This Broken Land

by H M Sealey

  Then the rain just stopped and nobody knows why. There are lots of theories – mainly global warming – but it’s only the British climate that changed, not America, Russia, Asia or Africa. Just us.

  It’s a warm day and I walk slowly, enjoying the peace of our little village after the noise of the bigger town. Sometimes I cycle home, but it’s only four miles and I enjoy the time alone in my head. There are no buses here any more, and far fewer cars than I remember from childhood. Dai says every family used to own a car back then, but that was when oil was cheap and plentiful. Before the refineries became targets and oil production slowed down.

  While I walk I don’t look at my phone, I don’t check social media or the newsfeed. I just look at the plants, at the occasional rabbit and squirrel, and I enjoy recharging my tired brain.

  I reach the fields that back onto my house and I stop abruptly and stare. This was a field of half-grown corn this morning, now it’s a churned up mess. There’s been a raid. I can see tyre-marks running straight through the crops, military vehicles with wide tyres and deep treads. Nobody but the Wolves would care so little for a field of corn.

  My heart starts to pound inside my chest and I begin to run. The Wolves are killers, raiders, they’re heavily armed and take everything they find. There haven’t been raids along the border for eight months. The PM promised us more police but what good are policemen against thugs with kalashnikovs? It’s okay for the government in their cosy offices on Anglesey. Anglesey is about as far away from the border as possible – which is why they chose to build New Whitehall there. Plas Gwyn they call it, since Wales is the safest part of Britain it made sense to relocate parliament.

  London used to be the capital city, years ago, but London is on the other side of the border now, and the Londoners who didn’t want to live in the British State of Islam had to go somewhere.

  There are bullet holes in the walls and broken windows. Doors have been forced off their hinges and there are random, scattered possessions everywhere, like snow, crockery, ornaments, clothing and squashed food mixed into the rubble where walls have been smashed into with the heavy vehicles.

  I race into the village to find a team from British Security are already here. So are the ambulances, three of them, their blue lights are flashing, and people stand in little, worried clusters all around watching proceedings. I hover in the middle of my lazy, happy village and stare around in mild panic. There are bloodstains on the road; it’ll take a lot of scrubbing to remove those, now there’s no rain to wash them away.

  “Elsie!” Gran peels away from her friends and opens her arms towards me. “Oh Elsie, come here my love.”

  I run to her familiar smelling embrace and hug her tight, grateful for her presence.

  “What’s going on Gran?”

  “It’s okay, nothing terrible.” Gran’s fingers stroke my hair; she’s trembling.

  “Nothing terrible? Was it Wolves? Is anyone hurt?”

  “A – a few injuries. Nothing much.” She manages a watery smile. “Nothing to really bother the security chaps with.”

  “But there are bloodstains on the road.”

  “It wasn’t much.” Gran repeats herself. “We can soldier on, stiff upper lip and all that. Come on, I’ll make you some soup.”

  “The field’s totally destroyed. All that corn.” Fresh food is expensive; the loss of a whole field is heartbreaking.

  “Now don’t you worry about that love.”

  “Did they take a lot?”

  “Oh, you know, bits and bobs.” Gran’s eyes pass over my head and pause on two uniformed members of the security team who are deep in conversation with the local police. “Nothing to make a big old fuss about.”

  I look back into the road. This won’t be on the newsfeed tomorrow, raids are always downplayed these days. They’re shrugged off. Unless they affect anyone important. But no-one important lives so near the border.

  “No, that isn’t good enough!” Howard Steele pushes past one of the police officers and advances on the security team. “None of this is good enough! It’s not just a minor event. My fiancée is missing! They took her just like they always take people, you lot just pretend it doesn’t matter!”

  I freeze in Gran’s arms. I don’t like Howie Steele very much, but he’s Missy’s boyfriend so I’ve got used to sharing her with him.

