2040 Revelations
Page 21
Struggling back to the bar, he downed the rest of his drink, slammed the empty bottle down on the counter and put on his jacket. Not bothering to say goodbye to anyone he ambled out into the street, stepped between two parked cars and fell into step with the marchers.
‘Where are you heading?’ he shouted to a man walking next to him.
‘Parliament Square!’
‘I didn’t think you were allowed to protest outside Parliament these days,’ Mark said, as he dodged the wing mirror of a parked van.
‘You’re not, but what kind of a democracy prevents you from protesting when and where you want?’
‘A shit one!’ Mark said angrily.
‘You got that right.’ The man held his hand up for a high five, which Mark duly delivered with a resounding smack.
‘Protesting never does much good though,’ Mark told him. ‘The bastards just ignore you and do what they want anyway. The people don’t matter, only the corporations matter these days.’
‘It depends on the sort of protest you do,’ the man said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we’re into affirmative action, not this pussy footing about shouting and waving banners.’
‘Isn’t that what you’re doing now?’ Mark said.
‘Now, yes, but when we get to where we want to be, it’s going be a whole different story.’
‘Affirmative action? What, violence?’
‘What other type is there? Violence is the only way to get noticed or to get anything done. It worked for Nelson Mandela and the ANC in the name of freedom and it also worked in Northern Ireland. Christ, Nelson Mandela is hailed all over the world and at one time he was deemed one of the biggest terrorists going. There’s even a statue of him in Parliament Square, you’ll see it soon if you stick with us.’
Mark considered the man next to him. He had a dirty, unshaven face with multiple piercings, and tattoos all over; a typical anarchist type. But then what he said made sense and he was all for affirmative action. Yes, violence was the key to change. He liked the sound of it. ‘You can count me in!’ he yelled as the chanting swelled again.
The man grinned and gave him the thumbs up as he joined in with the crowd once more.
After twenty minutes the protestors had merged with many others who had prearranged a route on the way to the square. Usually the police would have blocked off their entry using an illegal but effective technique called kettling. This tactic essentially hemmed crowds of people in to a specific area and then held them there for hours and hours until they had burnt themselves out.
The Met had used the tactic for decades, while breaking their own laws in the process, but no one in the establishment cared much as long as the protesters couldn’t put pressure on the politicians in their ivory towers.
These days, however, the ever-present shadow of Impact Day had stretched police resources to the limit. Combine that with the major cuts in government budgets due to the never ending deficit and it seemed the protestors had chosen the right day to voice their opinions. The military would be out to enforce curfew, but that was still some time away and it enabled the protest to go unchallenged, for now anyway.
More and more people filtered into Parliament Square where at last a sizeable police presence had gathered, ensuring access to the Palace of Westminster itself was completely barred. Mark glanced back to see fresh reinforcements of police moving in behind them, preventing their escape; the kettling had begun. Mark already needed to relieve himself, but he knew the police wouldn’t allow anyone out regardless of their plight.
Darkness descended as the sun went down, and Mark’s new friend had disappeared somewhere. Looking about for a place to drain the lizard, he was pushed hard from behind and staggered into the people in front of him. The crowd compressed, its cohesion buckling as the police moved in to segregate the masses, enabling them to prevent any kind of unified resistance or breakaway. Mark had seen this tactic many times on TV; its use meant that protests were easily broken down and dispersed as the police saw fit. A sudden horn blast sounded off to one side followed by three more all around them. Cheers went up and people slid their placards down their support shafts, turning them into shields. Many also pulled out small visors and large flick extension sticks which they’d had concealed inside their jackets. Peaceful protestors had now transformed themselves into a makeshift army with equipment rivalling the riot gear used by the police themselves. The majority of the constabulary, however, weren’t riot ready; most wore standard uniforms and were armed only with their small batons.
The horns sounded again and various people in the crowd shouted out orders for people to converge and move into a specific formation. Jostled and shoved from place to place, Mark struggled to keep his feet as the protestors positioned themselves according to the ringleader’s instructions. Grim faces surrounded him; feeling vulnerable, Mark snatched a wicked looking stick from someone as they pushed past him. The crowd heaved once more as the police tried to manoeuvre them further, mounted officers using their horses to corral the dissidents like a herd of cattle.
A megaphone rang out behind them. ‘Shields up!’ came the order and as one the protestors’ makeshift banner shields were presented to the police, forming a solid, impenetrable wall. ‘Advance!’ came the cry from the megaphone and the protestors slowly moved forwards.
Mark eyed the front line of the police, who struggled to maintain their ground as the organised anarchists exerted pressure on them. The megaphone rattled out instructions and then settled into a chant. ‘Push! Push! Push!’
The protestors continued their advance and the police line bowed ominously and then finally broke. The crowd roared and surged forwards, hurling the enemy aside, trampling many underfoot. Mark, swept along with them, managed to get in a lucky strike on a policewoman as she knelt dazed on the ground. Struck hard on the temple, she went down without a sound. Mark’s blood was pumping and the people around him broke apart as they entered an empty street and picked up speed. Shop windows were shattered and smashed, and cars overturned; mayhem raged on the streets of London as one hundred thousand men and women baying for blood erupted into Regent Street.
