New Reality 2: Justice

by Michael Robertson

  A sneer sat on her face as she nodded at the platform behind Marie. "Turn around now!"

  Adrenaline quickened Marie's breath and she froze.

  "Am I talking fucking Martian, love? Back onto the fucking platform… now!"

  Despite having trained herself not to do it, Marie's hand went straight to her stomach. What else was a mother to do when they sensed danger? She turned around and headed back onto the platform.

  There were obviously more people from the estate at the other end of the platform doing the same thing, because all the commuters were being shepherded into the same tight space.

  Sweat poured down Marie's back as she joined the group. The dense collection of people reeked of flatulence and body odour. It was the stink of fear.

  When a man jumped up onto a bench near her, the murmur of the crowd stopped. Gaunt, unshaven, and with feral eyes, he surveyed the people below him. His edginess was infectious, running straight to Marie's shaking core. "Ladies and gentlemen…"

  The woman that forced Marie back onto the platform scoffed. "Yeah, right."

  When the man unbuttoned his long coat, Marie felt her stomach twinge, and it took a great effort to keep it under control. Attached to his body was something that looked like batteries and bottles connected together with wires.

  A morbid grin spread across his gaunt face. "In case you haven't worked it out, this is a bomb."

  Chapter Six

  Screams and gasps broke out in the crowd and Marie trembled as she watched the crazed man.

  "Oh, give me a break," he said. "You've had a good life, fuckers. Let's celebrate that so you can die with a little dignity, yeah? It's more than you've given us."

  More people started crying and a voice said, "Please, let me go; I have grandchildren."

  It was only now, with him begging for his life for the sake of his grandkids, that Marie realised the old man she'd helped off the train had been standing next to her.

  The tension in the air thickened as the man with the bomb scratched the stubble on his face and glared at the old boy. He then jumped down and walked over to him. Without breaking stride, he drove his fist across the old man's jaw.

  Crack!

  The old man crumpled, his walking stick clattering against the concrete platform as it fell away from him. Marie watched in silence. There was no way she was speaking up for him now. No fucking way.

  After jumping back up onto the bench, the man stretched his neck as if banishing a crick and grinned. "Let's start again, shall we? Firstly, the next over-fed prick that feels the need to shout or cry will be killed. I haven’t got time for your bullshit today." He held up what looked like a detonator and stared at it for a moment. "This will send every one of us straight to hell. Notice I said us?"

  Not a single person uttered a sound.

  "We're going with you. So don't think you have a bargaining tool because you don't! We've come here ready to give our lives for the cause. You have no leverage."

  In the near silent crowd, Marie could hear her own frantic breaths. She looked down at the old man on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth. Then she noticed movement by the exit.

  A large black man dressed in police uniform stepped onto the platform with his badge raised. "Police! Stop this now and everything will be okay."

  The terrorist pointed his thumb at the officer and addressed the crowd. "This idiot thinks he's in control." After brushing his floppy hair away from his forehead, he lifted the detonator high in the air. "You ain't calling the shots, arsehole, I am. We plan to die today."

  Marie folded her arms across her stomach and shook, despite the heat.

  The man on the bench cleared his throat and turned back to his hostages. "We're here to educate you on what it's like to live on the estate. Well, to be fair," the terrorist said as he pointed at the CCTV cameras surrounding him, "we're here to educate the cameras on what's it like on the estate. You're all going to die with us, but the footage will live on."

  After a dramatic pause, during which time he looked at the crowd of commuters, he continued, "I was born and raised on the estate. I didn't go to school because we don't have them and the cleaning job at my closest school was already taken. That's how we get educated, by the way. We clean the schools in the morning and at night. If we have time after that, we're granted the privilege of sitting in class next to the fat little shits that you guys spawn. Although, even if we do get an education from it, there's very few employers that will give us work afterwards. We're estate rats after all…"

  A quick look at the encroaching officer and the terrorist shook the detonator at him. Spittle rode his words. "Stay there or I'll blow this entire fucking station up."

  The officer raised his hands in submission.

  Despite the terrorist's clay-red skin, he'd gone a deeper shade of crimson as he turned back to the crowd again. "We're doing this today because we have no hope. Our lives are done. We're doing this so you listen to what we have to say. If you keep oppressing us, then…" he made quotation marks with his fingers, "…terrorism will always exist. You can't expect to push a group of people so far into the ground and be surprised when they fight back. You need to give us equal opportunities. We're the same as you. We love like you. We have families like you. We get hungry like you. The media say we don't work hard. They should try walking a mile in our shoes. How can we work hard if we can't get any jobs?"

  The woman that had forced Marie back walked over to the man on the bench and tugged on his coat. When he leant down, she whispered in his ear.

  The man stood back up again and nodded. He then turned to the police officer. "We have demands."

  When the officer went to look over his shoulder, the terrorist screamed, "Look at me, not them! I'm the one talking!"

  There was a wobble in the officer's voice. "What are your demands?"

  "I want the media here now! Bring that Hank Manifesto prick. This needs to be televised live."

