. ‘You can share mine.’

‘Thanks, Lele,’ Ginger said. ‘You rock.’

The soup was worth waiting for. It was even more delicious than the broth Gran used to make for Jobe and me whenever we were ill, and Hester had, in fact, made enough for everyone, including Ginger.

‘Right,’ Ginger said as soon as we had finished eating. ‘What’s it going to be?
Nightmare on Elm Street,
or
Dawn of the Dead
?’

‘Do we always have to watch horror movies, Ginger?’ Hester asked, settling on to her padded bench while Saint cleared the kitchen.

‘They’re Lele’s favourites,’ Ginger replied, winking at me.

‘Yeah,’ I said, trying not to giggle. ‘I’ve been dying to see
Dawn of the Dead
.’

‘See?’ Ginger said innocently.

Saint killed the lights and the five of us made ourselves comfortable.

For the first time I really felt part of the group.

For the first time I felt like I could actually be home.

‘
Ag
. We’re out of tea,’ Hester said.

The others were out in the Deadlands, and although I’d begged to be taken along, Hester had decided that I needed more training before she would allow me to go. That day she looked more fragile than usual, and I could see in her eyes that the pain was bad. I remember wishing again that Gran was around. She would have known which herbs to use to help ease the pain. But like Gran in her last days, Hester was stoically fighting her sickness as if it were her mortal enemy. Which, of course, it was.

‘I’ll go and get you some,’ I said. If I’m honest, my motive wasn’t just to help Hester; I was dying to get back out into the sunlight. I’d spent the morning beating the crap out of the wooden man and I was feeling fitter than I ever had, even in the Agriculturals (where I’d spent weeks helping Gran and the others pick the mealies or harvest the lucerne and oat hay we used to feed the cattle). A walk outside was just what I felt like.

‘You know where to go?’ Hester asked.

I nodded. By then I’d been to the New Arrivals market with Ginger, and although the quality of the fresh produce wasn’t as good as in the posher sectors, there were things for sale there that you’d never find even in Sector 6.

‘Lele,’ Hester said. ‘You must be careful. The Resurrectionists are on the lookout for any strange behaviour.’ She paused. ‘Ash told me about your brother. About you going to see him. Please, do not do anything like that again.’

‘I’ll stick to New Arrivals, I promise,’ I said, though it would have been a lie to say that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

‘Just ask for Patricia when you reach the herbs and spices stall, and she will give you what you need,’ Hester dug a silk scarf out of a pile of clothes waiting to go to Lungi and the other suppliers. ‘Give her this.’

‘Don’t worry, Hester. It’ll be cool.’

‘I would go with you if I could.’ She winced as she struggled to her feet and passed me one of the Resurrectionist robes.

‘Do I have to?’

‘Of course.’

I pulled the scratchy fabric over my head and set off.

I ignored the stares of disgust some of the older residents and market-stall holders gave me as I walked through the enclave, wishing that I didn’t have to wear the robe, that I could tell them that I wasn’t a believer. Some of the hawkers were even blatantly wearing signs of their own older religions – a Christian cross; a yarmulke, several women with scarves covering their hair – though most people dropped their heads and scurried past me, unwilling to be the recipient of any religious (or political) dogma.

There were a few other robed Resurrectionists about, but nowhere near as many as in the other sectors of the city. They nodded at me as they passed, and I was careful to ensure that my hood covered my head completely.

At one stage I was almost sure one of them was following me, but after ducking through a narrow alley that led off a long muddy lane of stalls and tents, I emerged into the main thoroughfare again without a robe in sight. I put my paranoia down to the glances and mutterings of disgust from the hawkers and hurried on.

Patricia eyed me suspiciously when I asked for the tea, but when I mentioned Hester’s name, and showed her the scarf, her broad face broke into a smile. She rummaged in the chest hidden beneath the stall and brought out a packet of rooibos, adding a pot of honey into the bargain.

Unwilling to head straight back to the Mall Rats’ lair, I rambled around for a while until I passed a familiar-looking structure. Recognising the bright pink walls of Lungi’s place, I hesitated outside it. I knew that Ginger and the others regularly dropped orders off with her, but I hadn’t yet been invited along.

A man with a scar that curved across his cheek opened the door. He glared at me, and I hurried away, almost banging into a robed figure as I did so.

‘Greetings, Comrade,’ the figure said in a deep masculine voice that sounded fake. ‘Are you on your way to the March of Souls?’

‘No,’ I said, turning and walking away as fast as I could. But I could hear the slap of footsteps behind me. I increased my pace, now practically jogging. Then, just as I thought that I’d lost him, I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder. The adrenalin shot through me and I acted automatically. Keeping my back to whoever it was, I reached over, grabbed his hand and bent the fingers back as far as I could. There was a muffled yelp of pain. Without easing my grip, I whirled around, readying myself to knee him in the groin.

‘Lele!’

I hesitated. There was something familiar about that voice. The figure pulled back his hood, revealing a mass of dreadlocks.

It was Thabo.

Realising that I still hadn’t let go of his fingers, I released my grip. He shook them briskly, eyeing me with admiration. ‘Whoa, Lele, I won’t be messing with you in the future,’ he said.

I was still reeling from the spurt of adrenalin, and, of course, the shock and relief. I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. ‘Not here,’ he said, glancing around. ‘Follow me. I know somewhere safe we can talk.’

