Deadlands (17 page)

‘Now, what I’m going to do is use your weight to spin you around. Watch carefully.’ He crossed his arms, took hold of my wrists, and spun me around. It happened so quickly that I lost my balance, but he caught me around my waist before I fell. I could feel the blood rushing into my cheeks.

‘Now you try,’ he said. He gripped the front of my jacket and I grabbed his arms and tried to whirl him around. He didn’t budge an inch.

‘You’re way too heavy!’ I said.

‘You must use my weight against me,’ he said. ‘And move faster to unbalance me. Concentrate.’ He looked straight at me, and I stared into those strange eyes of his. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, thinking about Jobe. The sooner I learned, the faster I could try and get my brother back to the Agriculturals.

He grabbed hold of my jacket, and this time I crossed my arms, grabbed his wrists and managed to swing him around – not all the way, but it was a start.

‘See?’ Ginger said. ‘She’s, like, a natural. You’re a regular Bruce Lee, Lele.’

‘Who’s Bruce Lee?’ I asked.

Ginger shook his head slowly and grinned. ‘I can see there are quite a few other things I have to teach you.’

‘Later, Ginger,’ Hester said. ‘Let’s go again.’

‘Can I stop now?’

‘Ten more minutes,’ Hester said from her place on the low padded bench. ‘You are doing very well, Lele.’

‘Yeah, come on, mate,’ Ginger said, looking up from the comic book he was reading. ‘You can do it!’

I groaned. My thigh muscles were screaming, and it took all my energy not to topple over. Along with the daily fight schedule, Hester had started me on strength training, which involved me standing on one leg for minutes at a time, or crouching in a half-squat, a position that was almost unbearably painful after just seconds. It seemed like there was always something new to learn, another technique to master, fitness regime to endure or meditation to practise to help me control my anger. I now knew that striking upward with my elbow was the best way to disable an opponent, that I had to keep my elbows tight into my sides before punching anyone (or anything), and that if I was desperate, a forceful head-butt was another effective means of attack. But no matter how hard I tried, Saint and Ash always seemed to trip me up effortlessly and send me flying. It was clear I still had a long way to go.

At that stage I wasn’t exactly sure how long I’d been in the Mall Rats’ lair. That was the thing about living underground: without the cues of nightfall and sunrise, the days bled into each other. But despite the daily bruises, the aches and pains and endless repetitive tasks, part of me was enjoying it. It was strange how naturally fighting came to me.

Although I’d never actually seen her fight, according to Ginger, it was Hester who’d taught the Mall Rats all their moves. He’d filled me in one morning while I practised defensive blocking.

‘Hester used to run her own dojo before the War,’ he’d said.

‘Dojo?’

‘Like a fighting school. She taught summut called ninjutsu.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘It’s the Japanese art of killing someone, like ninjas, you know?’ Right then I’d remembered Thabo calling me Ninja Girl, but it’d seemed so long ago that it was like another life. ‘Ninjas are like the coolest fighters ever. Got a few movies to show you on that score,’ Ginger had continued. ‘But after the War she adapted it to work on the Hatchlings.’

Hanging out with Ginger made life easier. I spent the little free time I had with him, mainly watching DVDs. He had a massive collection of movies – most of which the Resurrectionists would have approved of: Violent British and American gangster films, slasher horrors, weird Japanese animation movies. He especially loved anything with zombies in it.

I stretched my back, feeling the muscles pop. Ash and Saint padded through from the training room where they’d been practising their chain/panga dance, grabbed a couple of litres of milk out of the fridge, and slumped down on the couch next to Ginger.

‘So,’ I said, needing something to distract me from the fact that my left leg now felt like it was on fire. ‘I have a question.’

‘There’s a surprise,’ Saint said. She was still somewhat stand-offish towards me, but had thawed slightly. Ash, on the other hand, was still barely acknowledging me (except during training, of course), and I’d become quite good at blanking him back. I still hadn’t figured out why he seemed to loathe me so much, but I put it down to the day in the Deadlands when I’d managed to lose him and Saint. He was obviously someone who liked to nurse a grudge.

‘What’s with your names?’ I said. ‘I mean, no offence, Saint, but . . .
Saint
? Seriously?’

‘Ask Ginger,’ Saint said. ‘It’s his fault.’

‘Well?’ I asked him.

