“Ethan? Ethan? Oh, thank god, you’re okay.”
Ethan looked across to Lee. “Get Mum inside.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Lee, we don’t have time for this right now. We need to get inside and call the police, okay? They could come back at any second.”
“I hope the little bitches do!” Lee roared. Fingers tightened around his makeshift weapon. Eyes constantly scanned the smoky undergrowth for movement. “I hope they all come back. I’ll do time for each of the little bastards!”
“Lee, what say we stop all of this macho bullshit, mate?”
Karris dipped onto the patio with the same brown blanket she had swathed herself with no more than half an hour ago rolled up beneath her arm. Had only thirty minutes passed? It felt more like an eternity! She draped the blanket over her mothers-in-law and crouched beside her. “Belinda, love, are you okay?”
Ethan stepped forward, but his wife ushered him away with her hand.
Something on one of the cars exploded, shaking the fillings in his teeth.
“Look, I know Harold has been… hurt.” She chose the words very carefully, her face mere inches from the other woman’s. “But your grandson is really frightened. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. Neither do I, really. But he needs a big cuddle off his grandma. Can you do that?”
Red-rimmed eyes stared at Karris. Trembling lips opened, but the words were as stubborn as a mule. Karris grabbed hold of her hand and silently shuddered. It was like holding a chunk of ice.
“Come on,” she said, using her son as bait to entice the older woman inside. “Give me a hand settling Lincoln. Ethan and Lee will take care of Harold, right?”
“Sure. I’ll look after him, okay, Mum?”
“I… need to… well… okay…” His mother stepped over the threshold and took one last lingering look at her dead lover. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Ethan was positive he could hear her heart crack.
“Do take care of him,” she blubbered. “He means so… much...”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She was crying uncontrollably again. This time it did more than just sadden Ethan, it terrified him! For this was the kind of timorous sobbing that a person makes when their heart and lungs refuse to operate without their cherished partner.
Then, with Karris supporting her from one side, Bryan holding her up on the other, they led Belinda inside the dark house.
Ethan waited for a second until he was certain they had gone, then looked to his brother. “What the hell are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Lee yanked out his mobile phone and thumbed the nine button three times, jamming the old Nokia between his shoulder and jaw. The same automated voice informed him that, “Due to widespread rioting, all officers have been dispatched and no further units are currently available…”
Lee ended the call and punched the wall in frustration.
“Even if we could get through, the police are too busy dealing with the rioters to respond,” Ethan growled.
“This is crazy, Eth.”
“I know. What happened, Lee?” Ethan wanted to know. He walked over to his Pickup, pulling a crumpled sheet of blue tarpaulin free. Untying it, he flapped it out and returned to the corpse, dragging the plastic sheet behind him. “The explosion knocked me spark out.”
“Not much to tell,” Lee replied, grabbing one end of the plastic sheet. “Didn’t really see much. Think the little shits petrol bombed Harold’s car and mine caught fire due to the heat. I was trying to help Mum when the little bastards jumped me. They must have kicked Harold to death.”
Ethan shook his head and swallowed hard. “No, Karris said they threw something at him. I think it might have been a brick.”
“Little fuckers.”
Ethan didn’t reply. Instead, he lowered the tarpaulin over Harold’s corpse as though it was a blanket of reanimation.
CHAPTER 9
Sitting on the cord carpet with his hands covering his face, back against the wall, breathing raspy, Ethan Hardcastle took a few seconds to take stock of events.
His house was under attack. His driveway had become a flaring combustion of fire. His mother’s boyfriend had been murdered by a cloudburst of stomping feet and his mother was inconsolable. Lee was tirelessly promising all kinds of vengeful retribution. Lincoln was distraught – petrified – as was Karris. And even Bryan had become a shadow of his former self.
