by David Moody
I'm trying to shift the body in the kitchen. In spite of the hate I saw in Harry's eyes I don't want to leave him like this - half-dressed and twisted and slumped in the corner of the room. I pull his feet to try and straighten him out but his limbs are stiff and unresponsive. I fetch a duvet from the bedroom and drape it over the corpse.
While I'm trying to move the body there's a noise. I get up and run to the living room to look out of the broken window. Two army trucks have pulled into the road and I know that I have to get out of here quickly. I don't know for sure anymore whether these soldiers will help me or turn against me but I can't take any chances. What about the woman I saw shot dead in the street earlier this morning? Was she like me or like the others? Was she a Hater too?
Move. Get moving now and don't stop. But where do I go? The trucks are getting closer. I swing my bag up onto my shoulder and run out of the flat and into the lobby. Where now? Will they check the flats upstairs? Could I risk hiding there? I know I have to get myself away from here and I sprint towards the rear exit. I try to open the fire door but it's padlocked shut. Christ, how long has it been like that? What would have happened to Lizzie and the kids if there'd been a fire? Doesn't matter now. I look back and I can see movement right outside the apartment block. They're coming. Keep moving. Just keep moving.
The door to the other ground floor flat is open. I'm inside it now and it stinks. No-one's lived here officially for the last six months but it's been used regularly by tramps, junkies, dossers and God knows who and what else. Its layout is a mirror image of my flat. I run through to the kitchen and force the window above the sink open. I can hear soldiers inside the building now. I can hear their heavy booted footsteps in the lobby. I scramble through the window and jump down into the overgrown communal back garden. I'm out. Without thinking I run through the long grass to the end of the garden then quickly scramble up the muddy bank which separates our block from the gardens of the privately owned houses which back onto us. I run along the ends of the gardens until I reach a tall wooden fence. I have to try and climb over it. I drag myself up, the muscles in my arms burning with effort, and manage to swing one leg over the top of the fence. I flick myself over and fall onto the pavement on the other side, landing painfully amongst the dog shit, litter and weeds. I stand up, brush myself down and run on.
33
The safest place to hide, I decide as I sprint, is somewhere I know the soldiers have already been. I double back on myself and head down the road which runs parallel with Calder Grove before cutting across a couple more streets and finally reaching Marsh Way. This is the area where I saw the soldiers patrolling when I watched from the top-floor window this morning.
The road is empty. There's no sign of the military presence I saw here earlier. I stand in the shadows under a tree at the end of the street and look up and down. There's no sign of any kind of presence at all. Everything is completely still. Nothing's moving here now. Nothing except me.
I notice that the front door of one of the houses on the other side of the road has just opened slightly. I run towards it and push my way inside. I meet the owner of the house dragging a bag of rubbish down the hall, about to throw it out. He looks up and I know immediately that he's not like me. I have to kill him.
'Who the hell are you…?' he starts to say. I throw myself at him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pushing him further back into the house. I keep moving, feeling strong and in control but not knowing where I'm going or what I'm doing. We trip into a filthy kitchen and I slam him against a wall cupboard. His body rocks back with the impact. He struggles and tries to fight me off but I know I can kill him. I have strength, speed and surprise on my side. I put my hand over his face, grip tight and smash his head back against the cupboard door. He's still fighting. I pull his head forward and smash it back again, harder this time. And again. Once more and still harder, so hard now that I feel something crack - not sure if it's the door or his skull. Again and he stops fighting. Again and he slumps down. Again and it's done.
I drag the body across the floor and leave it lying out of the way in the corner of the kitchen. Then I close and lock the door and finally stop to catch my breath and plan my next move.
I've never felt like this before. Part of me still feels devastated and empty because of what's happened to me today. Part of me suddenly feels stronger and more alive than I ever have before. The way I killed the owner of this house was so out of character and yet it felt right and it felt good. I feel like I could take on a hundred thousand of them if I have to.
I am a Hater.
Sat here in one of the bedrooms of this untidy and squalid little house I've finally managed to fully accept that I am a Hater. The title seems so wrong now but I can understand why it was originally given. To those on the outside - those who haven't felt what I'm feeling now - our actions could easily be misinterpreted as being driven by hate. But they're not. Everything I have done today has been in self-defence. I have killed to prevent myself from being killed. Those people, those 'normal' people, are the ones who create the hate. I can't explain it. I can see it in their eyes and I can almost taste it in the air around them. It's like a sixth sense, an instinct. I sensed it coming off Harry and that was why I killed him. It was the same with the man downstairs and it'll be the same with the next one I meet. I'll keep going and I'll keep killing for as long as I have to.
And now I finally begin to see where this is going. At last I'm starting to understand why this whole crisis has seemed so endless and directionless from the outset. It's us against them. There's not going to be a drawn match or a ceasefire or any political negotiations to resolve this. There won't be an end to this fighting until one side has prevailed and the enemy lies dead at their feet.
It's kill or be killed.