Mark launched himself at windows, swinging his pole with all his might as bystanders fled into buildings to escape the carnage that had suddenly engulfed them. He neared the front of the protesters now and raised his arm in the air, roaring his comrades forwards. They rounded a corner and were brought up short by the sight before them: a military blockade made up of armoured vehicles and soldiers.
A brief moment passed as the two sides eyed each other and then a bellow of defiance echoed from the howling mass, they raised their weapons and threw themselves forwards once more, shields raised.
Time slowed down for Mark as he charged at the people blocking his way. He was thirty paces away and then twenty. The soldiers in the blockade raised their rifles, taking aim. Mark saw one gun aiming straight at him; he slowed as realisation hit him as to what was about to happen, but it was too late – a flash of fire and a deafening crack of gunfire blasted out and he fell backwards, knocked from his feet.
As he lay on the ground, Mark felt the pole slip from his hand as screams of terror surrounded him. A terrible pain lanced through his stomach and he cried out for someone to help him. He was unable to move even though he dearly wanted to, as he heard the sound of a large mechanical clanking getting nearer and nearer. He looked up to see the street lights becoming obscured as a massive tank track crushed down upon him.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Becca,’ a voice said from behind, making her turn. Julie stood nearby, beckoning her over. Standing up, Rebecca moved away from the slumbering Joseph to speak with her friend.
‘What is it?’ she said, noticing that Julie looked very worried again.
‘Some of the girls have gone to the church round the corner,’ Julie told her.
Rebecca gasped. ‘What?! What are they thinking? The curfew is coming up.’
‘How long since they went?’
‘A few minutes.’
Rebecca swore. She led Julie out of the door into the hall. ‘I’m going to go and see if I convince them to come back; their patients need them now more than ever and if they’re out after curfew they’ll be stuck there. What is that woman thinking?’ she said, referring to Maria.
‘I don’t think she was. She’s scared, Becca. We all are, aren’t you?’
‘Of course, but I don’t matter,’ Rebecca said as Julie held out her coat for her. ‘Joseph and the others do, and we have to be here for them no matter what.’ She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the coat tight about her as a chill embittered the air; darkness had already arrived.
Julie unbolted and deactivated the electric security lock on the side door located near to Rebecca’s apartment. Rebecca opened the door and turned to Julie. ‘Look after Joseph for me, will you? If he wakes, tell him I’m cooking dinner and I’ll be back shortly.’
‘I will, he’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you walking around out there on your own.’
‘Don’t be,’ Rebecca said confidently. ‘It’s only a short walk. I’ll be back soon.’ She gave her friend a quick hug and set off into the night. Julie went back inside, the door shutting and then locking behind her. Rebecca looked up at the stars. It wouldn’t be long until they would be stripped from the sky as the dust cloud raced across the Atlantic Ocean towards the Americas. No Sun, Moon or stars; a frightening prospect. She imagined the sheer terror those people in remote locations would feel as their world turned upside down in less than a few hours.
The GMRC’s education programme had its limitations, even in 2040. Aboriginal tribes surviving deep in the remotest forests had little to no contact with the outside world. They wouldn’t understand what was happening any more than the animals they lived alongside. They’d only know that the light had gone, the animals died and the plants withered. Efforts by the GMRC had been made to reach these types of people, but looking for them had been deemed too time-consuming and a poor use of funds, given the mountain of work they had to address in so many other areas. No, those poor people would be alone and very vulnerable. Predictions indicated many in the north of Africa might also perish due to ongoing mundane issues such as famine, poverty and disease, which made them more susceptible to the side effects of the meteorite’s arrival.
Rebecca hurried along the sidewalk, then ran across the road and onto the other side. Few people ventured out at this time and those that did moved quickly along, heads down, occupied with their own thoughts as the curfew loomed.
She checked her phone; one hour to go. Damn that woman!
Turning a corner, she saw the church in the distance. It was lit up by floodlights, an illuminated sign sitting near the outermost border of its large front lawn. As she drew closer a National Guard vehicle cruised past down the empty street, the sound of its petrol engine unusually loud compared to the noise made by civilian electric cars.
Rebecca followed an old man and his wife into the church, holding the door open for another man who was close behind her. He thanked her and moved past to take a seat towards the front of the congregation, of which there were surprisingly many; it seemed quite a few people had been drawn to the church that evening.
She noticed a board to her right which read:
IMPACT DAY SERVICE
ALL WELCOME
CURFEW BEDS AVAILABLE
That was why so many people had gathered, they didn’t have to get back before the streets became off limits. Rolls of bedding and sleeping bags lined the rear of the church and tables were laid out with water jugs, glasses and mugs. Rebecca looked about to see if she could locate Maria and the other carers who had gone with her. She spotted them two rows from the back in the middle of a long pew. Rebecca squeezed past some other parishioners as she made her way along to her quarry.