  Chapter Seven

  In an attempt to cool herself down, Marie stood on the platform flapping her shirt. Two hours had passed and she was drenched with sweat, her skin itching. If only she could take her damn corset off. Her bladder was so full it burned like she was ready to piss glass.

  Other than heavy sighs and groans, no one had spoken for at least an hour. The old man remained on the floor, gasping in the heat like everyone else around him.

  Locked in a stalemate with the terrorist, the policeman edged forwards a step.

  The main terrorist pointed at him and jumped up and down on the bench. "Stay back! Are you fucking stupid, you cocksucker? Stay the fuck back."

  The officer raised his hands in submission. "Can we get you water?"

  "What?"

  "Water. You've been up there for over two hours in that coat. You must be thirsty. Maybe we can bring you something to drink?"

  The fierce determination on the terrorist's face faltered and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then he stamped his foot. "Where's the media? I want the fucking media here."

  "They're on their way."

  The terrorist’s voice cracked. "You've been saying that for hours now!"

  When he held the detonator up again, Marie tried to focus on her breathing to fend off the panic attack swelling in her chest. Much more of the police officer's bullshit, and they were all goners. Why put such an incompetent arse in charge of rescuing the situation?

  The need to piss sent stabbing pains through Marie's back. She couldn't hold it any longer. Warm urine ran down her leg, her polyester trousers aggravating the itch on her sweaty thighs.

  The officer caught a bottle of water from his colleague and stepped forward another pace.

  The terrorist raised the detonator higher. "Stay there!" As he wiped his sweating brow with his sleeve, his eyes rolled. Was he going to pass out?

  "I want the fucking media. You have three more minutes before I blow this entire fucking place into the sky."

  Another step forward and the off
icer shook the bottle. Condensation coated it and Marie swallowed a dry gulp as she watched. "You need to drink," the officer said. "You look like you're about to collapse."

  "Where are the fucking press? They're like flies to shit normally, so why aren't you letting them in here?"

  When the officer didn't reply, Marie stared to shake. This was it. There was no way they were going to give into terrorist demands. Why would they?

  Although Marie shifted from side to side, it did little to ease the pain nestling in her hips. She looked around at the other commuters. Many of them were moving or stretching in some way. They rubbed their necks and backs. Some of them were even touching their toes.

  A younger woman sat on the floor. The female terrorist that had ordered Marie back bit down on her bottom lip, walked over to the sitting woman, and kicked her in the shins. Red-faced and with her features twisting, she leant over her. "We didn't say you could sit down. Stand up, you lazy piece of shit."

  The woman's lip bent out of shape as she started to cry. She got back to her feet, but seconds later her legs turned bandy, her eyes rolled back, and she hit the floor so hard the platform shook.

  The terrorist woman pulled her leg back as if to kick the woman again, but stopped. Instead, she hawked up some phlegm and spat it at her. "Fucking lightweight!"

  The distraction had allowed the officer to step closer. Just a few metres away from the man on the bench, he held the water up again and pointed at the cap. "It's still sealed. There's nothing wrong with this water."

  The terrorist pointed at the floor. "Leave it there and back the fuck up."

  The officer did exactly as he was ordered.

  After hopping off the bench, the man waved the detonator at the police, who were watching on through the gate at the station's exit. "Stay back," he ordered and then called the terrorist woman over with a flick of his head. "Open it and take a sip."

  If Marie were to guess, she would have said the gesture was a kind rather than cautious one. He seemed to trust the seal hadn't been broken but he wanted to make sure the woman drank first. Were they sweethearts?

  Marie's throat ached as she watched the pair drink. As if to remind her just how thirsty she was, a pounding headache jabbed needles into her eyes. Still sweating, the itch beneath her corset was now so bad she wanted to claw her own skin off.

  A sudden kick from the baby made Marie gasp. She looked up and made eye contact with the woman from the estate.

  Hatred stared back at her.

  Marie returned her look and held her stomach with both hands.

  The male terrorist jumped back up onto the bench, pulling Marie's attention away. He pointed at the clock on the platform. "You have two more minutes to get the media here."

  The woman was looking at her leader again. Marie cleared her throat to get her attention back. When she got it, she rubbed her stomach with both hands and held an imagined bump.

  The woman's eyes widened, her stony hate giving way to a confused frown.

  Damn the corset, if she didn't have it on, she could really make it clear.

  The fury suddenly left the woman, her head and shoulders slumping in defeat. She then walked over to the man on the bench who was preparing to say something else.

  "One minute, and we're all going to hell, fuckers."

  The police officer raised his hand. "Please, wait."

  Before the terrorist could reply, the woman from the estate tugged on his long coat. He leaned over, staring at the officer as he listened to her.

  Once she'd finished, he pulled back and looked straight at Marie.

  Not knowing what else to do, Marie stared back, hands still holding her stomach.