  “Missy’s missing?” She can’t be missing. I look at Gran who shakes her head. I know what that means, it means not to kick up a fuss. Gran hates fuss. She didn’t even make a fuss when she broke her arm, she just carried on. She doesn’t rock the boat, not ever. Even when Grampy Jack died she barely changed her routine, just carried on with a slightly tidier house and fewer newspapers.

  “Hush dear, we don’t know Missy’s missing. People come and go all the time.” Gran tries to steer me away from Howie and the security team.

  “You know damn well they took her!” Howie’s a PHD student, he wears thick glasses and his thin, fair hair is already receding, but Missy sees something in him nobody else can; maybe that’s what love is, seeing a secret part of someone that’s hidden from every other person. I wonder if anyone will ever see a secret part of me.

  “Everyone knows where the wolves come from and where they go! They take people all the time and everyone’s too scared to say anything!”

  One of the security team, a thin woman with a sour expression and short, fair hair, looks at Howie with obvious hostility.

  “Did you want to report a missing person?” Her voice is like ice. She clearly has no wish to file any sort of report. Security teams like to get things cleared up as soon as possible. An abducted person will elevate this whole incident to another level.

  “Misaki Hisakawa.” Howie enunciates Missy’s name clearly. “They took her.”

  “Are you sure? Do you have proof or just suspect?”

  Howie rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “It’s what they do.”

  The security officer takes out a book and begins to scribble the details onto a form. The internet’s not good around here and we have regular power outages; paper and pens made a comeback a few years ago, they’re retro, cool. The kids at school were getting way too used to Tablets and computers anyway. I’m glad NuTru campaigned so hard for old-fashioned writing implements and I don’t for a moment believe it’s because NuTru can’t sort out our lack of electricity.

  “Until there’s been an investigation, we can’t possibly say what the perpetrators do.”

  “For heaven’s sake! We know who they are and we know why they come!”

  The security officer catches Howie in a pair of unpleasant, steel grey eyes. “Speculation. Not all raiding parties want the same thing or come for the same thing. It’s quite possible they were just hungry.”

  “They have more food over the border than we do. It’s not food they come for.”

  Missy can’t be gone. She just can’t. We grew up together. Dai will be devastated! He’s hugely protective of little sister; he watches Howie the same way a vulture watches a mouse, daring it to step out of line.

  “Have you looked for your friend?” The security Officer asks coldly. I see she has a name-badge sewn onto the navy blue of her shirt. Celia Shaw. She sounds bored.

  “Of course I’ve looked for her!” Howie’s fingers twitch. He does that when he’s angry. He twitches when someone misuses grammar so I have no idea how badly he’ll react to someone abducting his girlfriend. “They took her. I saw them take her!”

  I notice suddenly how dishevelled he looks; his shirt is filthy and there’s a bruise forming above his eye.

  “You saw them?”

  “One of them knocked me in the head with his gun.”

  He’s lucky; the wolves don’t often leave the men alive. It’s why everyone hides when they come; we don’t give them the opportunity to be accused of murder. It’s like telling a girl not to wear a short skirt. If men confront the wolves they’ll have their throats slit. So men learn not to confront th
e wolves.

  “Hmm. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I don’t want to see a blasted doctor! I want Missy back. I want you and your inept team to get your arses over the border and bring her back!”

  “Mr - ?”

  “Steele.”

  “Mr. Steele. We have absolutely no way of knowing whether these wolves came from the BSI.”

  “They were driving a bloody Jeep with a BSI numberplate!”

  “That doesn’t mean they were BSI citizens. We can’t just accuse our friends over the border of this. They find it insulting.”

  “And you’re terrified of insulting them aren’t you? Just in case they come and do more things like this! Ugh, you people make me sick. Everyone knows they come over here, take any women they can find and sell them in those ghastly slave-markets over there. And you don’t do a bloody thing because you’re scared. It’s all over the internet! They don’t bother to hide what they do!”

