Deadlands

by Lily Herne

  I had no idea how I was going to get through the day. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and they all wore those vile Resurrectionist amulets. The cult hadn’t really caught on in the Agriculturals, and I tried to imagine what Thands or my other friends would say if they could have seen me surrounded by a group of Rotter-lovers.

  ‘Hey,’ a voice said.

  I looked up. Two girls stood in front of me. I recognised one of them – the girl with the plaits. Now that I was close to her I could see that her hair wasn’t actually real; the plaits looked plasticky and synthetic. The other girl was about my height, short and stocky, her mouth full of large square teeth. ‘I’m Summer,’ Plastic Hair said. ‘And this is Nyameka.’

  ‘Hi,’ I said, barely able to drag my eyes away from their clothes. Summer’s jacket was a soft, pale pink satin, the stitching intricate and neat. Nyameka was wearing gorgeous, rubbery, slipper-like shoes. ‘I’m Lele.’

  ‘So, like, you just moved here, right?’ Summer said.

  ‘Looks that way,’ I replied, trying to smile.

  ‘And, is it better than your old school?’

  ‘No.’

  The two of them giggled. ‘Seriously? But aren’t you from the Agriculturals?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What’s it like out there? Do you really all live in huts and stuff?’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘No!’

  ‘But you don’t have, like, running water and toilets, right?’

  ‘Of course there’s running water! It’s not that different from here.’

  They seemed to find this hilarious.

  Finally Summer managed to control herself and sat down next to me on the bench. Too close if you ask me; she reeked of garlic. ‘Now, Lebo –’

  ‘Lele.’

  ‘Right.’ (Giggle.) ‘Sorry.’ (Giggle.) ‘You know the Lottery Ball’s, like, at the end of term?’

  I almost dropped my roti on the floor. I couldn’t believe Summer had just mentioned the Lottery so casually. Fortunately she didn’t pick up on my shock.

  ‘And I’d really really appreciate it if you’d vote for me to be Queen,’ she continued, handing me a pamphlet. There was a crap sketch of a sun scrawled on it, and at the bottom the words Vote Summer for Queen!

  ‘Great slogan,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Detecting sarcasm clearly wasn’t one of her strong points.

  ‘All you have to do is sign your name at the bottom and post it in the ballot box in Comrade Pelosi’s office.’

  ‘So what do you win if you’re Queen?’

  They giggled again, which was really starting to annoy me. ‘You don’t actually win anything,’ Summer said. ‘It’s, like, a total honour to be named Queen.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because everyone says that then you have a better chance of getting picked.’

  ‘You’re not serious,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She looked genuinely confused. I couldn’t get my head around it. When we’d first got wind of the Lottery several years earlier, no one in the Agriculturals had taken it seriously. Most of us had assumed that it was just a crazy rumour. But what I really couldn’t understand was why Summer would want to win what for all she knew was basically a death sentence (or worse). I mean, at that stage no one knew for sure what happened to those who ‘won’ the Lottery. Just that, for some reason, the Guardians prized teenage bodies so highly that they were willing to trade water, paper, food, building materials and even electricity for their yearly supply. I remember thinking: Was she seriously that brainwashed?

  I decided it was probably best to keep my opinions to myself. I was already enough of an outsider as it was. And this was, after all, a radical Resurrectionist school. ‘Where did you get your clothes?’ I asked instead.

  ‘You like?’ Summer said with a flick of her hair.

  ‘Yeah. They’re cool. Is your jacket from before the War?’

  Summer and Nyameka shared a look. ‘Well, ja. Obviously.’

  ‘So is there a shop or somewhere where they sell this stuff?’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask if I did.’

  ‘Well, see, if you want something you have to order it from Thabo.’

  ‘The guy with the dreads?’

  ‘Ja.’

  They giggled again.

  ‘So where does he get the stuff from?’

  ‘It’s a secret. He’s totally connected, though.’

  ‘Totally connected to who?’

  ‘I don’t know, but, like, if you want stuff from him it costs the earth.’

  Nyameka stared at my hair and curled her lip, obviously thinking this would be out of my reach.

  ‘So?’ Summer said, leaning into me and totally invading my personal space. ‘What do you say? Will you vote for me?’

  ‘I’ll consider it,’ I said.

  ‘Cool! What are you wearing to the Ball, by the way?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m going.’

  They both looked appalled. ‘’Scuse me?’ Nyameka spoke for the first time. ‘Everyone at the school has to go. It’s compulsory.’

  ‘Yeah. But I’m not eligible for the Lottery.’

  ‘Huh?’

  It wasn’t as if I could keep it a secret forever. ‘My brother was taken.’

  Nyameka looked confused. ‘Taken? What do you mean?’

  ‘He was taken by the Guardians.’

  Their faces lit up. ‘Seriaas?’ Nyameka asked. ‘Wow! When?’

  ‘At the beginning of the War.’

  ‘No ways!’ Summer said. ‘Tell us all.’ She edged even closer.

  ‘Nothing to tell.’

  ‘Is he like one of those kids they brought back all, you know . . .’

  ‘All what?’

  ‘I mean, isn’t he, like, retarded or freaky or something? No offence.’