‘Named her after this dead cool spy series starring Roger Moore. Ever seen it?’ Ginger always asked this, even though he knew there was no way I could have possibly seen a fraction (if any) of the movies and series in his collection. ‘Anyway, the series is called The Saint, right? And so I thought it was funny. ’Cos, like, the Roger Moore character is like the dead opposite of Saint. He’s like this debonair white guy, and like Saint is like this straight-talking black chick.’

Saint rolled her eyes. ‘Hilarious,’ she said.

‘Yeah, but that was before I knew you properly. I would have called you a different name, otherwise,’ he said, a blush of colour blooming under his freckles.

‘Okay,’ I said quickly, wanting to spare him any more embarrassment. ‘And Ash?’

‘Well,’ Ginger said. ‘That’s from my favourite zombie movie ever.
Evil Dead II
. Seen it?’

‘No.’

‘Well, see, I haven’t been able to find a copy. Looked everywhere. Anyway, the main dude in that was a fella called Ash, and he has this big mega fight against these dead things that are totally evil and possessed, right?’

‘Hence the title.’

‘Yeah. Hence the title. Anyway, his hand gets possessed –’

‘Wow, Ginger!’

‘Yeah, I know. Mental, right? So, anyway, he cuts it off and attaches a chainsaw to the stump. So, like, I got the name from him, ’cos Ash is like the coolest dude in the movies, and our Ash is totally cool in real life.’

I kept my face neutral. ‘And Ginger?’ I asked.

‘That’s his real name,’ Saint said.

‘Yeah,’ Ginger said. ‘Don’t think my folks had that much imagination.’

‘You think?’ Saint said with a grin, nudging him in the ribs.

‘And I got Ripley’s name from the . . .’ Ginger’s voice trailed away, the blood rushing to his face for the second time in a matter of minutes, turning it bright pink. Next to him Ash and Saint had stiffened, and the atmosphere had suddenly become charged. ‘Sorry, guys,’ he said.

Of course I was dying to hear more about Ripley, who was obviously the Mall Rat Saint had mentioned on that first day, but I kept quiet.

Hester looked up. ‘Lele, you have done very well. You may relax.’

‘Phew!’ I said, grateful to be able to stand on both feet again.

‘Yeah, nice one, mate,’ Ginger said. ‘You almost broke Ash’s record.’ Ginger glanced at Ash, but his face was inscrutable.

‘And I’ve got a treat for you, Lele,’ Ginger said, holding up one of his DVDs. ‘
Transformers
– crap movie, but awesome explosions.’

Saint swung her legs down from the couch to make enough room for me to sit between her and Ash. But she needn’t have bothered. The second I sat down, Ash stood up and stalked out of the room. I had no way of knowing if his departure was because I had sat next to him, because Ginger had mentioned Ripley, or because he hated movies starring giant robots.

A few days later I woke up to find Hester alone in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, but when she heard me approach she lifted her head and attempted to smile, trying to bury the pain I knew she was feeling beneath it. Again she reminded me of Gran: Gran who had hidden her illness from me for as long as she could.

I sat down in front of her and covered one of her hands with mine. ‘Hester, what’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing, Lele,’ she said, smile still in place.

‘That’s not true. I know you’re sick,’ I said. It had been obvious from the first time I’d seen her. The way she walked as if every joint was on fire; the dark circles under her eyes; the yellowish cast of her skin. I’d tried to ask Saint about it once or twice but she’d brushed me off. It was clearly a subject none of the Mall Rats felt comfortable discussing. ‘What does the doctor say?’

‘Medical attention is only for the young, Lele, you know that.’

‘But you’re not that old.’

She chuckled. ‘Thank you for the compliment, but since the Resurrectionists took over the city those who are pregnant or still growing have priority.’

‘Can’t you at least get some medicine to help you?’

‘You know the Guardians’ views on that, Lele.’

‘But what about from the mall?’

‘No. We cannot risk it.’

‘Have you tried, though?’

She sighed. ‘I told you, we cannot risk it. The Guardians will turn a blind eye to clothes and books and soaps and shampoos. But not to medicine. Not even aspirin.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they need people to die, of course.’

Stupid question. But we didn’t have that problem in the Agriculturals, where there was a rich knowledge of traditional medicine and we had access to any herbs we wanted or needed.

‘But there must be something I can do to help,’ I said, racking my brain for the names of the herbs Gran had used to dampen her own pain.

