Hater

by David Moody

  “There’s not much to see,” I tell them all unhelpfully as I turn back around and crouch down again, “just trees on that side.” The rain is torrential and I have to shout to make myself heard. The sound of the water hitting the tight cover above us is relentless. The noise combines with the lack of any strong light to increase my disorientation. I can’t stand this. I wonder again whether I should just take my chances and make a run for it? What have I got to lose when I’ve already lost just about everything? I don’t know what other options I have left. Things look increasingly bleak. Do I just sit here and wait for whatever they have planned for us to happen or do I take control of my destiny now and try to escape? The little of the forest I’ve been able to see so far looks pretty deep and uninviting. We seem to be right out in the middle of nowhere and there’s no way they’d be able to follow me into the trees in these trucks. They’ll either shoot me in the back as I’m running or I’ll manage to get away. It has to be worth taking a chance. My mind starts to fill with images of getting back home and finding Ellis again and the decision is made. First chance I get I’ll go for it. Christ knows where I’ll run to, but anywhere will be better than here. Do I tell any of the others what I’m planning? Do I stand more chance running with them or on my own? My instincts tell me to leave them and look after myself, but what about the rest of them? What about Karin and Nancy and Patrick? Surely the more people who run, the better our chances are of getting away . . . ?

  My stupid plans come crashing down around me as the flap at the back of the vehicle is thrown open by two rain-soaked soldiers. One of them ties the tarpaulin up, the other points the rifle into the truck. The reality of what’s happening suddenly hits home again now that I’m back looking down the barrel of another gun. The plans I’d been seriously considering seconds earlier now seem stupid. More than ever I want to fight but to run now would be suicidal.

  “Out!” the soldier with the rifle barks at us. “Get out now!”

  Those nearest the back of the truck immediately begin to climb out. It’s a drop of several feet down to the muddy track and more than one person loses their footing and falls. Poor bastards, they’ve only been outside for seconds and they’re already cold and soaked. One of the men in here with me—a young, slim man with long, dark hair—rushes one of the soldiers as soon as he hits the ground. Three more troopers appear from nowhere and pull him away from their colleague. Two of them throw him down and push him face-first into the grass at the side of the road. The third soldier lifts a pistol and puts a bullet in the back of his head. The frenzied attack and clinical response is over in seconds and the corpse is dragged away. There are sobs and wails of fear and disbelief from the people already outside.

  I’m one of the last to leave the truck. I climb out backward and slip but somehow manage to stay upright when I jump down. The others have been lined up in single file on the verge between the trees and the trucks. One of the soldiers shoves me toward the line. I stand my ground for a second and stare at the trooper. His eyes are hidden and I can see my bruised face reflected in his opaque visor. I should kill him now, I think to myself. And I know I could do it too. I could snap his neck with my bare hands. This piece of shit deserves nothing more than a violent, painful, and very bloody death for his part in what’s happening to us. But then I look past him and see more of them dragging away the lifeless body of the man they’ve just shot in the head. They leave him lying in full view, unceremoniously dumped on the other side of the road, and I reluctantly take my place in the line.

  From where I’d been standing I’d only been able to see the people who’d traveled in the same truck as me. Now that I’ve moved I can see that the people from the other vehicles have been dragged out into the open too. The line of people ahead of me stretches away into the distance. I line up behind Karin, the girl who was sick earlier.

