Hater

by David Moody

  “Are you all right?” she asks again. “Why were you so long?”

  I run back to the car and grab the last few odds and ends that have fallen out of the rapidly disintegrating cardboard box. I push past her and throw the stuff into the kitchen.

  “Dad,” Ed whines, “can we have something to eat now? I’m starving . . .”

  I ignore all of them and concentrate on locking the door and making sure my home and my family are secure.

  “Move,” I grunt angrily at Ellis who is standing right in the middle of the hallway, stopping me from getting through.

  “What’s wrong?” Lizzie asks again from the other side of the kitchen table. When I don’t answer she starts to unpack some of the food. She looks at what I’ve brought home and screws up her face. “What did you get this for?” she says, holding up a jar of honey. “None of us likes honey.”

  All of the tension and fear that’s been building up inside me this morning suddenly comes rushing to the surface. It’s no one’s fault, I just can’t help myself.

  “I know no one likes it,” I shout, “no one likes any of this fucking stuff but it’s all I could get. You should go out there and see what it’s like. It’s madness out there. The whole bloody world is falling apart so don’t start getting on my case and telling me that no one fucking well likes honey.”

  Liz looks like I’ve punched her in the face. She’s gone white with shock. The kids are all in the kitchen with us now, staring at us both with wide, frightened eyes.

  “I just . . .” she starts to say.

  “I’m doing the best I can for us here,” I scream at her. “There are people fighting on the streets. I’ve just watched a kid beating some woman to death and no one lifted a finger to help her, me included. It’s fucking madness and I don’t know what to do anymore. The last thing I need is for you to start complaining and picking holes in what I’ve done when I feel like I’ve just risked my damn neck for you lot. I don’t ask much, just some space and a little gratitude and understanding and . . .”

  I stop shouting. Liz is trembling. She’s standing there, back pressed against the stove, and she’s shaking with fear. What the hell is wrong with her? I take a single step around the table to get closer to her and she recoils. She slides farther away from me, edging back toward the door. And then I realize what’s wrong. Jesus, she thinks I’ve changed. She thinks I’m one of them. She thinks I’m a Hater.

  “No, don’t . . .” I start to say, trying to move closer again, “Please, Lizzie . . .”

  She’s starting to sob. Her legs look like they’re about to give way. Don’t collapse on me, Liz, please don’t . . .

  “Stay back,” she says, her voice barely audible. “Don’t come any closer.”

  I try to speak but I can’t get the words out. Don’t do this to me. I shuffle nearer.

  “Stay back!” she screams again, sliding farther along the wall away from me. She reaches the door and starts to push the kids out of the kitchen. She doesn’t take her eyes off me.

  “No, Liz,” I say, desperate to make her understand, “please. I haven’t changed. Please believe me. I’m sorry I shouted. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  She stops moving away but she’s still unsure. I can see it in her eyes.

  “If you’re one of them I’ll . . .”

  “I’m not, Lizzie, I’m not. If I was one of them I’d have gone for you by now, wouldn’t I?” I cry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m starting to panic but I don’t want her to see. “Please, I’m not sick. I’m not like them. I’m calm. I was angry but I’m calm now, aren’t I? Please . . .”

  I can see that she’s thinking hard about what I’ve just said. The children are peering around the door, trying to see what’s happening. Inside I’m screaming but I force myself to stay level and not shout. My head is filled with all kinds of dark, terrifying thoughts. I just got angry, that’s all. I’m not a Hater, am I?

  “Okay,” she eventually mumbles, “but if you shout at me like that again I’ll . . .”

  “I won’t,” I interrupt. “I forgot myself. I didn’t think.”

  I still don’t know if she believes me. She’s looking at me out of the corner of her eye and it’s like she’s waiting for me to attack her. I’d never hurt her. I’m relieved when she moves back around to the box of food and continues unpacking it. Every couple of seconds she looks up. Every time I move I see her catch her breath and stop.

