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

want to slap her. To say, people have died, you know. You’ve killed someone and so have I . But then the sound of the Stadium doubles. I worry that something’s happened—that there’s a sick twist and we’ve got to fight again. The spectators are screaming, whooping, stamping their feet. The vibrations run through my body from the ground. What are they cheering for?
    ‘And finally, Sola Herrington from Juliet!’
    My own bewildered image is already on the screen, every shade of my black eye amplified to the Stadium. The camera pans out, revealing my matted hair, dusty face and neck, askew tie, and limp arms—one soaked in blood so that it looks as if I’m sporting a lacy red glove.
    Ebiere applauds me too, but I notice she stays well back, her team of Herd officers ready to rush out at the slightest sign of danger.
    That’s almost funny. We’re the dangerous ones.
    I do nothing to acknowledge my praise, and the cheers finally die down. Ebiere wraps up her little speech and waves the crowd goodbye as if she were a queen on her coronation, blowing little kisses here and there.
    I lay my head down on the cool sand and stare up at the floodlights.
    What happens now?
    I’m not sure; I’m just trying to forget that sound of the spear piercing the man’s neck. Trying to ignore the way his blood sticks to my arm like some kind of alien organism which will keep spreading up to my shoulders, over my chest, into my mouth, my ears, my nose.
    There’s a scuffle of footsteps.
    I heave myself onto my elbows, looking through my good eye over the dead bodies to where William lies. He’s still. Three medics hurry over with a stretcher from one of the gates which line the edge of the arena. They’re followed by another cart. I close my eyes a second too late as the first limp body is hoisted onto it.
    More footsteps. The clatter of the crowd becomes a low hum. I guess only the most dedicated fans stay to watch the clean-up.
    ‘Sola, you have to stand.’ Dylan sounds firm and urgent, as if he were talking through his teeth. I know I should respond, do as he says, but I need to lie down for one more minute. Agony and fatigue claim me as adrenaline flees my body.
    ‘Is she in need of care?’ Another voice, this one muffled.
    ‘No. We’ll treat her at the camp.’ Dylan again, his tone deadly. The word ‘camp’ breaks through the foggy haze, and I force my eyes open. That’s what happens now. I go to camp.
    ‘See, she’s conscious,’ Dylan says to a medic who wears a sanitary mask around her mouth and nose as if she could contract death. The medic runs her gawking eyes over me before turning back and following the stretcher bearers from the arena. Although I would love for my wounds to be treated, for the pain to go, I breathe out in relief to see her leave.
    Pushing myself up on my elbows, I catch a glimpse of William. He’s been pulled out of his foetal position to lie down straight on the stretcher. His hand poises over the edge in a half curl, like he were beckoning me closer. If I wasn’t so exhausted, I would run over and hold that hand just like I did before, but I don’t, and soon William is hurried off the sand and his body disappears under the great archway.
    I cry out as Dylan hauls me onto my feet. He loops his arm around my waist and calls to Blondie, who’s wandering around the arena, peering down at the bodies as if she had nothing to do with the carnage. The two men follow with their heads down. With Dylan’s help, I manage to limp over the sand, ignoring the four pumped-up looking Herd officers which flank us. We march through shadowy corridors and out through a small, back door. None of us speak. I’m glad; hobbling is taking up all my energy.
    Stepping onto the familiar streets seems wrong. Everything should be different. I’m different. With each distant cheer, I startle, sinking away from excited passers-by who eye the group hungrily. For the first time in my life, I’m glad that no one will