Deadlands

by Lily Herne

  Dad came thudding through from his study. ‘Cleo, are you okay?’

  He caught sight of me and a mixture of emotions flashed across his face – shock, relief and worry.

  I pulled the curtains across the kitchen window.

  ‘Lele!’ Dad said. ‘You can’t be here! It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I need your help, Dad. A friend of mine – he’s been taken by the Resurrectionists. I need to know where they’ve taken him.’

  Dad and the Mantis glanced at each other.

  ‘Who is this friend?’ the Mantis asked.

  ‘He’s . . . Look, you don’t need to know that.’

  ‘Why was he detained?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter – what will they do to him?’ ‘It does matter,’ the Mantis said. ‘The punishment fits the crime.’

  ‘Look, he’s a member of the ANZ, okay?’

  ‘Leletia, you shouldn’t be involved in this,’ the Mantis said.

  ‘I am involved!’ I said, swallowing hard to stop the tears. ‘I have to help him. Please! Will they take him to the embassy first?’

  ‘Lele, you must break ties with this traitor.’

  ‘What? He’s not a traitor! A traitor to whom? A traitor to what? To the Resurrectionists? Come on, Cleo, I know you don’t believe in all that crap.’

  She sighed. ‘Look, Lele, even if I wanted to help you, I can’t. I don’t have access to that sort of information.’

  ‘What happens to them, the people who are arrested?’

  ‘Well, usually they are taken to the embassy and questioned. But you will never get in there. Not even with an army.’

  ‘When is the next relocation scheduled?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Cut the crap, Cleo!’

  ‘The only person who would have information like that is Comrade Nkosi. He makes those decisions.’

  ‘I need to speak to him. Just tell me where he lives, Cleo,’ I said.

  ‘You can’t go to see him . . . You don’t understand. He’s . . .’

  ‘I know. He’s a bastard.’

  ‘Lele!’ Dad said. ‘Language!’

  The Mantis and I shared a look that basically said ‘as if we need to worry about swearing right now’.

  ‘But I think you should know, Lele,’ the Mantis said, ‘if this friend is part of the ANZ, it is possible that he might be relocated immediately.’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘There’s been a clampdown, Lele. The embassy has been forced to take a hard line against these dissidents.’

  My hands had started shaking violently. Dad poured me a glass of water and handed it to me. I swallowed it down in one go.

  ‘Lele,’ Dad said. ‘You must let this go. It is all for the greater good, you will see.’

  ‘How can you say that, Dad! How can you support these people? Look what they’re doing to the city! To the kids with the Lottery. Dad, how can you be on the Guardians’ side after what they did to Jobe?’

  ‘That was years ago, Lele. And there’s no proof that the Guardians did anything to him –’

  Now I didn’t bother trying to stop the tears. ‘No proof! But he changed, Dad.’

  ‘Yes, Lele. But you didn’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He paused and ran his hands over his face. ‘They took you, too. And you didn’t change.’

  ‘No they didn’t,’ I said, my voice sounding hollow.

  ‘They did, Lele,’ he said. ‘The memory is trapped in there somewhere.’

  I sat down on the chair behind me so hard that my jaw clicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle another shock that evening without my skull splitting open. My mind was reeling. I had no early memories of the Guardians except for the few times I’d seen them at the edge of the Agriculturals, collecting the vegetables and livestock. I had a vague recollection of being in the soccer stadium, but that was it. Like I said, my memories of the War and its immediate aftermath were seriously sketchy.

  ‘You never told me this,’ the Mantis said to Dad.

  ‘And Gran never said anything about it either!’ I added.

  He sighed. ‘She didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’ I asked. ‘That just because they didn’t do anything to me they didn’t screw up Jobe’s brain?’ I couldn’t think about the other implications of what he’d said right then. It was just too much.

  The Mantis was watching me carefully. She stood up, opened one of the kitchen drawers and took out a piece of paper and a pen. ‘Lele, please,’ she said as she scrawled something on it and handed it to me. ‘I’m begging you not to do this. He’s a very dangerous man.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you out of it.’

  She nodded. ‘I cannot do more,’ she said. ‘It’s not just me and your father I have to consider now.’

  ‘What do you mean? Jobe’s in Mandela House.’

  Dad and the Mantis shared another glance. ‘Lele, I’m pregnant,’ she said.

  9

  The Mantis’s directions were clear, and it wasn’t hard to find Comrade Nkosi’s home. It was two streets down from the embassy, a couple of blocks from Malema High. It was way smaller and scruffier than I was expecting – a two-storey house not much larger than Dad and the Mantis’s place. Comrade Nkosi clearly wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want to be accused of using his power for his own personal gain. At least one politician had learned from history.

  I knew I was taking a hell of a chance, but what choice did I have?

  As I stared up at the darkened windows I caught sight of the silhouette of a feathered dream catcher. Picking up a pebble from the road, I took aim, and lobbed it towards the window. It thunked against it, sounding far louder than I’d been expecting. I looked nervously up and down the street, but it didn’t appear to have disturbed anyone. I was about to try again, when the window cranked open and someone leaned out of it. A thick curtain of black hair was hanging over the figure’s face, but I was almost positive it had to be Zyed.