  “So what happened out there?” she asks, finally composed enough to be able to talk to me again. I don’t know where to start. Between us we try and feed the kids while I explain about the lines at the supermarket and what I saw at O’Shea’s. I tell her about the looting and about the girl attacking the woman and . . . and I realize again just how bad things have suddenly gotten.

  Ellis is snapping at my heels. She’s oblivious to the fact that anything’s wrong. That’s good, I decide. I’m glad. Now that she has her food she’s nagging at me to let her watch a DVD. I follow her into the living room. She fetches the film she wants from the cupboard and brings it over. I switch on the TV but stop before I put the DVD in the machine.

  “I turned that off about an hour ago,” Liz says. “Couldn’t stand watching any more of it. They keep showing the same thing again and again and again.”

  I sit cross-legged in front of the television and stare at the pictures that flash in front of me. Christ, things are really bad. I’ve seen a lot of bizarre stuff over the last few days but what I’m watching now scares the hell out of me. Now I fully realize how dire and serious the situation has quickly become. The news has gone. There are no more reports and no more presenters. All we’re left with is a continually repeated public information film. My stomach is churning with nerves again.

  “Stay in your homes,” a deep and reassuring male voice announces over stock footage and a series of simplistic graphic images, back at the beginning of the loop again. “Stay with your family. Stay away from people you don’t know . . .”

  I look up at Lizzie and she looks back at me and shrugs her shoulders.

  “It’s all just common-sense stuff. Nothing we haven’t already heard.”

  “Stay calm and don’t panic.”

  “What?” I protest. “Stay calm and don’t panic? Bloody hell, have they seen what’s happening out there?”

  “It gets better,” she says sarcastically. “Listen to the next bit.”

  “The authorities are working to bring the situation under control. Your assistance and cooperation are required to make sure this happens quickly and with as little disturbance as possible. Temporary controls and regulations are necessary to make this happen. Firstly, if you have to leave your home, you must carry some form of identification with you at all times. Secondly, with immediate effect an ongoing nighttime curfew is in place. You may not travel between dusk and dawn. Anyone found on the streets after dark will be dealt with appropriately . . .”

  Dealt with appropriately? Christ, what’s that supposed to mean? Are they going to start locking people up for being out at night?

  “Ensure that your home is secure. Prepare a safe room for you and your family to stay in. Ensure that the door to the safe room and all other access points can be secured and locked from the inside.”

  “What the hell is this?” I say under my breath.

  “Can you put my film on now please, Daddy?” Ellis moans impatiently.

  “If any of the people you are with should begin to act aggressively or out of character, you must isolate yourselves from them immediately. Lock yourself and the rest of the people with you in your safe room. Remove the affected person from your property if it is safe to do so without putting yourself at risk. Remember that this person may well be a family member, a loved one, or a close friend. They will be unable to control their actions and emotions. They will be violent and will show no remorse or understanding. It is vital that you protect yourself and those remaining with you.”

  “Can you see why I tur
ned it off?” Lizzie asks. “This kind of thing is just making it worse.”

  “I can’t believe this . . .” I stammer, lost for words. “I just can’t believe this . . .”

  “Think they know what’s going on now?”

  “I’m sure they do,” I answer. “They must have worked it out if they’re showing something like this. Someone must know what’s happening, and that makes things even worse, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it? Why?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “Because things must be pretty fucked-up if they’re still not telling us anything. It sounds to me like they’re trying to lock everybody down just to try and keep things under control, and what I’ve seen this morning makes me think that maybe things aren’t under control right now.”

  Lizzie frowns at me for swearing in front of Ellis. I turn back to the screen.

  “. . . first indication will be a sudden fit of rage and anger,” the disturbingly unemotional voice on the TV continues. “This rage will typically be directed at one person in particular. Remember that those affected may appear calm again once the initial outburst of anger and violence has passed. Continue to keep your distance. Regardless of who they are or what they say, these people are not in control of their actions. They will continue to pose a threat to you and your family . . .”