Pulling his hood over his head, Thabo strode away. I had to run to catch up as he wove his way around the hawkers and street kids, ducking down alleyway after alleyway. It was clear that he was making sure that we weren’t being followed and I soon realised we were actually traversing a circle.

A couple of streets down from where he’d accosted me, he pushed into a musty army tent, scrabbled out through the other side, and headed into a small wooden shack.

I hesitated.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s me. You can trust me.’

The shack was empty, and stank of rotten wood and mould. He kicked a pile of trestles away from the floor, revealing a dark hole in the ground. It looked like the Mall Rats weren’t the only ones who favoured underground living. He climbed down a knotted rope and I followed.

It was pitch dark underneath the shack, and Thabo had to light a candle before firing a paraffin lamp into life. The space was tiny, the walls plastered with pictures from ancient magazines – photos of cars and motorbikes and sailboats. In amongst them I saw the sketch I’d done for the ANZ.

‘You kept it!’ I said.

Thabo pulled me into his arms and gave me a hug, squeezing me so tightly that my spine cracked. ‘I’m so glad you’re all right,’ he said. He stepped back and looked me up and down. ‘And you’re looking really well.’

But I couldn’t say the same. He looked older somehow, and there was a bruise on the side of his face.

‘What happened to you?’ I asked.

‘It’s nothing. Skirmish with the guards. No biggy.’

There wasn’t enough space in the room for much furniture – just a mouldy mattress and a couple of packing crates draped with clothes. I sat down on one, and Thabo perched on the other. We were so confined our knees touched.

‘Lele,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry about what happened at the dance. I tried to stop it.’

‘I know,’ I said.

I waited for him to ask me how I’d got away from the Guardians. But he didn’t. After a pause, I decided to speak up. ‘Don’t you want to know how I got back into the enclave?’ I asked.

‘It’s best if you don’t tell me.’ He rubbed his face, wincing as his hand connected with the bruise. ‘As long as you are safe, that is all that matters. Are you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. Now that I’d thought about it, I’d figured out why it was best that I didn’t tell him. Ash had made that clear after the tear gas attack at the market.

He smiled. ‘You’re part of the underground now, Lele.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, looking around the room. ‘Literally, right?’

‘And the less you know about me the better, and the less I know about you too.’ He caught my disappointed expression and smiled. ‘It doesn’t mean we can’t see each other.’

‘So what’s been going on, Thabo? Did you leave school?’

‘I left after they took you. Joined the ANZ full time.’

‘Thabo . . . The other day. The gas . . . Was that the ANZ?’

He ran his hand through his dreadlocks. ‘It was a mistake,’ he mumbled. ‘Got out of hand.’

‘A mistake?’

‘Now it’s my turn to keep quiet,’ he said, giving me his lopsided grin. ‘But it is so good to see you!’

‘You too.’ It was. ‘Thabo . . . can I ask you something? The Lottery, someone wanted me to lose it – or win it. I mean, I wasn’t eligible.’

‘Go on.’

‘I think it might have been my stepmother.’

‘But your stepmother’s Cleo Mbane, right?’

‘Yeah. So?’

‘Look, I don’t know her, Lele, but, sheesh, I’ve heard the stories about what she did during the War. Doesn’t sound like something a War vet would do.’

‘But she’s a Resurrectionist!’

‘Yeah. But that doesn’t mean that she’d do something that evil.’

That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear, and for the first time I began to doubt myself. ‘So, who then? Zyed? Comrade Pelosi?’ But did they hate me
that
much?

He shrugged and he rubbed his hands across his face again. ‘Look, I have to go. But, listen, come and see me again soon.’

‘How will I find you?’

‘Do you remember how to get to Lungi’s place?’

‘I think I can find it again. But I don’t think she’ll be too pleased to see me.’

‘Why not?’

‘I never returned the dress.’

‘Don’t worry about that. Listen, you can leave a message with her. Tell her, “Everything’s better with zombies – not.” ’Kay? That will be the signal that you want to meet. And, if I can, I’ll meet you here an hour later.’

‘Deal,’ I said.

‘And watch your back. The Resurrectionists are out in force. And tell your friends to do the same.’

‘My friends?’

‘You know what I mean, Lele,’ he said. He leaned forward and kissed me very gently on the lips, and then he was gone.

‘What’s up with you?’ Ginger asked when I got back. ‘You look different.’

‘Huh?’ I said. ‘How?’

‘I dunno,’ Ginger said. ‘You look all happy and glowy.’

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. I was sure I could feel the weight of Ash’s eyes on me, but when I glanced at him he dropped his gaze as usual. ‘Just the effects of the fresh air, I guess,’ I said.

‘Yeah?’ Saint said. ‘How would you feel about a bit more fresh air?’

‘What do you mean?’

Ash had grabbed a robe and was slipping it over his head. ‘Got to go out,’ he mumbled. Saint watched him go, frowning slightly, and then turned back to me. ‘Now, Lele. You need a weapon, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Think fast.’ She suddenly threw an apple at my head, and without even thinking about it I plucked it out of the air.

‘Cool reflexes, Lele,’ Ginger said. ‘Nice one.’

‘I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be fighting the Rotters with fruit?’

‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘Come on. I have an idea.’

‘Wait here,’ Saint said to Ginger and me. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.