Read Online After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) by Rosanne Rivers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosanne Rivers
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breath while inching closer to the door.
‘What happens then?’
Is it possible, Mr Winters sounds almost—frightened?
‘It will all get brushed under the carpet, of course. You’ve been loyal to us for over twenty years; my father had great ties with your family. You can trust us to look after you.’
‘I can assure you I was only thinking of securing the Shepherds’ power, I—’
‘Great stuff, great stuff, and I know all that, I do. Trouble is, you can’t go around cherry-picking people without some consequences. You know the system for choosing people for the Debt. There’s a quota we must abide by and city Juliet is all over the place. It’s all very boring, I know, but it has to be done. More tea?’
I hope that Mr Winters is better than his daughter at picking up on nuances, because the other man’s friendly tone couldn’t be more unsettling if he were shouting.
‘Very well. I look forwards to when this is all sorted out.’
He almost gets away with it, but Mr Winters’ last word goes up like he’s asking a question.
‘Great stuff. Goodnight, Albert.’
Crap. I pause, searching for somewhere to hide. It’s too late to run down the stairs, but there’s nowhere else. The scanner beeps.
I crouch in the corner of the platform just before the door slides open.
Please, shadows cloak me. . . .
Light escapes out the door and Mr Winters emerges. By some miracle, he’s concentrating on his digipad, and within seconds he’s half way down the stairs and the door has slid shut once more, trapping the light back in with it.
I exhale so slowly it’s like I’m not doing it at all, blowing the air over my bottom lip so that it’s noiseless. When I bring my hands to cover my nose and mouth, I realise I’m shaking. Mr Winters hits the last step and rounds the stairs so that he’s nearly underneath me. I follow him with my stare, every muscle in my body screaming as I hold them still.
He stops and takes one last look towards the watchtower.
His eyes meet mine. They widen a fraction. Then, his courteous smile is back—the one which makes my insides crawl. He gives me a slow nod, which seems to say this isn’t the last of me , before disappearing from the watchtower’s light and into the shadows.
THAT NERVOUS FEAR must have taken up permanent residence in my bones. I stand on the playground the next morning, chewing my thumbnail relentlessly.
‘I don’t feel very well,’ Alixis mutters beside me. She woke me this morning completely unaware of my midnight adventure. She also discovered our digipads in the bedside cabinet, but this time our Debtbook had been updated with instructions to be dressed and outside by seven. The clothes I found turned out to be our uniforms. They’re practically identical to our sleeping clothes: white T shirts and sweatpants that don’t exactly keep out the cold. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and do a few jogs on the spot to warm up.
‘Try not to think about anything,’ I reply. By anything , I mean everything. The tryouts, the tour, the fact that we’re both killers. . . . ‘That’s what I’m trying to do.’
‘I just wish we could speak to our families through the digipads,’ she tells me for the fourth time this morning. Our pads have been altered so that we can’t comment on anyone else’s Debtbook profiles. We can only update our own statuses. Unlike before, where only my contacts from Juliet could write on my profile, now anyone ‘following’ me can comment. I already have pages of praise from the tryouts. I sigh.
‘Yeah, I know. Anyway, you had a good look at everyone who died, didn’t you? That’s probably why you feel sick,’ I say without looking over. Okay, I’m being mean, but I can’t try and be friendly with someone who has no regard for what she—what we both—did. Alixis’ brow furrows for a moment. She shakes her head.
‘I was saying prayers for the deceased,’ she mumbles.
Oh.
She doesn’t need to say
‘What happens then?’
Is it possible, Mr Winters sounds almost—frightened?
‘It will all get brushed under the carpet, of course. You’ve been loyal to us for over twenty years; my father had great ties with your family. You can trust us to look after you.’
‘I can assure you I was only thinking of securing the Shepherds’ power, I—’
‘Great stuff, great stuff, and I know all that, I do. Trouble is, you can’t go around cherry-picking people without some consequences. You know the system for choosing people for the Debt. There’s a quota we must abide by and city Juliet is all over the place. It’s all very boring, I know, but it has to be done. More tea?’
I hope that Mr Winters is better than his daughter at picking up on nuances, because the other man’s friendly tone couldn’t be more unsettling if he were shouting.
‘Very well. I look forwards to when this is all sorted out.’
He almost gets away with it, but Mr Winters’ last word goes up like he’s asking a question.
‘Great stuff. Goodnight, Albert.’
Crap. I pause, searching for somewhere to hide. It’s too late to run down the stairs, but there’s nowhere else. The scanner beeps.
I crouch in the corner of the platform just before the door slides open.
Please, shadows cloak me. . . .
Light escapes out the door and Mr Winters emerges. By some miracle, he’s concentrating on his digipad, and within seconds he’s half way down the stairs and the door has slid shut once more, trapping the light back in with it.
I exhale so slowly it’s like I’m not doing it at all, blowing the air over my bottom lip so that it’s noiseless. When I bring my hands to cover my nose and mouth, I realise I’m shaking. Mr Winters hits the last step and rounds the stairs so that he’s nearly underneath me. I follow him with my stare, every muscle in my body screaming as I hold them still.
He stops and takes one last look towards the watchtower.
His eyes meet mine. They widen a fraction. Then, his courteous smile is back—the one which makes my insides crawl. He gives me a slow nod, which seems to say this isn’t the last of me , before disappearing from the watchtower’s light and into the shadows.
THAT NERVOUS FEAR must have taken up permanent residence in my bones. I stand on the playground the next morning, chewing my thumbnail relentlessly.
‘I don’t feel very well,’ Alixis mutters beside me. She woke me this morning completely unaware of my midnight adventure. She also discovered our digipads in the bedside cabinet, but this time our Debtbook had been updated with instructions to be dressed and outside by seven. The clothes I found turned out to be our uniforms. They’re practically identical to our sleeping clothes: white T shirts and sweatpants that don’t exactly keep out the cold. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and do a few jogs on the spot to warm up.
‘Try not to think about anything,’ I reply. By anything , I mean everything. The tryouts, the tour, the fact that we’re both killers. . . . ‘That’s what I’m trying to do.’
‘I just wish we could speak to our families through the digipads,’ she tells me for the fourth time this morning. Our pads have been altered so that we can’t comment on anyone else’s Debtbook profiles. We can only update our own statuses. Unlike before, where only my contacts from Juliet could write on my profile, now anyone ‘following’ me can comment. I already have pages of praise from the tryouts. I sigh.
‘Yeah, I know. Anyway, you had a good look at everyone who died, didn’t you? That’s probably why you feel sick,’ I say without looking over. Okay, I’m being mean, but I can’t try and be friendly with someone who has no regard for what she—what we both—did. Alixis’ brow furrows for a moment. She shakes her head.
‘I was saying prayers for the deceased,’ she mumbles.
Oh.
She doesn’t need to say
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