Ethan pulled his knees into his stomach and sank his teeth into his knuckles. He could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen; could hear Karris pointlessly trying to comfort her; could hear Lincoln screaming, vomiting, crying for his daddy, but Ethan didn’t move. He couldn’t move! He tried to, but it was useless. How was he supposed to wrestle with his emotions when Harold’s blood was still staining his hands? Truth was, his arms were just too short to box with his feelings.
I’m not your fucking son.
With a choked sob, Ethan began to cry for a father figure that he didn’t even know had existed.
CHAPTER 10
At eleven o’clock, the pregnant rainclouds fully dilated and went into labour, delivering a drenching offspring all over the crumbling society below. At that precise moment, the British Prime Minister, Robert Harris, had been sitting alone in his study watching events unfold on the news. The storm had just started to pick up, and rare weather reports from smooth-voiced forecasters predicted “torrential downpours” and “hurricane-force winds” for the next several hours. Robert Harris had sipped his whiskey and glanced continuously from TV to phone to rain-spattered study window. On a beautiful summer afternoon, the observer would be rewarded with the sight of a neatly-trimmed lawn and lovingly tended flowerbeds.
Not tonight, though.
Robert had looked back at the TV, wincing as the fiery fluid scorched his throat, and helplessly watched as a smartly-dressed pensioner, about the same age as his own father, was beaten by four Asian teenagers. The headline on the screen had read BREAKING NEWS: VIOLENT DISTURBANCES HAVE BEEN REPORTED IN EVERY MAJOR CITY ACROSS BRITAIN.
The Prime Minister had climbed to his feet, pacing nervously back and forth, his mind replaying the telephone conversation with Theresa Derwin, which he had just abruptly ended. He had listened to the wind howl dementedly, listened to the rain gushing down the steel drainpipe, listened to the TV footage of a blatantly rattled Mayor of London condemning these riots as “acts of stupidity by cowardly culprits.” Bare feet had padded across polished beams as he glanced at his watch, poured another generous measure, looked at his watch once again, before deciding that he needed to call a COBRA meeting.
That had all been half an hour ago.
“I want to know everything that you know.” The Prime Minister rubbed at the side of his pounding skull, pads of his fingers concentrating on the temples as he looked across the twelve-man table at the three men seated opposite. The pain over his eyes was horrendous – literally blinding – and he was beginning to feel nauseous. Migraines had plagued Robert since childhood. He was still floored by one at least three times a year - usually when he was stressed. With a numb hand, he uncapped a bottle of water and sipped from it, hoping against hope that the migraine would not be too severe. A tingling hand pushed through thick brown hair as he looked directly into the slate-coloured eyes of the man sitting in front of him. “I want to know everything you know about TK-214.”
A haze of pale blue smoke wafted from the cigar clenched between the Lieutenant Colonel’s teeth. When he spoke, ash dropped onto the table. “I’m afraid I’m not following you, Rob.” He inhaled on the cigar and raised his white eyebrows.
“Oh, come on!” The Prime Minister bashed his numb fist off the table in frustration. The Lieutenant Colonel didn’t even blink. “Do you really think I’m that naive? Guess who I got a phone call off tonight?”
Lieutenant Colonel Sean Page of the Royal Marines shrugged his decorated shoulders. Smoke sieved from his nostrils like dragon breath.
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“Theresa Derwin,” said the Prime Minister. He pushed himself away from the table and paced the room, head down, hands in the pockets of his black silk dressing gown, slippers scuffing across the lush carpet. He wore a white T-shirt over a plump belly, and black silk pyjama bottoms. “Does that name ring any bells?”
“Editor of the Early Bird newspaper,” Lieutenant Page answered. He scratched his neatly-trimmed goatee and watched the Prime Minister as intently as he would an Afghan informer. “What’s that deceitful gash got to do with me or my infantry, Rob?”
“I was hoping you could tell me, Lieutenant,” said the Prime Minister. He paused momentarily beside the huge plasma screen, where the President of America had just virally informed the four men of a similar ongoing situation occurring in Detroit, Michigan. Afterglow from the monitor brightened the dark room.