  ‘I’m really not comfortable talking about this,’ I said, handing the flier back to Summer. ‘Give this to someone else.’

  ‘Chill out,’ Nyameka said. ‘Just because you can’t win, doesn’t mean that you can’t vote.’

  I shrugged.

  Summer stood up and the two of them drifted away, heading towards the guy with the feathers. They whispered something to him, and he looked over at me, a sneer on his face. For a second our eyes met, then he turned back to the other two and said something that made Summer collapse with mirth.

  I dumped the remains of the roti in the bin, appetite now completely squashed, and pulled out my sketchbook. I spent the rest of break and the whole of the afternoon adding Summer and Nyameka to the drawing of the Rotter. Not very nice of me, I know.

  5

  And things didn’t improve.

  I spent the first week stuck in my own little bubble. Not even Zit Face, the weirdo who sat next to me (who was clearly also an outsider), seemed to want anything to do with me. The mornings were the worst. I don’t think I’d ever felt as alienated as I did during morning prayers. While everyone else droned away, I kept my neck bent, eyes fixed on the Everything’s better with zombies – NOT scrawl on my desk. Everyone knew everyone else, and from what I could make out, they spent most break times gossiping about what they’d be wearing to the Lottery Ball. I was trying to build up the courage to approach Thabo, but he was more often absent than not, and even when he was at school he always seemed to be surrounded by an impenetrable posse of giggling girls.

  The only person who’d spoken to me was Zyed, the guy with the feathers, and that hadn’t exactly gone well. He’d stopped at my desk one day, just before break, Summer and Nyameka hovering behind him.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Zyed.’

  I didn’t reply. I hadn’t forgotten the look of contempt he’d given me on that first day.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘I was wondering. Why don’t you wear the sign?’

  ‘The what?’

  Summer and Nyameka giggled. ‘I ca
n’t believe she just said that!’ Nyameka whispered.

  Zyed touched the amulet around his neck. It looked more expensive than the others I’d seen; smaller, more intricate. ‘This.’

  ‘Not my scene,’ I said, willing him away.

  ‘What do you mean? You’re not a believer?’

  I shrugged, not keen to get into this particular conversation.

  ‘I heard you’re Cleo Mbane’s stepkid, that right?’ he asked.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So how come you look like you do?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The hair. Can’t you afford shampoo? Short hair is so . . . rural.’

  Summer and Nyameka were almost doubled over with glee at this stage.

  Anger surged through me, and I clenched my fists under the desk. ‘I like it like this,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, ja? How come?’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do than spend hours messing with my hair, like some people.’ I stared at his own intricate hairstyle, got to my feet and pushed past him and his adoring audience.

  I pretended not to hear the words, ‘Sheesh, maybe that’s what you call Farm Girl chic,’ that followed me out.

  So school was pretty much a waking nightmare, and, apart from Jobe, home wasn’t much better. So much so that I’d taken to walking home instead of going by rickshaw, dragging my feet to make the journey last as long as possible, ignoring the jeers from the market traders and hawkers. I was getting to know the sector of the city where we lived quite well now, but it didn’t make me loathe it any less. I spent most of my time in my room, sketching and daydreaming, doing my best to keep a low profile and avoid one of the Mantis’s lectures. She’d finally accepted that I wasn’t going to be thanking the Guardians every time I sat down to eat, but the atmosphere at the dinner table wasn’t exactly a bundle of laughs. And my loathing wasn’t just restricted to the Mantis. Dad agreed with everything the Mantis said, as if he was some kind of wimpy non-person. I remember wondering if maybe the Mantis fed on his soul every night, sucking out his life like a vampire. Or if maybe he’d lost his guts when he’d lost his arm.

  Worst of all I was no closer to coming up with a plan to get Jobe and myself out of the city enclave. For a day or so, especially after my run-in with Zyed, I even considered dropping out of school and joining the breeders. But I seriously couldn’t imagine myself pushing out babies for the rest of my life.

  But at least, I thought, I was flying under the radar.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  6

  I arrived one morning to find the classroom buzzing with excitement. I’d tried to dawdle on my way to school and miss the prayers, but it looked as if the ritual had been abandoned. Even Comrade Xhati was distracted: he was busy cleaning the board at the front of the room and didn’t even sigh with irritation when I came in late.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked Zit Face.

  ‘There’s going to be an announcement.’

  ‘About what?’

  He opened his mouth to answer, but then Acid Face Pelosi and a tall man I hadn’t seen before strode into the room. The man was dressed in a spotless black suit, and even in the poor light his shoes shone. Acid Face Pelosi was reverentially carrying a large book bound in black material, a smug smile almost cutting her face in half. As they made their way to the front to join Comrade Xhati, Thabo slid into the classroom. As he collapsed into his chair I turned my head to smile at him: he hadn’t been in class for days and I’d missed him. He winked back at me and my stomach flipped.

  ‘Attention everyone!’ Acid Face Pelosi said, her voice ringing around the room. ‘We have a very important visitor. Please welcome Comrade Nkosi, the embassy’s new CEO. He has an announcement for you.’