  A nasty, cold prickle begins between my shoulderblades and runs down my back. Howie could get into terrible trouble talking like this to the security forces. We all know about the Wolves, but we have to pretend we don’t. We have to blink in surprise and ask questions like who could have done this? And what do you suppose they wanted? We know what the Wolves want, because they tell us. They tell us on leaflets, on YouTube videos and sometimes in person. They want a single, British State of Islam. One that comprises the whole country.

  But as long as the authorities over in the BSI hold up their hands in horror and pretend that the Wolves are nothing to do with them, we have to smile and pretend to believe them.

  “So, Misaki Hisakawa? Does she have any family?”

  “Just her brother, Daichi. He lives in Suttonchurch.”

  “And she’s not with him?”

  “Of course she isn’t! Now stop pissing around and get people after her! Once they take her over the border she won’t stand a chance!”

  I don’t think our agreement with the BSI allows us to operate on their soil. We can’t extradite criminals like they can and we can’t search for missing people. The BSI claims they do everything to help in these cases, but too many people are still missing.

  I don’t think I can bear it if Missy – my Missy – becomes another statistic.

  Celia Shaw scowls at Howie. “You can give me the details and I’ll pass them on.” She looks thoroughly pissed. “But these things happen occasionally. We can’t make too big a deal of it.”

  Howie throws back his head and gives a peel of cynical laughter.

  “These things? If these things were happening over at Plas Gwyn you’d be mobilising the army! No, wait, you disbanded the army. That was clever since the only thing the Wolves respond to is force. How much longer are we going to make excuses for what’s going on? Good God, we can’t even refine oil any more because they were blowing the refineries to Kingdom come every five minutes. Nobody’s fooled when you say closing those places was because you care about the environment. You’re bloody scared, you useless excuses for human beings!”

  Celia Shaw turns her tablet off and pushes it into her bag. Then she takes a step towards Howie.

  “One more word,” Her tone becomes acidic. “Just one more, and I’ll have you arrested and charged for Hate Speech!”

  “Hate speech? What’ve I said that’s hateful?”

  Celia glowers and two of her team join her, smart blue uniforms making them look like faceless clones rather than men.

  “You’re kidding right? You’ve fired off a dozen groundless accusations about our good friends over the border and now you’re accusing your own government of ulterior motives.”

  “I said you were scared of those Muslim bastards and I stand by that.”

  A ripple of horror passes through the whole village, I can feel it, a pulse of fearful energy. Nobody, nobody puts the word Muslim in any sort of negative context. It’s the word that must never be spoken. Like the N word in America for African Americans.

  For an instant I remember Adelaide Blackwood’s face, twisted with pain. We all know better than to break the law though, however we feel.

  “Mr. Steele, I’m arresting you for use of hate speech and racism. You do not have to say anything -”

  Celia’s already reaching for her gun but Howie, to my amazement, shoves past her and begins to run. We all watch in utter shock as he heads along Church Lane, followed by the two male security officers. Howie’s thin limbs move remarkably fast; I feel Gran’s arms tighten around me, tense. They don’t loosen until one of the men, panting, returns to Celia and takes out a phone.

  “He’s disappeared into the woods. D’you want to get a team after him?”

  Celia tears off the page she was writing, the one with Missy’s details on it, screws it up, and shoves it in her pocket. Then she starts a clean form.

  “Damn right I do. I didn’t think people like that still existed. Must spawn them out here in this backwater. We’ll have him by tomorrow morning.”

  Gran pulls me away, towards home. I frown. If she can send people to find Howie, why can’t she send them to find Missy?

  “Come on Elsie, let’s find some dinner shall we, you must be starving.”

  I’m not starving at all, in fact I feel nauseated. Gran’s arm doesn’t leave my shoulder, not until we pass the rubble that used to be St. Mary’s church and reach our house. I gaze at the brown grass and flower covered rubble and I half remember when St. Mary’s was a marble building with a tall bell tower and a clock that looked out over the village. When I was five it celebrated its six-hundred year anniversary and there was a big summer fayre in the grounds with jugglers and ice-creams.