“Rob,” the Lieutenant Colonel sighed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She questioned me about some kind of pharmaceutical trial backed by our military. Something called Stage One. Do any of you know anything about this?””
“Mr. Prime Minister,” Chief of Police Victor Edmonds cut in. “If I may be dreadfully bold here and interrupt, I believe I speak for the Lieutenant and Deputy Prime Minister when I say we haven’t got a clue what you have been told. I mean, pharmaceutical trials backed by the military, Theresa fucking Derwin, riots… it all sounds terribly conspiratorial.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Theresa’s a car wreck, Rob,” Andrew Herron, Deputy Prime Minister said. “She’s a despicable creature. Just look how close she came to ruining your career. She’s a harlot, and she would happily besmirch anybody in public power – especially you – to sell that rag of hers.”
The Prime Minister sighed wearily and folded his arms across his chest. Forty-seven years-old, married to the same woman who he had lost his virginity to in his college dorm many moons ago. The thought of Clara now, upstairs in bed, naked, made him long to be cuddled up beside her. The pain in his head intensified. He forced himself not to get distracted.
“Look, this isn’t a witch hunt. I’m not accusing anybody of anything. But I’m sure you’ll understand that I have a responsibility to investigate a claim made by a member of my public. And, as Prime Minister of the UK, I have a duty to fully adhere to it.”
“Nobody is questioning your dedication or your commitment to the public. We just don’t know anything about this TK-214 drug and what, if any, effects it has. I have been trusted in a position of command within the ranks of the military for over a decade and I can assure you that no pharmaceutical trial has ever been carried out inside of that time without your consent. I give you my word, Rob.”
The Prime Minister nodded his head slowly. Numb fingers rubbed the base of his neck.
Thunder complained overhead.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Victor Edmunds said, “but how did Theresa come across such balderdash?”
“A porter in a hospital in Manchester approached her with the story after news of Dennison Asaria’s death spread. Apparently, he said he had seen numerous incidents over the last ten years where they had administered the drug to newborn babies without the parents’ knowledge. He claims to have obtained evidence.”
“That’s preposterous!” Andrew Herron scoffed.
“Sounds like a crackpot to me,” Victor Edmunds commented.
“On a more serious issue, though,” the Lieutenant Colonel overtook. “My platoon has moved into London and are currently on stand-by. Further instructions are required.”
Robert Harris quickly fired a glance towards Lieutenant Page. “Dependency on military action has to be our last resort, Sean. We have already discussed this in fine detail. And, like I said earlier tonight – and I haven’t changed my mind – there will be political and practical difficulties having armed soldiers assisting with policing the public. Tempers are already rife. The last thing I need to be dealing with right now is another Bloody Sunday.”
“With all due respect, Rob, these selfish looters need to be reminded that our – their – Armed Forces have paid the ultimate sacrifice over the years to keep this country a safe place to live. They are indebted.”
“And they will be reminded, Sean. Your men’s services will be called upon… but only when it’s categorically compulsory. I mean, this entire thing could just die down.”
“It’s not going to just die down though, is it?” Sean Page snapped.
“Lieutenant,” the Deputy Prime Minister hissed.
They exchanged wary glances. Robert Harris was quick to pick up on them.
“Gentlemen, why do I get the impression that you’re withholding information from me?”
A rap of knuckles against the door interrupted the briefing. Rob bellowed for it to be opened and his PA apologised for disturbing the consultation, explaining that Theresa Derwin was on the phone on hold.
“Line one?”
“Yes, sir,” his Private Assistant replied. “I told her you were sleeping but she insisted. I thought it best to put her through.”
“You did the right thing. Thanks, Selene.”
He stormed over to the phone and snatched up the receiver.
“Theresa?”
“Mr. Prime Minister.”