  Lizzie strides past me and snatches Ellis’s DVD from my hands. She shoves it into the machine and it starts to play.

  “That’s enough,” she snaps.

  “I was watching that . . .”

  “Will you go and get Dad?”

  My heart sinks. I don’t want to leave the apartment again but I know I don’t have any choice.

  “When do you want me to . . . ?” I begin before she interrupts.

  “Get him now,” she answers, nervously chewing her fingernails. “If you won’t go and get him I will.”

  The thought of Lizzie being alone out there is worse than the thought of going out myself. I have to do it.

  22

  THE LOBBY IS SILENT. I shut the door to the apartment behind me, lock it, and cautiously look around. I’ve told Liz to make a safe room like they said on TV and then to shut herself and the kids in it. The living room is the obvious place. She’s closed the curtains and they’ve turned the TV down low. From outside it looks like no one’s in.

  I open the front door and cringe as the usual loud creaking sound echoes around the insides of the empty building.

  “Is anyone there?” a voice hisses from the darkness upstairs. I freeze and try not to panic. What do I do? I want to keep moving and pretend I didn’t hear anything but I can’t. My family is in this building and I can’t leave them knowing that someone else is in here with them. It could be anyone. They could be waiting for me to leave so they can get to Lizzie and the kids. But why would they have shouted out like that? I let the door go and it creaks again as it swings shut. I take a few slow steps back into the shadows and, for a second, I think about going back into the apartment. I know that’s not going to achieve anything. I have to go out and get Harry at some point.

  “Who’s there?” I hiss back, cursing myself for my stupidity. I’m acting like a character in a bad horror movie. You’re supposed to run away from the monster, I tell myself, not move toward it.

  “Up here,” the voice answers. I look up toward the top of the staircase and the second-floor landing. There’s a face staring back at me from between the metal struts of the banister. It’s one of the men from the apartment on the top floor. I don’t know whether it’s Gary or Chris. I start to cautiously climb the stairs. I’m almost on the landing when the steps beneath my feet become tacky. The floor’s covered in sticky puddles of blood. The man from the apartment is lying on the ground in front of me, clutching his chest. He grunts and rolls over onto his back. His jeans and T-shirt are soaked through with blood. He turns his head to one side and manages to acknowledge me. He relaxes, relieved that someone’s finally with him I suppose. He’s in a real mess and I don’t know where to start. Is there anything I can do for him or am I too late?

  “Thanks, mate,” he gasps, propping himself up onto his elbows. “I’ve been stuck here for hours. I heard someone come in a while back and I was trying to get . . .” He stops speaking and collapses and lies flat on his back again. The effort is too much. His voice gurgles and rasps. There must be blood in his throat. What am I supposed to do? Christ, I haven’t got a clue how to try and help him.

  “Do you want me to try and get you back upstairs?” I ask uselessly. He shakes his head and swallows to clear his throat.

  “No point,” he groans as he tries to prop himself up again. I put my hand on his shoulder to keep him still. “I want a drink,” he says. “Can you go up to the apartment and get me a beer?”

  His eyes flutter for a second and I wonder if he’s about to go. I get up quickly and climb the stairs to the top floor apartment he shares with the other man. I follow a snail trail of dry blood along the hallway and into the living room of the apartment which is otherwise surprisingly clean and well-kept. Don’t know why I expected anything else really. There’s an upturned table in the middle of the room and next to it a smashed lamp. There’s a video camera on a tripod next to a computer and a wide-screen TV. Looks like they enjoyed filming themselves here. There’s an expensive looking leather sofa and . . . and I realize that I’m standing here checking out the apartment while one of its occupants lies dying at the bottom of the stairs. Forcing myself to move I go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of beer from the well-stocked fridge. I open it and run back down to the man on the second-floor landing.

