mortification.
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Thabo said. ‘He gave as good as he got.’ He leaned back against the wall, putting his legs up against the side of the dumpster. ‘So, you’re from the Agriculturals?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So you’ve been outside the enclave?’
‘I guess.’
His eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Through the Deadlands. Wow! I’ve never been outside. What was it like?’
‘I didn’t see anything.’
‘You must have seen something. Like, are the Deadlands totally overgrown now? You see any buildings?’
‘Seriously, Thabo. They brought us here at night, and the wagon had high wooden sides. You know, to stop the Rotters . . .’
I’d tried to push the memory of that journey out of my mind. Jobe, Chinwag and I squashed in with the other travellers in the pitch dark, trying not to think about Gran’s body stored on the roof with the others sent back to the city for ‘burial’. The wagon shook and jolted along for hours – the moans of the Rotters keeping us company; the occasional terrifying thunk as something large hurled itself against the slatted wooded sides. Everyone praying that the wood wouldn’t splinter; that one of us wouldn’t be snatched outside before the anonymous Guardians ferrying us had a chance to intervene. I shuddered at the thought.
‘You cold?’ Thabo asked.
‘I’m fine. So, Thabo, if you’re not a Resurrectionist, what are you doing at the school?’
‘The guy who adopted me after my folks died sent me here. Thought it would straighten me out. He works at the embassy.’
‘So does my stepmother!’
‘Seriously? So how come you look like you do?’ Heat rushed to my cheeks. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’
‘It’s fine. I haven’t had time to conform yet,’ I said, looking down at my boots to hide my hot face.
Out of the corner of my eye, I checked out his clothes. He was wearing a pair of spotless black jeans and a pair of Converse trainers that looked barely broken in.
‘Thabo, Summer said that you were the person to talk to about getting clothes and stuff, you know, from before the War?’
‘Ah.’ He gave me that lopsided grin again.
‘So where do you get the stuff from?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘My little secret.’
‘Oh, come on, who am I going to tell?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not that hectic a secret anyway.’
‘So? Go on, then.’
‘The black market, of course. Out in New Arrivals.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘You don’t know New Arrivals? On the other side of the enclave? Back behind the factories? Sheesh, it’s not as if you could miss it . . . You really are from the Agriculturals, aren’t you?’ I bristled at this, but did my best to hide it. ‘It’s where they made the first settlement. Most of the workers live there.’
‘Right. But won’t you get into trouble selling the stuff?’
He shrugged. ‘The Resurrectionists turn a blind eye to it, Lele. After all, where do you think they get their fancy clothes?’
He leaned towards me suddenly, and for a second I thought he was about to kiss me. My heart leapt into my throat and I found myself blushing again. But he was reaching across me to grab my bag.
‘Hey! What are you . . .?’
He rummaged in it and pulled out my sketchbook.
‘No ways!’ I said, trying to snatch it out his hand.
‘Let me see, come on, it’s only fair,’ he said, holding it above his head, out of my reach. ‘I told you about my sideline.’
‘Okay,’ I said, pretending to be annoyed. I watched his face as he flicked through the drawings, pausing to snort at one of the Rotters attacking Summer and Nyameka.
‘Wow, Lele, these are amazing! Really! That’s what you want to be? An artist?’
I shrugged. ‘Not many trade credits in art.’
He pulled a pamphlet out of his pocket and smoothed out its wrinkles. It showed the same terrible drawing of the child with the huge head, staring up at the sun. ‘I don’t know. You seen this? Looks like it was drawn
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Thabo said. ‘He gave as good as he got.’ He leaned back against the wall, putting his legs up against the side of the dumpster. ‘So, you’re from the Agriculturals?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So you’ve been outside the enclave?’
‘I guess.’
His eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Through the Deadlands. Wow! I’ve never been outside. What was it like?’
‘I didn’t see anything.’
‘You must have seen something. Like, are the Deadlands totally overgrown now? You see any buildings?’
‘Seriously, Thabo. They brought us here at night, and the wagon had high wooden sides. You know, to stop the Rotters . . .’
I’d tried to push the memory of that journey out of my mind. Jobe, Chinwag and I squashed in with the other travellers in the pitch dark, trying not to think about Gran’s body stored on the roof with the others sent back to the city for ‘burial’. The wagon shook and jolted along for hours – the moans of the Rotters keeping us company; the occasional terrifying thunk as something large hurled itself against the slatted wooded sides. Everyone praying that the wood wouldn’t splinter; that one of us wouldn’t be snatched outside before the anonymous Guardians ferrying us had a chance to intervene. I shuddered at the thought.
‘You cold?’ Thabo asked.
‘I’m fine. So, Thabo, if you’re not a Resurrectionist, what are you doing at the school?’
‘The guy who adopted me after my folks died sent me here. Thought it would straighten me out. He works at the embassy.’
‘So does my stepmother!’
‘Seriously? So how come you look like you do?’ Heat rushed to my cheeks. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’
‘It’s fine. I haven’t had time to conform yet,’ I said, looking down at my boots to hide my hot face.
Out of the corner of my eye, I checked out his clothes. He was wearing a pair of spotless black jeans and a pair of Converse trainers that looked barely broken in.
‘Thabo, Summer said that you were the person to talk to about getting clothes and stuff, you know, from before the War?’
‘Ah.’ He gave me that lopsided grin again.
‘So where do you get the stuff from?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘My little secret.’
‘Oh, come on, who am I going to tell?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not that hectic a secret anyway.’
‘So? Go on, then.’
‘The black market, of course. Out in New Arrivals.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘You don’t know New Arrivals? On the other side of the enclave? Back behind the factories? Sheesh, it’s not as if you could miss it . . . You really are from the Agriculturals, aren’t you?’ I bristled at this, but did my best to hide it. ‘It’s where they made the first settlement. Most of the workers live there.’
‘Right. But won’t you get into trouble selling the stuff?’
He shrugged. ‘The Resurrectionists turn a blind eye to it, Lele. After all, where do you think they get their fancy clothes?’
He leaned towards me suddenly, and for a second I thought he was about to kiss me. My heart leapt into my throat and I found myself blushing again. But he was reaching across me to grab my bag.
‘Hey! What are you . . .?’
He rummaged in it and pulled out my sketchbook.
‘No ways!’ I said, trying to snatch it out his hand.
‘Let me see, come on, it’s only fair,’ he said, holding it above his head, out of my reach. ‘I told you about my sideline.’
‘Okay,’ I said, pretending to be annoyed. I watched his face as he flicked through the drawings, pausing to snort at one of the Rotters attacking Summer and Nyameka.
‘Wow, Lele, these are amazing! Really! That’s what you want to be? An artist?’
I shrugged. ‘Not many trade credits in art.’
He pulled a pamphlet out of his pocket and smoothed out its wrinkles. It showed the same terrible drawing of the child with the huge head, staring up at the sun. ‘I don’t know. You seen this? Looks like it was drawn
Similar Books