  She smiled at the newcomer and he stepped forward, clearing his throat as he did so and gazing unhurriedly around the room. ‘Thank you, Comrade Pelosi, for that warm welcome,’ he finally said. ‘How wonderful to see so many young and eager faces in front of me.’ Confidence blasted out of his every pore, and he spoke slowly, in the manner of someone who was used to being listened to. Every eye was fixed on him, and I’d never heard the classroom so quiet – even during morning prayers. ‘Now, I’m sure most of you can guess why I’m here, and I’m not going to keep you in suspense. Thanks to the efforts of my comrades in the embassy, the Guardians have agreed to begin the transition, so that electricity can be brought to the enclave.’

  There was a collective gasp, and he nodded in approval. ‘Yes, my friends. And soon, every person, every household, will have access to warmth in winter, running water all year round, lighting and all the benefits a civilised society can bring.’

  The excited murmuring rose again, and then stopped as Comrade Nkosi held up a hand.

  ‘But there is a price to be paid for this, as you know.’ He paused again and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘It is a price that many of you, as good and true believers are happy to pay, but it is a price nonetheless. This year, brothers and sisters, there will be five Lottery winners, and three will be chosen from this school – the jewel of the enclave.’

  This time the gasp was much louder. Everyone began to turn around in their seats to whisper to each other. Most looked excited, some even overjoyed. I wished I could have turned around to check out Thabo’s expression, but that would have been way too obvious. Next to me, Zit Face was looking down at his desk, and his hands were shaking slightly. I tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look up.

  Acid Face Pelosi clapped her hands for silence, but she was still wearing a wide grin.

  ‘I wish you all the best of luck,’ Comrade Nkosi said as the noise died away. ‘And may I say, on behalf of the city and all its people, thank you.’

  The room erupted into applause. I shoved my fists under the desk and squeezed them tightly as Comrade Nkosi strode towards the door on a tide of cheers and applause. I wanted to stand up and scream. I wanted to yell that what he’d just said was madness, insanity. But of course I didn’t.

  Acid Face Pelosi waited for the applause to die down before she clapped her own hands for attention.

  ‘Isn’t that just wonderful news?’ she said. ‘What an honour for the school!’ She beamed at the students in the front row. ‘And I have some more wonderful news for you.’ She handed the book she was hefting to Comrade Xhati. ‘We received this from the embassy’s education department this morning. It’s your new history syllabus!’

  The reaction to this piece of news wasn’t so jubilant. In fact, there were quite a few groans to be heard.

  ‘Thank you, Comrade,’ Comrade Xhati said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

  Acid Face Pelosi’s nauseating grin faded, and sour-faced once again, she also made her exit.

  The minute she was gone, the room erupted into a cacophony of giggling, but Comrade Xhati wasn’t having any of that. ‘Silence!’ he barked. ‘You can discuss this wonderful news at break. Now, much as I’m sure you’re all eager to explore the new history syllabus, we must complete yesterday’s maths lesson.’

  While he rambled on, I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing. I was feeling antsy – my stomach a tight knot. I knew I wasn’t eligible for the Lottery, but it was sickening to think that most of the students thought this was a cause for celebration. I concentrated on breathing steadily and let my pencil find its own way across the page. This time the drawing didn’t morph into the face of the Rotter outside the fence, but slowly showed itself to be the Guardian’s horse that had almost trampled me after the funeral.

  ‘Hey!’ Thabo whispered behind me. I jumped. I’d been lost in the drawing and my thoughts. ‘Can I see?’ he asked.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Duh,’ he said, grinning. ‘What you’re drawing.’

  Reluctantly I passed the book back to him. He studied the sketch for what felt like way too long. I began to squirm, worried that he thought it was crap.

  He finally looked up at me. ‘It’s amazing.’ He s
ounded like he meant it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘You’re really talented.’

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. I just enjoy it.’

  ‘Wish I could do something like that.’

  ‘Thabo!’ Comrade Xhati’s voice blasted our way. ‘Do you have a problem with Lele?’

  ‘No problem,’ Thabo said. ‘No problem at all, actually.’

  Giggles erupted around us again and I felt my face growing hot.

  ‘So you won’t mind sharing what you were saying to her with the rest of the class, then, will you?’

  ‘I do mind,’ Thabo said. ‘It was a private conversation.’

  There was a gasp of shock and I had to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from grinning.

  Comrade Xhati flinched, and a flinty edge entered his voice. ‘I see. I wasn’t aware that private conversations were part of the school curriculum. I was under the impression that this was a maths lesson.’

  Thabo shrugged. ‘That’s your problem,’ he muttered.

  ‘What was that?’ Comrade Xhati said.

  ‘Nothing,’ Thabo replied.

  ‘And I suppose you were far too involved in your private conversation to tell me the answer to the maths question I just asked?’

  By now almost everyone had turned around in their chairs, craning their necks in Thabo’s direction.

  Thabo sat back in his chair, stretched his arms behind his head and yawned.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ Comrade Xhati snapped.

  Thabo grinned his lopsided grin, and let the seconds stretch on. ‘Seven to the power of ten,’ he said.

  Comrade Xhati blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Seven to the power of ten. That’s the answer to your last question.’