  “Here you go,” I say as I hold the bottle up to his mouth. I’m not sure how much he manages to swallow. Most of it seems to run down his chin. When I move the bottle away I see that its neck is covered in blood from his lips. What am I supposed to do now? I try to move him but it’s no good. He moans with pain whenever I touch him. This poor bastard is dying as I’m watching and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help him. There’s no point asking who did this to him or if there’s anyone I can try and contact—the sudden exit of his lover / friend / business partner early this morning was a clear enough admission of guilt. I feel terrible as I stand next to him, trying to think of an excuse to leave as he lies dying at my feet. But what else can I do?

  “I’ll go and get help,” I say quietly, crouching down closer to him again, taking care not to get any of his blood on me. “I’ll go and find someone who’ll be able to help you.”

  He licks his bloodstained lips, swallows, and shakes his head.

  “Too late now,” he wheezes. Every move this poor bastard makes is taking masses of effort and causing him huge amounts of pain. I wish he’d just shut up and lie still but he won’t. He has something more to say. Exhausted, he turns his head toward me again and stares straight into my face.

  “Just keep still and . . .” I start to say.

  “I tried to get him,” he says breathlessly. “Fucker had a knife on him just in case. He got me first.”

  “What?”

  “I tried to get him but he was ready for me . . .”

  “What are you saying? Did he attack you? Was he a Hater?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You see everything so clearly when it happens to you. I had to kill him. It was him or me. I had to kill him before . . .”

  I stand up and start to move away. Jesus Christ, is this the Hater? He’s the one who started the trouble we heard last night. He’s the one who lost control. Christ, I’m standing here wasting my time on a fucking Hater.

  He licks his bloody lips again and swallows once more.

  “It’s them, mate,” he mumbles, “not us. They’re the ones who hate. Get yourself ready . . .”

  I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about now and I don’t want to hear any more. I need to get away from this sick piece of filth. I turn my back on him and run downstairs, safe in the knowledge that there’s no way he�
��ll be able to reach my family in the condition he’s in. I think about finishing him off but that would make me as bad as them and I doubt whether I’d even be able to do it. I glance back and take one last look at the scum on the landing. He hasn’t got long left. He’ll be dead by the time I get back and it won’t be a moment too soon.

  I run out to the car and start the engine.

  23

  I CAN USUALLY GET from the flat to Harry’s house in around fifteen minutes but it took almost an hour to get here today. There’s still not a huge amount of traffic but some roads are inaccessible. Some are backed-up with slow moving lines, others have just been blocked off.

  Harry’s pretty shaken up like the rest of us although he won’t admit it. He’s subdued and much quieter than usual. Liz phoned him and told him I was coming to get him but he hasn’t got anything ready. I’m upstairs with him now, helping him pack an overnight bag. He seems lost and helpless like a little kid. He keeps asking me questions he knows I can’t answer. How long will I be away? What do I need to take? Will we be safe at your place?

  Harry’s house is quiet and dark. It’s rare that I ever go upstairs. The place is small but it’s still far too big for him alone. The rooms that Liz and her sister used to sleep in have been left untouched since they moved out and one side of Harry’s bedroom is a shrine to Sheila, his late wife. She’s been dead for three years but there are still more of her things in the bedroom than Harry’s. The whole house is full of clutter. Old guy never throws anything out. He just can’t let go.

  I wanted to be in and out of here in minutes but Harry’s delaying things again. I need to get back to Lizzie and the kids but I’m standing here watching him check that everything’s switched off and then check that he’s checked everything. I want to tell him that I don’t think it matters anymore but that’s only going to make things worse so I just humor him and try to hurry him along. My head is spinning. I really need to talk about what’s happening but Harry’s not the person I want to talk to. I don’t know who is. I need to talk about the half-dead man on the landing and about what I saw in the convenience store this morning. I can’t get the image of the kid beating her mother out of my head. Could one of our kids attack Lizzie like that? Could that be happening right now while I’m standing here wasting my time with this stupid old man? I bite my lip and try and stay calm. I can’t show any emotion. I don’t want Harry thinking I’m a Hater.