she was drawn to the shadows beyond the path, the sounds of scraping and the scent of perfumed rot.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Rollo asked.
‘The Ripers. They scare me a little.’
He laughed. ‘Crowd control. They’re meant to. It’s just mental intimidation.’
‘Do you think so?’
But Rollo wasn’t listening to her. ‘Look, here’s your answer. That explains the strip down the middle.’
Ahead of them an ancient cable kar, gleaming with ornate dark-metallic trim and ingrained wood panelling hung adjacent to a paved station platform. The kar was attached to a glowing emerald cable that stretched away into the night, up the side of the crater.
A bell began to toll ponderously.
‘Come on,’ called someone. ‘This kar’s leaving in a moment.’
‘Quick!’ Rollo pulled her on board when she would have hesitated. The doors closed and everyone crammed together to look out of the open windows, shouting into the dark in excitement.
Retra wanted to shut their noise out, desperately wanted their silence, but all she could do was press her hands to ears.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rollo tried to tear her hands away.
She shook him off and prayed.
Silence is my duty,
Calm my reward.
She repeated the Seal mantra over and over as protection from the noisy jubilation. Only when the cable kar stopped did she open her eyes.
It hung next to an elevated platform from which stairs disappeared down into the dark. A slender girl dressed in a long, velvet dress cut away to show her stomach and the low curve of her breasts stepped from the shadows, as if she’d been waiting. The strings of her bodice trailed onto the ground. Around her, a drumbeat sounded. She beckoned to them with a shrill whisper. ‘Critical Zone, babies. I dare you.’
Two boys, the noisiest ones, jumped out from the kar windows, stumbling over each other, laughing, punching each other’s arms.
The girl smiled at them in a way that constricted Retra’s heart. It was as though the girl was a hunter revelling at the sight of weak prey.
‘Idiots,’ observed Rollo. ‘Zoners don’t get to go anywhere else.’
Retra looked at him blankly.
‘You never read the confetti?’
She shook her head, not wanting to explain about her father’s punishments.
‘Zoners aren’t allowed to use the churches. So they don’t get to rest, ever.’ He was doing his best not to look frightened.
‘What does that mean for them?’ she whispered, watching the backwash of shadows close behind them as the kar rumbled on.
‘I think that means they don’t last as long.’ He held up his palm and Retra saw the small tattoo in the centre of it. ‘The badge implant they gave us at the Register reduces our need to sleep but we still have to rest sometimes. Zoners can’t do that. It’s the one rule of their club. Burn bright and burn out – real quick!’
Retra was staring at him now, wide eyed. She slowly turned her hand over. Her tattoo was different to Rollo’s; duller and less defined, as though it hadn’t been properly administered. She quickly closed her fist. ‘That must be awful. Why would you go there?’
‘Dunno,’ he shrugged. ‘The girl behind me at the Register said everything’s better there. Sharper. More intense.’ He grabbed Retra’s hands and raised them up in the air so they swayed together like everyone else in the car. ‘I prefer to take it a bit slower. We’re gonna have fun. Let’s party!’
Retra snatched her hands back and turned away from him, pressing against the metallic window trim as the kar carried them higher into the night.
She became mesmerised by the brilliant streamers of lights, using them as a distraction from the raw mix of drums and synthesisers pumping through the speakers.
The kar rocked to the rhythm of the wires above and shook with the shuffling of feet. Bodies banged into her the way they had on the barge. She gripped the cooler metal of the window until it bruised her fingers, and prayed for the trip to end.
Moist, warm air slid over her, mocking her heavy coat and thick socks. Around her some of the others began to shed their clothing like skins of moulting reptiles. They dropped them at their feet, stamping and yelling.
Next to her, Rollo tore his coat off and unbuttoned his shirt. Beneath it his belly gleamed, white and dimpling soft. The sight of his flesh made her queasy.
‘Put it back on,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
But he didn’t hear her. He leaned close to a girl with tight curls, talking. No. Not talking. Kissing. Retra’s pulse raced at the idea and her