  ‘Zyed!’ I hissed.

  He jerked his head up. ‘Who is that?’ he called.

  ‘Shhhh! Keep your voice down. It’s me! Lele!’

  There was a pause while he took this in. ‘You’re supposed to be a Rotter by now,’ he said. I could see he hadn’t changed his attitude while I’d been away.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m not.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on, Zyed. Please! It’s a matter of life or death.’

  Without responding he slipped back inside his room, shutting the window behind him.

  ‘Crap!’ I kicked the gate in frustration and was about to turn away when I heard the front door opening. Zyed approached me. He was wearing a simple grey tracksuit, his hair and clothes for once free of the feathers.

  ‘Did you tell your father I’m here?’ I asked.

  ‘No. He’s at the embassy. Working late as usual.’ He sounded bitter. ‘So, are you a believer all of a sudden?’ he asked, looking me up and down, taking in the robe.

  I snorted. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘How did you get back into the enclave?’

  ‘That’s not important, Zyed. Look, I need your help.’

  ‘Why should I help you?’

  ‘Because it’s not actually me who’s in trouble. It’s Thabo.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s being relocated.’

  Zyed’s face slackened in shock. ‘Oh, no! Why?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I’m going to try to save him, but I need to know where they’re going to take him and when. Can you help me with that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Your dad would know, though, right?’

  ‘Sure. But he’s at the embassy.’

  ‘Could you get to him? Think of an excuse?’

  ‘I never visit him at work. That would make him instantly suspicious.�
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  ‘Crap.’

  ‘But I could sneak into his office when he gets back, I guess. He always brings paperwork home. But he might be a while. Apparently there’s been some trouble in the poorer sectors.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘If you could do that, I can wait.’ What choice did I have?

  ‘Where will I find you?’

  I told him and then, rummaging under the robe, I pulled off the tie I was still using as a makeshift belt. My jeans slipped to my hips, but thankfully didn’t fall down. I passed it to him. ‘Here. It’s yours.’

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Let’s just say, if you help me out, there’ll be way more stuff like this coming your way.’

  He glanced at me. ‘Okay, Farm Girl. You’ve got yourself a deal.’

  10

  I hunkered down in the alleyway where Thabo and I had sprayed slogans across the dumpsters all those weeks before, not caring about the stench of garbage and rotten food. It had to be heading towards midnight, and in the quiet of the sleeping city the Rotters’ moans sounded louder than usual. I desperately hoped that Thabo hadn’t already been taken out into the Deadlands, or that if he had, he’d found a way to escape somehow. I knew he was a fighter, a survivor, but he’d be no match for a pack of Rotters, or even worse – Hatchlings.

  I don’t know how long I waited there, but it had to be an hour at least. I had plenty to think about – too much to think about and digest, really – but I wasn’t ready to deal with it. I allowed myself to doze for a few minutes at a time; the only way I could stop myself going insane with worry about Thabo, obsessing over what Dad had said, fretting that Zyed would turn me in or thinking about the Mall Rats’ betrayal. At least my body wasn’t too sore after the run-in with the Resurrectionists. My face was no longer tender from where I’d been punched and even my back had stopped aching, although the guy hadn’t held back when he’d whacked me.

  But I was wide awake when I saw a figure slip into the alleyway.

  ‘Psssh! Lele!’ Zyed called.

  I pulled myself up, stretching my stiff muscles.

  Even in the poor light I could tell that the news wasn’t good.

  ‘Well?’ I said.

  ‘You’re too late,’ he replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s already been processed.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That they’re going to relocate him immediately. If they haven’t already done so.’

  I fought to control a surge of nausea. ‘Do you know where?’

  Zyed shrugged. ‘The east gate most likely. That’s where most of them leave from.’

  That was miles away – where Gran’s funeral had taken place.

  ‘I have to go,’ I said.

  ‘But what can you do to help him? He’ll be with the Guardians now.’

  ‘You don’t need to know that, Zyed,’ I said. ‘Thanks for this.’

  ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘And tell Thabo . . .’ his voice trailed away.

  ‘I will, Zyed,’ I said, already moving off into the night.

  Whatever my next move was, I knew couldn’t do it alone.

  11

  ‘Hello?’

  With the generator off, the kitchen and lounge were deathly quiet and almost completely dark. A paraffin lamp flickered on the kitchen counter, and I lit a couple of candles to banish the worst of the gloom. I couldn’t remember ever seeing the place so deserted.

  ‘Anyone here?’ I said, trying again.

  ‘Over here, Lele,’ a voice croaked.

  Hester was lying on the couch, her small shape covered with a blanket. Even though I had seen her merely hours before, it was clear that she’d deteriorated further. The scar tissue on her face stood out starkly against the papery skin that stretched over her cheekbones.

  I took her hand. It felt way too hot. ‘Hester?’

  ‘I am glad you are home, Lele,’ she said. ‘I have been worried.’

  ‘Where’s everyone?’