  “You okay?” I whisper. I glance over at the nearest soldiers but they don’t react and I risk trying to speak to her again. “Karin, are you okay?” She turns around momentarily and nods her head but doesn’t speak. Her face is pale and her teeth are chattering with the cold. The rain is coming down so hard on us now that it hurts. I’ve only been outside for a couple of minutes and I’m already soaked to the skin. At least I’ve got a few layers of clothes on. Up ahead of me I can see people who are only wearing T-shirts. Some are still in their pajamas. One old guy is just wearing a dressing gown. Poor bastards must have been taken in the night while they were sleeping. Couldn’t they have let them change or given them something warmer to wear? It shows just how deep-rooted their hate of us really is and it’s suddenly more apparent than ever that the throwaway comment Patrick made in the back of the truck was right. Whatever’s waiting for us here is going to be fucking awful. At best they’ve brought us here to keep us isolated and separate from them. And the worst-case scenario? I know there’s a very high probability that we’re here to be destroyed. They can try and kill me but when the time comes I’ll go out fighting. I owe it to Ellis to take out as many of them as I can.

  Christ, what about Ellis?! How could I be so stupid? I’ve been so wrapped up in what’s happening to me that I haven’t stopped to consider the possibility that my little girl might have been brought here too. What if she changed like me and was picked up by one of the patrols? I know the chance of finding her here is slim but I have to try. I can see some children in the line up ahead but even from this distance I know that my daughter isn’t one of them. I turn around and try to look behind me. Bloody hell, this line of people seems to go on forever. I can’t see the end of it. I’ve stepped right out of line now but I don’t care. Finding Ellis is more important than my own safety. I start to move farther down the line but stop when a hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me back into position. I turn round expecting to be facing a guard but it’s Karin.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she whispers, looking around anxiously. “Please, they’ll kill you just as soon as look at you.”

  I nod but say nothing. I know she’s right. I return to my original place in the line and try and force myself to accept the reality of the situation. I was taken hours after Liz took Ellis from me and in a completely different part of town from where I think they would have gone. The chances of her being here are slight. And if we’re taken on from here to some other central location, I think, then there will probably be more chance of me finding her there.

  I have to try and stay in control and wait for the right moment but it’s difficult. I want to run and fight and destroy the soldiers surrounding us. I need to move and take action but I can’t. Standing here and waiting like this is unbearable. These conditions are deceptively harsh. I’m so wet that my clothes feel heavy and their waterlogged weight is beginning to drag me down. We are all drenched with rain and numb with cold and all we can do is stand still and wait.

  Sudden activity again. It’s been some time but I have no idea how long has passed since we were thrown out of the trucks. I’m still managing to stay on my feet but I’ve seen a handful of people fall farther along the line. No one dares move to help them. Each of us knows that to risk moving is to risk taking a bullet from the scum surrounding us. There are hundreds of people in this line and soldiers continue to patrol the line constantly, rifles armed and primed and ready to fire. I have to concentrate hard to stop myself from breaking ranks and killing them. It’s torture. Is this how they’re planning to get rid of us all? Just leave us standing here in the middle of nowhere until the last one falls?

  I heard a burst of radio static a few moments ago. Around half the soldiers have suddenly returned to their vehicles leaving the other half to hold their positions at the side of the line, their weapons constantly trained on us. Now the engines of the trucks have been started again and the vehicles are moving away in convoy. They power past us at speed, showering us with mud and water from potholes and puddles in the road.

  For the first time I can clearly see what’s on the other side of the track.

 
; Through the persistent heavy rain I can see an enormous expanse of land, empty but for a single gray-white building right in the center. It looks like a factory, or maybe some kind of agricultural storage site or warehouse. There are two huge silos to the left and the whole scene looks strangely dilapidated and untidy. An empty tarmac track runs from the front of the building across the field to the road on which we’re standing. And now I can also see that this line stretches all the way along the road virtually as far as the entrance to the field. Christ, there must be thousands of us here.

  There’s activity all around the building in the distance. From here it’s not possible to see what’s happening clearly. I can see soldiers and other dark-suited figures moving constantly. Some are removing equipment from the building, others are taking things in. I have no idea what any of it is. I don’t think I want to know.