Hate or be hated.
The light is beginning to fade and I'm ready to move. I've waited until now hoping I'll gain a little cover and protection from the darkness. I take some food from the kitchen (there's hardly anything worth salvaging) and am ready to head back out into the open.
In the short time I've spent in this house my mood and emotions have been swinging and changing constantly. Half of me feels excited and alive because of what I have become. Part of me feels free and unrestrained for the first time in as long as I can remember and I'm relieved to have finally walked away from the parts of my life I detested. I feel physically strong, determined and full of energy and yet all of this counts for nothing in the moments that I find myself thinking about the past. Lizzie and I would have been together for ten years next year. We've brought our children up together and, although we've had our moments, we've always been close. All of that has gone now and it hurts. I may be a Hater, but I still feel pain. I wish that Liz, Edward and Josh could have changed too. I have to stop thinking about them. I'm struggling to make sense of my emotions. I still love them but at the same time I know that if I had to I'd kill them in an instant.
As I walk through the house something catches my eye.
In the living room, on a small round table next to a dirty, threadbare and obviously well-used armchair, is a booklet. A government-produced booklet. It looks clean and new and yet it's strangely familiar. I pick it up and start to leaf through its pages. I remember receiving something similar through the door a few months back when there was some terrorist threat or other. The booklet is pretty generic, telling the public what action to take in the event of an emergency. It covers bomb threats and natural disasters, that kind of thing. It tells people to stay in their homes and tune in to the radio or TV for updates. It's also got information about administering basic first aid, what supplies to maintain and emergency contact details. At the back are several pages full of propaganda and rubbish - how the country is prepared for all eventualities and how the emergency services will spring into action at the drop of a hat, that kind of garbage. There are some loose pages that have been added to the guide, and when I look at them I realise that this book
let was most probably given to the owner of this house by the military after their visit / inspection / clean-up operation today. The absence of any real facts is unsurprising and it immediately smells like more political bullshit. Still, it's interesting to read what they're finally telling the rest of the population about people like me.
The pages talk about what's happened to us as being an illness. It implies that this is some kind of infection or disease that causes a form of dementia but it skirts around the issue and doesn't use such direct language or present any hard facts. It says that a small proportion of the population - they suggest no more than one in a hundred people - are susceptible to 'the condition'. It talks about symptoms, saying that people who are affected will become delirious and will, at random, attack people violently and irrationally. Fucking idiots. There's nothing random or irrational about what I've done today.
What bothers me most of all is what I read on the final extra page. The booklet explains how affected people are being rounded up and taken away and 'treated'. It doesn't take a genius to work out that's the reason for the trucks and the soldiers working their way through town. So what does this so-called treatment involve? From what I've seen it's limited to a bullet in the back of the head.
I'm wasting my time. I don't want to read any more. I shove the booklet into my bag and, after checking the street outside is empty, I leave the house and its dead owner behind. I'll make my way across town to Liz's sister's house and bring Ellis home.
I feel strong. Superior to all of the people who haven't changed. I'm glad that I'm the one in a hundred. I'd rather be like this than like them.
34
I feel like I've been running for miles but I've slowed down now. I've reached the edge of town and there are fewer buildings and shadows to hide in. I don't want to be seen. I could have taken a car but there's nothing else on the roads now and I would have drawn too much attention to myself. I've lost track of time. It's early evening and the light has almost completely gone. I'm cold, soaked through by the heavy rain that's been falling for the last hour or so, but that's just a minor physical discomfort and I still feel surprisingly strong.
I don't know how long I've been outside now but so far I've seen only a couple of other people. The air is still full of noise as the military try to expose us and flush us out into the open but the streets are empty. I know there's supposed to be a curfew at night but I'm sure that's not the only reason why there's no-one around. Being out in the open is too dangerous. Those few people I have seen - the occasional solitary figure that creeps carefully through the shadows like me - I have kept away from. I don't want to risk making contact with anyone. Will they be like me? Perhaps they will but I can't afford to take any chances. They could be like the rest of them. I'll kill again if I have to but I'm not looking for trouble. Finding Ellis is more important. Tonight it feels as if the 'normal' part of the population have been driven into hiding in fear of us.
I think I'm probably about halfway between my flat and Liz's sister's house now. I had planned to walk all night but I think it will be sensible to stop and take cover soon. There are helicopters over the city again now and I feel exposed. Instinct tells me it'll soon be too much of a risk to be out alone in the darkness with the military swarming through the streets and the skies. If I thought it was safe to keep going I would. I'll take this opportunity to rest for a while and eat.
I can't stop thinking about Ellis. My poor little girl is stuck in the middle of a group of people who will turn against her at any time and without any warning. She's in danger and there's nothing I can do to help her. It might already be too late but I can't allow myself to think like that. I've consciously tried to block them from my mind but I find myself thinking about Lizzie, Edward and Josh again. Remembering them fills me with an overpowering sadness and remorse. I wonder if they might eventually change too? Could whatever has changed within me be buried somewhere inside them also? I'd like to believe it could but I don't hold out much hope. The government information I read earlier (if any of it was correct) said that just a small percentage of the population were likely to be affected. I sensed a difference between Ellis and the others too. She and I are alike. We're different to them, I can feel it. I have to accept that the rest of my family are lost.
