After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) Read Online Free PDF Page A

spectators are climbing up the curve, jeering as they make their way towards freedom.
    I realise I’m shaking. Those around me have fallen quiet, too. We stand, letting the clamour of the Stadium wash over us. The panic has been replaced with a weird kind of calm as we look out onto the place where we fight, or we die.
    ‘This is it!’ Dylan shouts. ‘Don’t be put off by the cameras around the Stadium. They’re projecting your image onto the screen so the people far away can see it. And don’t dawdle in here, whatever you do. The blues will corner you. Remember that the whole blue team must be killed before you can survive. Look out for each other.’
    I’m not ready. I can’t do this. My mind is telling me one thing, yet my feet move forwards. Until I hear the whimper behind me.
    The child I spotted before is still folded up like a foetus in the corner. Light weaves around the other moving bodies and flutters onto his pale, unmoving face. I dawdle, needing to get to the bench but unable to look away from the boy.
    Each clang of metal tells me another weapon has been taken. I have to go. I can’t help him. I turn away just as Dylan’s words about being cornered by the blues force their way into my conscience.
    Already regretting this, I run over to the boy. A horrible roar emits from the Stadium, and I know the other reds must be stepping through the archway.
    ‘We have to get out of here, come on,’ I urge. He doesn’t respond. His body bobs up and down with his sharp, shallow breathing. When I look down, I notice he’s sitting on a patch of darkened, wet earth.
    ‘Come on,’ I say again, softer this time.
    I lower my hand, palm upwards, and he looks up. Even his eyes are shaking.
    More screams from the spectators. The blues must have been released. I bite my tongue so I don’t scream at the boy. Every moment I stay, with my back to the arena and bent down to his level, goes against my instincts. Still, I unwind his hand from around his knees and hold it tight.
    Finally, he allows me to guide him up. I resist running to the weapons bench. Dylan faces away from us, herding the last of my team into the arena.
    ‘No.’ I let out an involuntary whisper. Only two weapons remain on the bench: a ragged, wooden staff which looks as though it would snap before doing any damage and a short spear. Despite my urge to hang onto it, I hand the spear to the boy. He takes it with a violently quivering hand. I wonder if he’s more likely to stab himself before he has a chance to use the knife for defence.
    ‘Sola?’
    Dylan. He stands frozen, mouth wide, with a strange expression across his familiar face. It’s something like surprise and realisation all at once. Despite everything, I glance at his lips before looking away. They were once on mine.
    ‘Don’t say this is because of me.’ His voice is halfway between a growl and a breath, his face so full of pain that I can’t possibly tell him he’s right. I shake my head.
    ‘Are, are you fighting?’ I manage to ask, hoping that he isn’t despite knowing he could more than protect himself. A flick of his head tells me no.
    ‘Then, could you do something for me?’ I don’t give him time to respond. ‘If I . . . if the blues win, could you tell my dad that I’m sorry. And that I’m—I’m—’ the words won’t come. Why won’t they? This is my chance to tell my dad that I love him and that I’m proud and that he’s done everything so well since Mum was killed even though he thinks he hasn’t. But I can’t, and my window of opportunity disappears along with my resolve. A loaded sigh escapes my lips.
    ‘The blues won’t win. Here, take this.’ He drags his sword from its hilt and passes it to me. It pulls my arm down as soon as he lets go.
    ‘It’s too heavy. I can’t fight with this,’ I tell him, even more desperate now. He glances out to the Stadium, the fear in his eyes making my heart panic.
    ‘Just take it! It might intimidate the