‘What are you doing?’ Rebecca said angrily to Maria and her cohorts. Luckily any sermons had yet to begin and the general murmuring of the waiting crowd helped to cover their conversation.
‘What does it look like we’re doing?’ Maria said sarcastically.
‘You do know you have people to look after back at the home, don’t you? They’re relying on you during this terrible time and you’ve left them behind!’
The other two women looked suitably guilty, but Maria remained as defiant as ever. ‘We’re allowed a break, aren’t we? Anyway, who died and made you in charge?’
Rebecca gave her a withering look just as a muffled noise came over the speakers in the hall. Rebecca looked up to see a portly, middle-aged man at the microphone.
‘We’re very sorry, ladies and gentlemen. A small electrical fire has broken out in one of the back rooms and we’re going to have to evacuate the building as a precautionary measure. If you would like to make your way slowly outside we will wait for a firefighter to give us the all clear to come back in; once they get here, that is. Thank you.’
Chairs ground backwards on wooden floorboards and people stood and began streaming out of the church and into the grounds outside. Rebecca and the others were amongst some of the first out, given they’d been at the rear of the hall.
People chatted animatedly to one another as the area in front of the church filled up with a thousand people, the unexpected disturbance adding fuel to the stressful situation they’d all been trying to flee.
After a while a fire truck turned up, horns blaring and red lights flashing, the beams bouncing off the buildings and trees around them. Everyone had vacated the church now, but as Rebecca looked on wisps of smoke drifted up into the night sky from the rear of the building. The firefighters, clad in their gear, shouted instructions and moved the crowd of people into the street and surrounding area.
People had come out of their houses to see what was going on, and a couple of police cars arrived on the scene as fire rose above the church, tongues of orange and red flame licking up against the bell tower. More and more people gathered as another fire truck arrived, utilising short honking blasts to help dispel the people who milled about in its path. The fire crews unfurled their hoses in double quick time and began dousing the flames, which now raged through the building and the house next door.
A discordant chirruping all around them made people look to their computer phones.
Rebecca withdrew hers, but she already knew what it said. Curfew was now in effect.
As the fire raged, more police cars turned up and another fire truck. At the edge of the area a patrol of armoured National Guard vehicles also arrived at the now chaotic scene.
Loudspeakers rang out. ‘This is the National Guard citizens are to proceed to their homes immediately!’
Some people shouted back at them. ‘We were here to stay the night, we live too far away!’
‘We have nowhere else to go!’
‘We won’t be able to get back home, there are no more buses!’
‘Curfew is in effect,’ came the response from the megaphone. ‘Please disperse or we will be forced to detain you!’
Rebecca and the carers were buffeted as the scene turned ugly; troops had started breaking up groups of people as they sought to assert control. The police tried to calm the situation down. Some officers argued with the National Guard commander on behalf of the displaced church goers and local residents who had come out of their houses; the firefighters had evacuated many in fear of a gas explosion.
A soldier stood nervously off to one side on the back of one the National Guard’s flatbed trucks, armed with a large machine gun mounted on a tripod. As a matter of course, he had his weapon trained on the crowd, as he’d been taught. Unbeknownst even to himself his finger had strayed onto the trigger and at that moment a big explosion from behind the church lit up the night sky. The violent noise and resulting fireball made the soldier flinch and the trigger
compressed. In the blink of an eye gunfire burst into the crowd. People fell and screams resounded all around as everyone ran in all directions.
Terrified, Rebecca grabbed one of the girls who had been with Maria and sprinted for cover. Looking around from relative safety Rebecca saw bodies lying on the ground. One moved weakly. Steeling herself, she ran back into the now deserted road and hunkered down over a little girl; blood seeped out from a gunshot wound in the centre of her chest. The infant looked into Rebecca’s eyes, small hand gripping her fingers. As a soft groan escaped through her parted lips, the light faded from the child’s eyes and the fingers that had grasped Rebecca’s own went limp.
The crowd was gathering once more and building in greater numbers. Outrage surged through them as they turned on the National Guard, who had struck down innocents in cold blood. Unprepared for the backlash the soldiers, reluctant to fire at civilians, were quickly overcome and then the rioting began.
It took half an hour for Rebecca, Maria and the two young carers to make their way back to the home. Cars and buildings burned, set alight during the carnage that had ensued.
Inside, they bolted the doors and Julie came to meet them. ‘What’s happening out there? It sounds like Armageddon!’
Rebecca was still in shock and she just shook her head, trying to dispel the sight of the young child who had died in her arms. Tears rolled down her cheeks and Julie took her into her apartment to help her get cleaned up. After a few minutes Julie went out of the room and brought Joseph back with her. Seeing Rebecca’s distress, he sat down next to her and cuddled into her. She fought back more tears as she stroked his hair, the familiar sensation comforting in its regularity.
The rioting in the streets still raged and Julie turned on the TV to see what the local news had to report about it all.
Helicopter footage showed the extent of the problem faced by the National Guard and police force.