  They destroyed or decommissioned all the churches close to the BSI border a few years ago. NuTru thought there was no point in offering blatant provocation. I understand the reasoning but I still wince when I think of all those years of history, just wiped out. Even if it was the bad sort of history.

  “Now, soup or a sandwich Elsie.? You sit down. With your job and all that walking, it’s no wonder you’re as thin as a rail.” Gran only serves real food, so there’s never all that much. There are always those plastic wrapped, synthetic cakes and dried up processed meats in the shop, but Gran thinks they’re full of mind-altering chemicals and she won’t buy them. Any spare money she has goes on bottled water, so she can grow real vegetables in our garden.

  “Um, anything thanks.”

  I flop down on the sofa and bury my face in my hands. I’ve started to tremble.

  “Did the wolves really take Missy?” If they did, we’ll never see her again.

  “Who knows dear.”

  “Howie said he saw them.”

  “Nobody can really say what happened. It was all too quick.” Gran calls from the kitchen. “I think it’ll have to be a sandwich, the power’s still down.”

  I pull out my phone and scroll until I find Missy’s number. The battery’s low; I’d better not waste what’s left, sometimes it takes them a long time to restore the electricity after a raid. I reach for the charger and plug it in anyway, in case the power comes back on during the night.

  Missy’s phone rings for a while, before it switches to answerphone and I hear my best friend’s voice cheerfully ask the caller to leave a message.

  I kick my shoes off and curl up on the squishy, green sofa, still disturbed by everything I’ve witnessed today. Gran lives far enough away from the centre of Kings-Heath for the sirens and the voices to be silent, and for there to be nothing but silence outside. I sink into that silence gratefully and close my eyes. In the kitchen I hear the sound of cupboards opening, packets rustling and the breadknife sawing though the home-made bread Gran favours. Gentle, familiar sounds of family life. I breathe them in like fresh air.

  Opening my eyes I pull my phone towards me and text Dai. Nobody else will tell him about Missy, but I choose my words with caution. I don’t want to upset him needlessly. When the Wolves come, a lot of the women and children head for t
he woods; it might be that she’s there. It usually takes about twenty-four hours to ascertain if anyone’s been taken. The police won’t investigate for forty-eight hours unless there’s a witness to the abduction. Which there is. Howie.

  “If Howie saw them take Missy, why aren’t security more interested?”

  It’s rare there are ever actual witnesses. Nothing is ever done about the raids because there aren’t any witnesses. NuTru issued a leaflet about keeping out heads down and not confronting the Wolves. There’s no chance of compensation if we confront them.

  Gran emerges from the kitchen with a fat sandwich on a plate. “No idea. I’m sure they have their reasons.”

  “I suppose.”

  Gran kisses the top of my head. “Let’s just be glad Howie wasn’t killed.”

  “But he saw them. He should be giving a statement, not running away from security. It’s all so unfair.”

  “Life’s unfair Elsie. I used to tell your mother that forty years ago.”

  I take hold of my sandwich and bring the soft, fresh bread to my mouth. I’m not very hungry but I need all the nutrients I can get.

  “Now you eat that up. I’m going to pop out and see if Sue needs some help clearing up. They smashed the pub to smithereens.”

  I nod before turning my phone off to preserve what’s left of the battery. The Queen’s Head is a lovely, old-fashioned pub with oak beams and horse brasses run by the sweetest elderly couple in the world. I hope they weren’t hurt.

  I finish my sandwich and take a quick wash with my water ration. The water’s cold but it’s been a warm day so I wrap myself in my fluffy dressing down and slip outside. Gran’s garden is a pretty tangle of flowers and vegetables. Most of the plants are succulents, puffy, fat-leafed friends that thrive in the dry soil. Gran doesn’t waste a lot of her water on plants we can’t eat.