  Just ahead of me the sudden activity has caused someone’s nerve to break. There’s panic in the line and for a second I’m struggling to see who it is and what’s happening. Looks like someone has broken rank and jumped one of the soldiers. Do I use this distraction as cover and try and get away myself? Other people are thinking the same thing. At least two people are already running into the trees. Now five, six, seven . . . maybe as many as ten more figures are sprinting into the forest. I have to move now if I’m ever going to do it. The soldiers nearest to me are distracted and if I’m fast I can . . .

  Fuckers. The breakout is over as quickly as it started. Two soldiers step forward and unload their automatic weapons into the trees. The people running are brought down without warning—shot in the back and killed. Many more people who were still standing in line up ahead have been caught in the cross fire and are dead too. I know that the same thing will happen to me if I try anything.

  The soldiers regroup and retake their positions. One of them makes a call on their radio and then, after a short delay, a van appears from alongside the building up ahead and drives out toward the road. It stops on the other side of the track at the point where the shooting took place. People standing in the line are forced at gunpoint to gather the bodies of the dead and load them into the van. Helplessly I watch as two sobbing women are made to drag the corpses out of the forest and carry them across the road. An older man and a teenage girl are sent down to collect the body of the man from my truck who was shot in the head earlier.

  40

  THE TORRENTIAL RAIN HAS continued and shows no signs of stopping. The gray clouds overhead are darker than ever and the light is fading quickly. Don’t think I can stay standing like this for much longer. I can’t feel my feet or my hands anymore. The skin on my face is raw and I’m numb with cold. I haven’t had anything to drink all day but my bladder feels full and the pain is excruciating.

  I’m scared. Every time one of the soldiers near to me moves I catch my breath, not because I’m afraid of them, but because inside I’m screaming with frustration, desperate to fight and to kill the evil scum who are holding us captive here. But I know that I can’t. There are too many of them and they are too heavily armed. If I dared show my intentions they would destroy me in seconds. I can’t let that happen but it’s getting harder and harder to keep these emotions under control. I know that elsewhere along the line other people have been unable to hold back and have paid for it with their lives. Just a few minutes ago I heard a single scream of rage followed by a hail of bullets in the gloom behind me. The silence around us now is somehow even more frightening than the sounds of fighting and death which preceded it.

  As the day has dragged on it has become impossible to see either end of the line. In the low light I can only see as far as about thirty people ahead of me and a similar number behind. I’m sure that the line has grown hundreds of people longer. Twice in the last hour or so convoys of empty trucks have driven past us. Logic says they’ve brought more people here and they’re now back out on the streets again looking for others.

  The girl in front of me is swaying on her feet again. I can’t let her fall. I shuffle forward slightly and put my hand out to steady her.

  “Come on,” I hiss under my breath, “not now. Try to hold on . . .” I don’t even know if she can hear me over the driving rain.

  Something’s happening up ahead. I can’t see anything but I can definitely hear something. I peer into the gloom, desperate to try and see what’s going on. Are people finally starting to move? For a few seconds longer I’m unsure but then an unexpected ripple of movement works its way along the line to a point where I can finally see what’s happening. We’re starting to shuffle forward. A sudden wave of awkward, stumbling movement reaches me and for the first time in hours I start to walk. My legs are agonizingly stiff and every step takes a massive amount of effort and coordination. For a moment I stupidly feel relieved when the pain in my aching legs begins to fade slightly, but then I start to think about what we might be walking toward and the panic returns. I know that making a run for it is out of the question for now. Just putting one foot in front of the other is difficult enough. I don’t have the strength or the energy to be able to move any faster.

  The soldiers continue to march alongside us, keeping their distance most of the time but occasionally hitting and shoving those of us who move too slowly or who stumble out of line. Just ahead another one of the men who traveled in the same truck as me drops to the ground. He’s old and tired and he lies on the gravel track sobbing. I keep walking—I have no choice—and I listen as one of the soldiers yells at him to get back to his feet and keep moving. I wish I could do something to help. I don’t dare look around. I hear a single gunshot close behind me and I know that his suffering is over. My fury now feels harder than ever to contain. Despite my exhaustion the urge to turn on these soldiers and fight them—to kill them—is growing stronger by the minute and is almost impossible to suppress. It’s only the obvious fact that any reaction would inevitably be the last thing I do that keeps me in line.