I'm heading out of the city now. I look back over my shoulder and see that although there are still lights on in many buildings, there are also huge swathes of town which are bathed in darkness. The power must be down. It's inevitable, I suppose. This 'change' (whatever it is) might only be affecting a minority, but it's repercussions are being felt everywhere. It's tearing society apart as quickly as it destroyed my family.
I turn a corner and walk straight into another body coming the other way, the first person I've come across for some time. I immediately tense myself, ready for the kill. I push the dark figure back and clench my fists ready to strike. I stare through the darkness into the other person's face and… and it's okay. There is no anger, no hate and no threat. The mutual unspoken feeling of relief is immense. This person is like me and we both know that neither of us has anything to fear from the other.
'You okay?' I ask, keeping my voice low.
The other person nods and walks on.
***
I can hear engines in the distance. The military are still moving through the dark city behind me and they are closer now. There are more helicopters crawling through the sky too. I can see four of them hovering ominously, sweeping over the streets and occasionally illuminating the ground below them with impossibly bright spotlights. It's definitely time to get under cover.
I cross over a low stone bridge which spans a silent railway track. Ahead of me is the dark silhouette of a huge factory or warehouse and, on the other side of the road, a building site. As I get closer I see that it's the beginnings of a new housing estate. There are a few houses almost completed just off the main road and they are surrounded by the shells of other partially constructed buildings. The half-built walls and wooden frames jutting up into the air make it hard to tell whether the houses are going up or coming down. It's a silent and desolate place and it seems a sensible place to stop and shelter for a while.
The paving slabs and tarmac beneath my feet give way to gravel and dirt. I follow the muddy and uneven route deeper into the centre of the building site and find myself walking along a row of six homes of varying shapes, sizes and degrees of construction. The ground has been so badly churned by machinery here that it takes me a while to realise that I'm actually walking through the future back gardens of these buildings, not across the front. I wonder whether any of these houses will ever be finished now? The three furthest from me appear to be the most complete and I head towards them. Their windows and doors are covered with grey metal grilles. All except the middle one of the three. The grille which covered the space where its back door was intended to go has been prised off. It's lying on the ground in a puddle of mud, buckled and useless. I'm standing in front of the doorway now looking inside. Has someone been here? I realise that there could still be people inside but I need to stop. Should I go in? Is it safe? Sensing that no-where's safe anymore I climb the step and cautiously enter the building. If there is anyone in there and they're not like me I'll kill them.
Footsteps in the darkness. Sudden movement.
I try to move back but before I can react a figure is on top of me. My legs are kicked out from under me and I'm sent flying back across the hard concrete floor. I can't see anything. I try to kick and punch myself free and stand up but before I can move I'm knocked back down again. I can feel someone pressing down on my ankles and someone else has their hands on my shoulders, keeping me flat on the ground. There's a third person in here. I can see their shadow moving past the doorway.
'Think he's safe?' someone asks. They switch on a torch and the unexpected brightness burns my eyes.
'Turn it off,' I hear another one of them say in a loud, relieved whisper. 'He's all right.'
&
nbsp; As quickly as the hands grabbed hold of me they now let go. I shuffle back across the floor, putting as much distance as I can between me and whoever else is in here. The light in the half-finished house is limited and I'm struggling to see anything. Someone's moving just ahead of me. I know there are at least three people in here but are there any more? The torch is switched on again.
'Take it easy, mate,' one of them says. 'We're not going to hurt you.'
I don't know if I believe him. I don't know if I believe anyone anymore.
The figure holding the torch shines the light into their own face. It's a man, perhaps mid-to-late twenties. I know instantly that he's like me and that I'm safe with him. And if this man is no threat then the people who are with him are no threat either.
'What's your name?' he asks.
'Danny,' I tell him, 'Danny McCoyne.'
'Been like this for long, love?' asks a woman's voice.
'What?' I mumble back.
'Been long since it happened?' she asks, rephrasing her question. I assume she's talking about what happened at home when I killed Harry and lost my family.
'Few hours,' I mumble, my throat dry. 'Not sure…'
'I'm Patrick,' the man holding the torch says, holding out his hand. I'm not sure whether he wants me to shake it or whether he's going to pull me up. I reach out and he helps me to stand. 'Happened to me three days ago,' he continues. 'Same for Nancy here. That's Craig,' he says, pointing the torch at the third person across the room. 'Yesterday afternoon, wasn't it, Craig?'
'Just after dinner,' Craig answers. Patrick shines the torch at him but it only illuminates a small part of a huge expanse of belly. Craig is immense.
'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'Anyone close?'
