Read After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) for Free Online

the stands? I can’t remember. All I see is the dead man in front of me. The spear sticks out from his neck, the wooden end bobbing up and down as if nodding its approval.
    The unsteady sand rubs at my knees as I crawl away and towards the boy. I drag my guilt behind me; although I can’t believe what I’ve just done, I’m sickeningly glad the spear isn’t in my neck. What kind of person does that make me?
    I don’t want to touch the boy with my bloodied hand even though his own wound pumps blood nonstop. I place my clean palm on his forehead in what I hope is a soothing way.
    ‘You’re going to be fine.’ I have to shout to make sure he hears me. ‘What’s your name?’
    His mouth moves into an ‘o’ before he manages to croak out what I think is ‘William.’
    With no idea why, I smile. His hand shudders into life and in sudden, quaking movements he raises it towards me. I want to take it, but there’s a note of fear in his eyes. They’ve lost focus, rolling backwards as though he is looking over my shoulder. It’s obvious it takes all his effort to move and as his finger extends, I catch on to what he’s trying to say.
    There’s someone behind me.
    A woman slick with grime towers over us. In an instant her mace crashes down, missing my calf by an inch. Before I can react, an arrow from nowhere pierces her middle, spilling blood onto her brown shirt. Her back arcs with the impact; her face contorts with surprise. I crawl out of the way just in time for her twitching body to slump to the ground. On her chest, just above her wound, there’s a thick red cross.
    I want to cry, to scream out that she lost her life trying to kill members of her own team, but nothing will come from my mouth but heavy, laboured breaths. I wonder how many others she’s killed in her hysteria.
    My clothes are sticky with sweat although the air’s still cool. I push the woman’s body away from William’s legs, ignoring the stained sand which creeps towards us.
    The ground is plagued with bodies now, but I can’t tell which team they belong to. Through the disturbed sand which shrouds the dead, I make out six people still left. Two of them are women, locked in a weaponless duel, grappling and pushing with their hands. My tummy flips as I recognise the blonde girl who panicked earlier. That’s one more red.
    On the other side of the arena, another two red men have ganged up on a huge-looking blue, and the only other figure stands farther away, fumbling with a bow and arrow. He must be the one who protected William and me. That makes him a red too, surely?
    For the first time since I stepped onto the sands, I let myself wish. The man finally strings the bow and as he aims at the duel hope surges through me, flooding my body and mind.
    We’re going to win.
    We’re going to win! If only I could tell William. His coiled body shivers beside me. Despite his pale face, he’s full of life compared to the murdered woman by his feet.
    I look again at her red cross, nearly lost in her crimson blood. Then comes the realisation I should have made long ago.
    If she was red, the man who shot her must be blue . . . he’s going to shoot the blonde girl and the red men and there will be two blues against us—a half-blind school girl and a near-dead boy.
    I jump to my feet. My mind is buzzing with a hundred thoughts. I’m darting towards the fighting women so fast my feet seem to bounce off the sand. Launching into the air, I wrap my arms around the blonde’s waist and throw all my speed behind the grapple. There’s a tug as she’s wrestled away from the other woman’s grip, followed by a sharp crack as my hip hits the ground. Blondie lands on top of me. I suck in air through my teeth.
    An arrow whizzes above us, through the space where the blonde was standing seconds ago, and into the shoulder of the blue-crossed woman.
    Blondie looks down at me, the incidents obviously connecting in her mind. There’s a flash of understanding in