  After stamping on the bench, the man's arms fell by his side. "Fuck it!" He looked at Marie for a few more seconds and then sighed. "Okay, we're letting you all go." He pointed at the police officers. "As long as those stupid arseholes stay exactly where they are. The one condition of your release is that you remember what I've said to you. I may look like a monster with these explosives strapped to me, but I'm just like you. Like you but a hell of a lot more desperate. If my death means two people in this crowd understand what it's like for us, then it's been worth it. Now go, before I change my fucking mind."

  A surge of bodies rushed forwards, nearly knocking Marie off her feet. As people crashed into her back and bashed her shoulders, she held her arms across her stomach and stood over the old man to keep him from being trampled.

  When most of the crowd had moved on, Marie helped the old man to his feet. Although shaken and a little bloody, he managed to remain upright. Once she'd retrieved his stick for him, Marie set off and tagged on the back of the line. As she passed the female terrorist, the woman grabbed her arm so hard it stung.

  Marie's pulse trebled as she looked into the woman's hollow glare.

  The smell of dirt filled Marie's nostrils when the woman leaned in close. "I have a baby at home. She's going to live with her aunt now. We're not bad people; I'm doing this to hopefully get a better life for her." The woman's face buckled, her cold detachment melting away. "I just want people to know what our shitty lives are like."

  Tears mixed with sweat and ran down Marie's cheeks as she nodded in response. "I'm sure your daughter knows how much you love her."

  Without responding, the woman released her tight grip and Marie moved off again.

  ***

  Once outside the station, Marie was blinded by the flashing blue lights. It seemed like every other person was wearing the black uniform of the police.

  Navigating the crowd on weak legs, she slipped away into the evening.

  After about a minute, the ground shook beneath her feet. When she spun around, she saw a mushroom cloud of dust and black smoke rise into the sky.

  Chapter Eight

  When Marie pulled her finger away from the print scanner on her front door, the light remained red and a sweaty mark was left behind on the pad.

  She wiped her shaking hand on her polyester trousers, which were dampened with sweat and urine, and tried again.

  Click!

  The light turned green.

  Marie shoved the door open with her foot and stumbled into the flat. After no more than ten wobbly steps, she heard Frankie's voice.

  "Marie? Are you okay? What happened?"

  Unable to reply, Marie stared at the floor as tears muddied her vision. Frankie's footsteps walked up the hall to her. When he grabbed her arms, she looked up.

  "Where have you been?"

  All she saw was a blur where Frankie's face should be. "Huh?"

  "What happened?"

  The reply stuck in her throat. She didn’t know where to start or what to tell him first.

  Before she had a chance to explain, Frankie spoke, "Has something happened at work? Is it Doug? I never trusted that arsehole."

  Marie's head spun. How could he not know yet? Surely, it was all over the news.

  "Oh, Marie, what have they done to you?"

  But the response still didn't come. Frankie took her arm and led her down the hallway.

  Once they were in the front room, Marie peeled her damp clothes off, her thighs itching from the sting of urine. When Frankie untied the lace at the front of her corset, Marie pulled it off and discarded it on the floor.

  After guiding her onto the sofa, Frankie dropped down next to her. When he tried to rub her back, she felt his hand stick to her clammy skin. "Can I get you anything, my sweet? Tea? Water?"

  Suddenly, the room was filled with a bright light and the ridiculous music that accompanied a news report. Wiping her eyes, she blinked as she stared at the screen.

  "Good evening, ladies and gentleman, Hank Manifesto, Nirvana TV. We have some breaking news that I'm sure will shock you all."

  At that moment, Frankie stopped looking at Marie. He obviously realised he was about to get the answers via the loud-mouthed news anchor.

  The orange-faced Hank sparkled with impish glee. "There was a terrorist attack thi
s evening at Navidson's House train station."

  Frankie gasped and looked at her.

  Words still eluded her, so Marie nodded instead and remained focused on the report.

  "The terrorists were made up of seven men and one woman. They held a group of unsuspecting commuters hostage on platform three…"

  While Hank continued his report, Marie looked across at her lover. "A train guard stopped me leaving the platform when I tried to get out."

  "Maybe he was forced to do it?" Frankie said.

  "I'm not sure. He looked sad, but he also seemed like he was in on it."

  Frankie looked back at the screen. "What the government don't realise is that by building an economy on cheap labour, they've weaved the people from the estate into the fabric of this city. If they all pulled together, I'm sure they could bring Nirvana to its knees."

  Marie focused on Hank Manifesto again. "…as you can see from the footage, the terrorists stood up on benches and barked orders at their hostages."

  Although she kept her eyes on the TV, Marie saw Frankie looking at her in her peripheral vision and said, "They've muted the people from the estate, Frankie. They've cut out what they said."

  As if he'd heard her, Hank Manifesto appeared on the screen again. "I'm afraid the explosion killed the audio part of the recording. However, one of the terrorists' victims said they were preaching extreme views about taking over the government."

  "I wish we could turn these bullshit news reports off. All they said was they wanted people to understand how bad their lives were. How they were so desperate to be heard, they'd blow themselves up."

  "That's pretty extreme, Marie. I can see why people would label it as terrorism."

  "Of course it's extreme, but surely, that extreme behaviour is a measure of their desperation, not their sanity."