  We’ve stopped again.

  Almost as quickly as the movement began it now ends. I have no idea how far we’ve moved. I don’t know how much closer to it I now am but I assume the people at the front of the line have finally been led down the track toward the entrance to the building.

  41

  CHRIST IT’S COLD.

  The cloud cover has lifted slightly and, for a while at least, the rain has finally eased. The building up ahead has been illuminated by a series of bright floodlights which shine up from the ground and make it look like some bloody Gothic cathedral or fortress. Although I can see it more clearly now I still have no idea what the purpose of it is. Is it some kind of quarantine center? None of this makes any sense. If they’ve brought us out here to kill us then why not just do it? Why waste all this time and manpower keeping us in line and collecting up bodies? For some of the poor bastards here in the line with me a bullet in the head would be a relief. But maybe that’s what this is all about? Maybe they just want us to suffer?

  After hours of inactivity we’ve now made three sudden stop-start shifts forward. This time I counted the number of steps I took. I think we moved about a hundred paces forward. Logic says a similar number of people have just disappeared into the building up ahead of us.

  Another convoy of recently emptied trucks thunders past. Another few hundred people added to the end of the line.

  The noise of the trucks quickly fades into the distance but I can hear something else now. I can hear a plane, and the sound of its powerful engines many miles above us makes me realize just how quiet the rest of the world has become. The plane is moving with incredible speed. It must be a jet or something similar. I’m wary about making any sudden movements and looking to the sky but I can’t help myself. Keeping my head as still as possible and just moving my eyes I search the heavens. And then I see it. A dark metal blur which races at a phenomenal velocity across the horizon from right to left. Even some of the soldiers have become distracted now.

  Now there’s a second noise. A belly-rumbling
roar which I can feel through the ground beneath my feet. This noise comes from a different direction. It seems to swirl and drift in the wind before becoming louder and more definite. It’s coming from behind us. I look up and watch as a single flash of light sears through the darkness miles above our heads, racing toward the jet in the distance. Was it another jet? A missile?

  It can only last for a few seconds but the delay feels like forever. I watch the white light in the sky as it hurtles toward the jet and then crashes into it, taking it out with incredible, pinpoint precision. For a second a huge ball of expanding orange flame hangs in the purple sky. It has all but disappeared by the time the thundering rumble of the explosion reaches us.

  We shuffle forward again.

  I’m another few meters closer to the building but, for once, what’s waiting in there for me is not what I’m thinking about. Instead I’m trying to work out what I’ve just seen happen. Regardless of who was flying the plane and who launched the missile, that was a purposeful and very definite attack and it finally gives me a little glimmer of hope. Someone, somewhere is still fighting.

  42

  THE FEAR AND PANIC in this part of the line has reached an unbearable level. We’re still moving. A relentless on-off shuffle down toward the building in the field. The nervousness of the soldiers around us seems to have increased too.

  Is this a slaughterhouse? Are we going to be neutered? Have they developed a “cure” to make us like them again? Frightened thoughts rush through my mind at a thousand miles an hour as I get closer to the building. Whatever happens in there I know I’ve almost reached the inevitable end of my journey. The last day has been hell but I’d go through it all again to trade places with the person at the very back of this line. I’d give anything to put off going through those dark doors in the near distance. Despite the fact that I’m surrounded by hundreds, probably thousands of people like me, I feel completely alone. Just a few days ago everything was relatively normal and all of this would have seemed impossible. A week ago today I was sitting in the pub with my family, oblivious to everything that was about to happen to us. I think about losing Liz and Harry and Ed and Josh and it’s difficult to contain my emotions. I think about Ellis and I feel like I’ve been stabbed through the heart.