‘I am fine, Lele,’ Hester said, ‘but thank you for your concern.’ She smiled again, and this time it seemed genuine. The pain had passed.

‘Where’s everyone?’ I asked.

‘They’ve gone on a mall run.’

‘But why couldn’t I go with them?’

‘You are not ready yet, Lele.’

‘I
feel
ready.’

‘I know. But it will still take some time. You must be patient.’

She poured me a cup of rooibos tea and I stirred in a dollop of honey. As disappointed as I was, it was pretty cool having Hester to myself.

‘Hester, how did you discover the mall? How did you know it was there?’

She took a sip of her own tea, and touched the knot of scar tissue under her eye. ‘A group of us discovered it at the end of the War, while the Guardians were busy herding the survivors into the enclaves. I was part of the Last Resistance.’

I’d heard about them – a small band of diehard War veterans who had fought the Rotters till the end.

‘Did you know a soldier called Cleo Mbane?’

‘Yes. Briefly. A brave woman.’

‘She’s my stepmother.’

‘I see.’

‘Yeah. She works for the embassy now,’ I said bitterly. ‘For the Resurrectionists.’

‘You mustn’t think too badly of her, Lele,’ Hester said. ‘Everyone had a choice to make. That was hers. She certainly wasn’t the only one.’

I bit my tongue. Now wasn’t the time to mouth off about the Mantis. Besides, I had another burning question. ‘Hester, why doesn’t Ash like me?’

She smiled at me. ‘You musn’t take his attitude to heart.’

‘It’s hard not to.’

‘I know. I suppose he can be stand-offish at times.’

‘That’s putting it mildly.’

‘He is . . . He’s had a hard time of it. A hard life.’

I thought of saying,
Who hasn’t
? but I suspected that wouldn’t go down well. ‘How did you meet him?’

‘During the Last Resistance. He fought by my side. He saved my life.’ She smiled at my shocked expression. ‘The others I was with, they did not last outside. The Rotters . . . Well, I’m sure you can guess what happened to them. But because Ash was able to slip through the Deadlands undetected, we managed to hide out for long enough to construct this place.’ She looked around. ‘Of course, at first it wasn’t as comfortable as you see it today.’

‘You mean Ash fought in the War?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he would have been a little kid!’

‘Indeed. But there were many child soldiers, Lele. Most of them were not as fortunate as Ash.’

‘But that still doesn’t explain why he treats me like I’m dog poo.’

‘Ah. Like I say, do not take it personally. Ash has a good heart, and although he tries to hide it, he feels too much. A sensitive soul. He is just checking you out in his own way.’ She paused to let what she’d said sink in. ‘Now, Lele, you must drink your tea and have some breakfast. We have much work to do.’

‘What are we doing today?’

She smiled. ‘More work on the wooden man.’

I groaned. I hated the thing. My arms and legs were sore from endlessly punching and kicking it. But it helped that I’d nicknamed it Zyed. I’d even thought about asking Ginger to fetch me some guineafowl feathers to stick on it.

‘Awesometastic!’ Ginger cried.

For the first time I’d managed to jump clear when Saint ran for me, dodging the follow-up kick she’d jabbed in my direction by curling myself into a defensive ball several metres away from her, well out of her reach.

‘Not bad, Zombie Bait,’ Saint said, holding out a hand and helping me to my feet. ‘What did you think, Ash?’ she asked as Ginger clapped me on the back, almost sending me flying. ‘Can this chick move, or what?’

He shrugged. ‘Not bad,’ he said.

I pretended to stumble backwards in shock. ‘Did I just hear correctly, Ginger? Did Ash just say something almost nice to me? Shouldn’t we be worried? Maybe he’s ill.’

Saint grinned. ‘She’s got you there, Ash,’ she said.

‘Yeah, she’s got you bang to rights, mate,’ Ginger added.

‘Whatever,’ Ash said, but for a second he caught my eye and I was sure he was doing his best not to smile.

‘I think she’s almost ready,’ Saint said.

‘Seriously?’ I said, heart leaping.

‘You’re forgetting something, Saint,’ Ash said. ‘She hasn’t had any special awareness training.’

‘Sorry, sweetie,’ Saint said, ‘but Ash is right.’

I followed Ash and Saint into the lounge area, Ginger trailing behind us. ‘But what’s special awareness?’ I said. Ash and Saint were whispering to each other, ignoring me. ‘Hello?’