  ‘Out looking for you,’ she said, attempting to smile. ‘We do care about you, Lele. I know what you think of us.’ She sighed. ‘Ash – I have never seen him in such a state. When you didn’t return, he went out searching, even though the enclave is overrun with guards.’ She coughed a horrible wracking cough. ‘Please, you must forgive them.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter now,’ I said and quickly began to fill her in on what had happened to Thabo.

  ‘I have to go after him, Hester,’ I finished. ‘He’s my friend.’

  ‘It is not safe for you to go alone, Lele.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I don’t have a choice.’

  She leaned over and coughed again, the sound rocketing up from her very core.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Hester?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘It is too late for me, Lele,’ she said. ‘But it is not too late for you. Your friend – if he has gone in to the Deadlands, then there is nothing you can do. You must not risk it.’

  ‘I need to try.’

  She struggled to sit up, and pointed towards the corner of the room where Ginger stored his massive collection of DVDs. ‘There is a small carved wooden box underneath the television. Can you bring it to me?’

  I nodded and did as she asked.

  ‘Open it,’ she said.

  Inside there were loads of palm-sized metal square and star shapes. Thin as a blade, each one had a hole in its centre and razor-sharp spiked edges.

  ‘You know what these are?’ Hester asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘They are called hira shuriken. Or, as Ginger would probably call them, ninja throwing stars.’

  I picked one of them up and weighed it in my hand. It was heavier than it looked. I ran my thumb carefully over its edges.

  ‘These are weapons?’ I said, although it was obvious that nothing this sharp could be anything else.

  ‘Yes, Lele. But it is unlikely that you will be able to destroy an attacker with one of these. Traditionally, they were used to distract the enemy, before going in for the kill.’ She coughed again.

  ‘Hester –’

  ‘I haven’t finished,’ she said. ‘I want you to take these with you.’ She smiled at me. ‘I used ones like these during the last battle, when I found Ash. Take them for luck. They may just save your life. They helped save mine.’

  I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Take care,’ she replied, her voice now cracking with exhaustion. ‘And, please, forgive them.’

  I chucked the Resurrectionist robe on the ground, grabbed my backpack and shoved the throwing stars into it, careful not to cut myself.

  Hester’s breathing had slowed as if she’d fallen into a deep sleep, but I gave her a hug anyway, her body feeling insubstantial under her clothes, just like Gran’s in her last hours.

  Wiping away the tears that rolled down my cheeks, I headed towards the tunnel that led into the Deadlands.

  I didn’t look back, and I didn’t say goodbye, and I regret that now.

  It would be the last time we’d ever speak.

  12

  Even with the full moon bathing the Deadlands in a bluish light, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t seriously spooked. My pulse was jackhammering and my feet sounded way too loud as I crunched over the dried leaves and fynbos, but I knew I couldn’t afford to slow down.

  I came across a large group of Rotters crowded together around a tree, their heads bowed together, almost touching, as if they were leaning up against each other. Their low doleful moaning sounded way eerier than I was used to, and from then on every gnarled tree trunk, every twisted branch and every elongated shadow seemed to morph into the figure of a Hatchling or Guardian. I had to fight to stop my imagination getting the better of me.

  A few hundred yards from the bone mountain I slowed my pace, now doing my best to move through the undergrowth with as little noise as possible. I knew that this was where the
Guardians took the bodies of the dead to reanimate them, but I had no way of knowing how many people had been relocated or if I would be forced to fight the thing that Thabo might have become. I pulled the shuriken out of my bag and shoved as many as I could into my pockets, deciding at the last minute to keep one at hand. Holding it made me feel calmer, more confident. Even if I was gripping it so tightly that it almost sliced through the skin of my palm.

  I crept closer. The edges of the mountain glowed in the moonlight, the stripped bones gleaming whitely in contrast to the deep shadow of the bushes that surrounded them. I stood as still as I could, listening for any signs of life – any indication that there were Hatchlings around – but all I could hear was the ragged sound of my own breath, the guttural call of a plover and the low distant moans of the Rotters.

  Then, a few metres away from me the undergrowth began to rustle. I readied myself to chuck the throwing star, but it was only a porcupine and it quickly melted back into the myrtle trees behind it.

  There was no sign of the wagon.

  I had to decide what to do next, but that decision was taken out of my hands.

  A branch broke behind me, and this time I was sure that whatever had made the sound was a lot larger than a porcupine.

  I weighed the throwing star in my hand, and prepared myself to fight as a shadowy silhouette emerged from behind a plumbago bush.

  ‘Lele!’ the whisper cut through the night, and I only managed to stop myself from throwing the star at the last moment. There was no mistaking who it was.

  ‘Ash!’

  He jogged over to where I was standing and threw his arms around me. Without hesitating I hugged him back. Right then I decided that whatever the Mall Rats had done to me was in the past. We’d betrayed each other – me by putting them in danger in the mall, the Mall Rats by fixing my Lottery win – and there were more important things to consider right then. Thabo’s life, for one.

  Ash was also out of breath, and when he drew back, his sweaty hair hung damply over his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, but, Ash . . . Thabo isn’t. The Resurrectionists, they’ve –’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Hester told me.’

  ‘I have to find him,’ I said. ‘I have to go after him.’