Hater

THURSDAY

19

I wake up before the alarm goes off and lie still and stare up at the ceiling as I try again to make sense of everything that's happened over the last few days. It all seems implausible and impossible. Has anything actually happened at all? I still can't help wondering if this is all just the result of peoples' fucked-up and overenthusiastic imaginations or whether there really is something more sinister and bizarre going on? In the cold light of morning it's difficult to try and comprehend all that I've seen and heard. I start trying to convince myself to get a grip, get up and get ready for work. But then I remember what I saw in Millennium Square yesterday and I'm overcome with nerves and uncertainty as the reality of it all hits me again.

There's no point just lying here. Lizzie and the kids are asleep. It's still dark outside but I get up and shuffle through to the living room. I peer out of the window. The car belonging to the people upstairs still hasn't returned. What happened up there? My mind starts to wander and play tricks. Was there a Hater upstairs? It scares me to think that my kids could have been so close to one of them. I force myself to remember Lizzie's words when we were awake earlier. I have to ignore what's going on everywhere else and concentrate on keeping the people on this side of the front door safe.

The flat feels colder than ever this morning and the low temperature makes me feel old beyond my years. I fetch some breakfast and then sit in front of the TV. I watch cartoons. I can't cope with anything more serious. Not yet.

I'm halfway through a bowl of dry cereal and I can't eat any more. I don't have much of an appetite. I feel uneasy all the time and I can't stop thinking about what's happening out there. What the hell is going on? I think about all the unconnected events I've witnessed and the hundreds - probably thousands - of other incidents which have happened elsewhere. No-one can see any connection and yet how can all of these things not be connected? That, I decide, is the most frightening aspect of all. How can so many people from so many different walks of life begin to behave so irrationally and erratically in such a short period of time?

I look over at the clock and realise that I should be getting ready for work now. My stomach starts to turn somersaults when I think about having to phone in and speak to Tina. Christ knows what she's going to say or what I'm going to tell her. Maybe I just won't phone at all.

My curiosity and apprehension gets the better of me. I finally relent and switch on the news. Half of me wants to know what's happening today, the other half wants to go back to bed, put my head under the pillow and not get up again until it's all over. And that causes me to ask myself yet another unanswerable question - how will this end? Will this wave of violence and destruction just fade and die out, or will it keep building and building?

The TV news channel looks different this morning, and for a while I can't put my finger on why. The set is the same and the female presenter is familiar. I don't recognise the man who's sitting next to her. Must be a stand-in. I guess the usual newsreader didn't turn up for work today. Half the staff didn't turn up at my office yesterday. There's no reason why things should be any different for the people on TV, is there? Except, perhaps, the fact that they get paid a hell of a lot more than me for doing a hell of a lot less.

The news is running on a loop again. It seems to be just the headlines on repeat, introduced by these two presenters. There's no sport or entertainment or business news anymore, and the reports I'm watching are all similar to those we've seen before. No explanations, just basic information. Occasionally the cycle is interrupted when one of the newsreaders interviews someone in authority. I've seen politicians, religious leaders and others being interviewed over the last few days. They can all talk the talk and most of them know how to play up to the camera, but none of them can disguise the fact that they seem to know as little about what's happening as the rest of us. And there are other people who I would have expected to see interviewed who have been conspicuous by their absence. What about the Prime Minister and other top-level politicians? Why aren't they showing their faces? Are they too busy trying to personally deal with the crisis (I doubt it) or could it be that they're no longer in office? Could the head of government or the chief of police be Haters?

The male newsreader is talking about schools and businesses remaining closed when a sudden flurry of movement in front of the camera interrupts him. He looks up as a scruffy figure carrying a clipboard and wearing headphones stumbles into view. It's a tall, willowy woman who walks back until she's almost standing right against the newsreaders' desk. Is she a producer or director or something like that? She crouches down slightly to make sure the camera is properly focussed on her.

'Don't listen to any more of this rubbish,' she says, her weary face desperate and tear-streaked. 'You're only being told half the story. Don't listen to anything they tell you…'

And then she's gone. There's more movement all around her before the pictures disappear and the screen goes black. After a wait of a few more long and uncomfortable seconds the broadcast returns. It's a report about personal safety and security that I've seen at least five times before.

What is it that we're not being told? That woman looked desperate, like she'd been trying to get an opportunity to speak out for days.

I phoned the office a few minutes ago but there was no answer. I was relieved when I didn't have to speak to anyone but then I started to panic again when I thought about how bad things must have got if no-one's turned up for work.

There's nothing else to do now except sit back on the sofa in front of the TV and watch the world fall apart.

