BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

taken her swimming. She felt happy and relaxed, something she hadn’t felt in months. The air was still, suffocated by the stifling heat, and she laughed, mocking everything outside of the pool as she relished the feeling of being cool. Her peace was broken by a scream from one of the girls, a high-pitched scream fuelled by panic. Silence. Annie looked around, trying to see what had happened. A pair of owl-like glasses bobbed to the surface. Silence. Annie started to swim to where the girl had been, wondering why no one else had moved to help the girl as she was clearly drowning. Faces stared at her as she swam past, confused and in a state of paralysis. Suddenly, more and more of the children started to act in this way and a chorus of screams filled the pool before disappearing under the water. Bubbles of desperate air appeared on the surface as they tried to breathe and, instead, water filled their tiny lungs. More and more children were dragged under. The pool floor became a mirage of drowning faces, red and ugly against the turquoise water and tiles as Annie frantically looked under for the cause. There was nothing visibly there, but whatever it was it had a domino effect, taking one child at a time, and it was reaching Annie quickly.

Her legs started to feel heavy. Every second it intensified, like her legs had become weights or stones, willing her down. The few children around her were crying with panic. Some of them were swimming to the side; some of the cleverer ones were already out and watching the leftovers struggle. Annie was dragged under. The bubbles began from her own mouth, pooling upwards to where the guards stood, watching intently. This was the Trial. It never failed to shock her, the intricate yet sickening ways they created to kill them. Often in each Trial, only a few survived; just enough to tell the tale of that particular manner of death. But, sometimes, no one returned and then it was all left to their imagination.

Annie’s lungs burned. It felt like fire was slowly taking over every cell and fibre in her body as it desperately cried for oxygen. Blackness. Dreams filled her head, thoughts of her home and family mixed with the strangest images of things she didn’t recognise: bright colours and shapes moving in patterns and intertwining into photos: a timeline of her life that was being fast forwarded on the quickest setting.

Strong arms closed around her. They felt soft and familiar. The sun pulled at her limbs, waking them up. She slowly opened her eyes, shielding them from the red sunlight. Then the guards came into focus and her eyes met Tommy’s. His once khaki-green army jacket was sodden with water.

Annie didn’t return to their cell that afternoon. Lucy paced up and down, thinking of all the bad things that could have had happened to Annie and praying that she was alive. Not even the sounds of birds singing outside their cell window could distract her from her dark thoughts as she grew increasingly worried and upset. Their cell was one of the nicest; it had a barred window which was just big enough to fit your face up against and, on clear days, you could see the miles and miles of empty, orange land around them and a glimmering sheen in the distance which they had used to think with excitement was the sea.

Lucy wrapped her blanket and the one from the empty top bunk tightly around her. As darkness descended over the Centre, so too did the cold and it was as unforgiving as the heat. Jackson had told her during break time that Annie had survived the Trial and she felt satisfied with this; Jackson always knew what was going on. Shadows grew big and small on the walls as the guards patrolled the streets of cells. She watched them until they left the Block, the orange pulse of a cigarette stump hanging lazily from each of their lips, plunging the block into complete darkness and silence. She waited for the morning alone.

The alarm clock for the Centre was a siren, much like a nuclear alert from the Third Wars, and it sounded across all seven blocks in a simultaneous wail. Lucy got up and started getting dressed. A guard walked past and looked into their cell, a lazy grin on his face as his eyes wandered all over her undeveloped body. She froze, a hot flush spreading across her face and neck. The guard walked on, and another one appeared posting a tray with a small packet of cereal and a slice of bread under the door. Lucy tried to cover herself up but he laughed at her feeble attempt before yawning as if he was bored at observing her and left as well. She got dressed quickly and ignored the food. The milk soured and the cereal started to curl and harden.

They were let out one block at a time. First, Rainbow Block as they had the furthest to walk and then all of the others, with Lucy’s Block, Caterpillars, last. She always thought that they looked like a green tribal army as they traipsed out into the heat in long, worming lines. The work was very simple. Sewing, cooking and washing if you were girls, and chopping wood, carrying building material for the new block or any other manual labour if you were a boy. The working arena was a grouping of huge, old 400m x 400m tennis courts with green fencing towering high around a green floor. The children were all being directed into one of the courts and confused whispers could be heard that slowly built into a loud chorus as more and more