“Not going to lie to you, Theresa, I’m not at all happy being woke at such a late hour.”
“You weren’t sleeping.”
“And how would you know?”
“Because I know you.”
“Theresa, what do you want?”
“Have you thought anymore about our last conversation, Rob?”
“It appears that I don’t need to. I have discussed your allegation with my constitution, but no further evidence to back up your claim has presented itself.” He frowned across to Lieutenant Page. “I have been assured by my congregation that no further investigation is required.”
“You mean that you’re happy to brush my allegation under the carpet?”
“Brush what exactly, Theresa? You have no concrete evidence for me to reconsider my decision.”
“You’ve changed. You’re not the same person you were two years ago.”
“A lot has changed since then.”
“You know I can’t just sit on a story of this magnitude, don’t you, Rob?”
“What story, Theresa? You don’t have one. And I’m warning you right now, if you release anything without any hardcore evidence to substantiate your claims, if you cause more panic, more fear, if you so much as print one word that does not corroborate with the truth, I will personally see to it that your little tabloid kingdom comes crashing down.”
“Rob, please, meet me, I will introduce you to—”
“No! I’m sorry, Theresa, really, I am, but widespread rioting is destroying Britain tonight. That must - and does - take centre stage over your little government scandal.” He thumbed down on the plunger, injecting a blatant dose of sarcasm into his tone.
“I am warning you, Mr. Prime Minister, do not ignore me.”
“This conversation is over.” He replaced the receiver back into the cradle with an audible ping. “Okay, gentlemen,” he said, sitting back down. “I want to know everything you know about TK-214.”
The Lieutenant Colonel sighed audibly. “Haven’t we just been through this?”
“True. But we have a problem. I have a press conference at seven o’clock in the morning to discuss the actions required by both police and public in the dealing of this disorder. And, although I have seen no physical evidence to even consider mentioning this mythical drug, I can’t shake the feeling that you men are holding something back. Call it gut instinct. Right now, there’s nothing I can do to stop Theresa from splashing this story all over the front page of her newspaper. So, gentlemen, I will ask you one last time – what is TK-214?”
The Deputy Prime Minister cleared his throat, resting his jowly chin on a meaty fist. “In the interest of that disgusting crow a
nd the potential threat she poses to your already fragile re-election, I feel it only beneficial to ask if you are educated at all in the subject of HDP.”
The Prime Minister looked blank, the expression louder than any words.
“Very well,” Andrew Herron continued. “HDP – Human Depletion Project, to give it its official title – is a military scheme, backed and financed by the government, who are in control of making sure that the world does not overpopulate.”
All eyes in the room locked on the Deputy Prime Minister as though he was a rogue heat-seeker.
“Did you know, Mr. Prime Minister, that for humanity to continue substantially existing as it is at present, then one third of the population must expire to prevent a drain on the planet’s resources?”
“I have heard similar theories. I’ve never really given them much thought.” He crossed his arms over his chest and placed his left foot on his right knee. “So tell me, what does HDP have to do with our current crisis?”
“To understand the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Prime Minister, first you must fully recognise the ecological and agricultural fibres of such a project. Human beings, you see, have far exceeded their sustainable population range on the planet. Earth is carrying an overloaded capacity. Soon, we will no longer be capable of functioning at the current rate.”
“None of this makes any sense.”
“Mr. Prime Minister, please,” Sean Page pleaded. “It’s vital you hear this.”
“Rob, may I be dreadfully bleak with you?” the Deputy Prime Minister asked, not giving his superior chance to answer. “One third of the human population needs to perish for civilisation to continue. It’s that simple. If the world’s population should double – triple even – by the end of the century, the outcome could lead to the extinction of humanity. Overpopulation is desperately spiralling out of control and our resources are being consumed quicker than Earth can replenish them. There are currently seven billion people on the planet right now. That figure is expected to rise to nine or even ten billion over the next twenty years.”
National Emergency Page 5