20

We need food. The last thing I wanted to do was go outside again but I didn't have any choice. The kids and Lizzie have been trapped at home for the last couple of days and the cupboards are almost empty. We should have thought of it sooner. I need to get some supplies before things get any more uncertain out there.

I have as much cash as I could find in my pocket and I'll see what it will get me. I've always been bad with money. I don't have any credit since I got into a mess with my bank a year or so ago and they cancelled everything on my account. I've got a 'last chance' loan now. Once the payment's gone out on pay day and I've paid the bills I cash the balance and that's what we live on until the next time I get paid. It's two weeks until pay day so I haven't got much left.

I didn't think about where I was going to go until I'd left the flat. Instinctively I drove towards the supermarket we usually use for our weekly shop but I turned back before I got there. Even though it was early there was already a huge queue just to get into the car park. It's a bad-tempered and busy place at the best of times and setting foot in there today would have just been asking for trouble. Two cars collided in the queue just ahead of me. Someone shunted into the back of someone else. Both drivers got out and started screaming and shouting at each other and I got the feeling that the trouble was about to spread. I didn't want to take any chances. I turned around and drove back towards home along roads which were surprisingly quiet. There's still a fair amount of traffic about, but nothing like the number of vehicles you usually get at this time of day.

I'm outside O'Shea's convenience store now. It's only a couple of minutes away from the flat. It's tucked away in a side-street just off the main Rushall Road. It gets most of its trade from the workers at a steel factory just around the corner. It stands to reason that if people aren't going to work today the factory will be closed and the convenience store should be empty. They have a fraction of the stock of the supermarket and they charge double the prices but I don't have any choice. My family needs food and I have to get it from somewhere. I park up (further away than usual) and cross the street.

Bloody hell, as I get nearer to the shop I start to think about turning back again. The building looks like it's in the process of being looted. It's rammed with people and the floor is covered in litter and debris. I force myself to go inside, reminding myself that my family have to eat. Half the displays and freezers are already empty and there's more rubbish and packaging left on the shelves than food. I grab a cardboard box (it's the biggest thing I can find) and start getting what I can. Looks like everyone's had the same idea as me today and they're out panic-buying. I take whatever I can find - cans and packets of food, bottles of sauce, crisps, sweets, spreads - pretty much anything that's salvageable and edible. There's nothing fresh here, no milk or bread or fruit or vegetables.

The shop is small and the mood inside the hot and congested little building is tense. Shopping always seems to bring out the very worst in people. Today I can taste the animosity and nerves in the air but no-one's reacting. Everybody keeps their head down and gets on with stripping the shelves. No-one speaks. No-one makes any intentional contact with anyone else whatsoever. An old guy accidentally elbows me in the ribs as we're both reaching up for the same thing. Normally I'd have had a go at him and he'd probably have had a go back at me. We look at each other for the briefest of moments and then silently take what we can. I don't dare start an argument.

The box is soon two-thirds full with junk. I turn the corner into the last aisle and see two empty check-outs ahead of me. People are just walking past them and there's no sign, unsurprisingly, of any staff. Naively I expected the people I've seen leaving the shop to have paid for the food they were carrying. Should I just take what I've collected? In spite of everything that's happening around me I still feel uneasy at the prospect of walking out with this stuff without paying for it. But I have to do what I have to do. Sod the consequences, I have to think about my family and forget everyone else. This is absolutely crazy. This is looting with manners. Fucking bizarre. I keep loading up the box and edging towards the exit.

There's a scream. Christ, it's a bloody horrible sound and it cuts right through me. People stop moving and look around for the source of the noise. I can see a woman on the ground just behind me. She's lying in the middle of the aisle covering her face with her hands. I try not to stare but I can't help myself. Someone shuffles out of the way and I can see that there's a child attacking her. A girl of maybe eight or nine, no older, is virtually sitting on top of her, punching her and pulling her hair. Jesus, in one hand she's got a tin of food and she's using it to batter the woman. She lands the tin on her forehead and it immediately swells up in a bloody red welt. The woman is screaming and crying and… and bloody hell, she's shouting out the girl's name. Is she being beaten by her own daughter? For a fraction of a second I think that I should help her but I know that I can't. None of us can risk getting involved. Everyone seems to have come to the same conclusion. Everyone is shocked by what they can see but no-one does anything to help. People cautiously edge forward and work their way around the fight to get out of the building as quickly as they can and I keep walking with them. The woman's out cold now but the kid is still pummelling her face. She's covered in her mother's blood...

The speed and number of people leaving the building is increasing rapidly. I can feel panic bubbling up under the surface and I keep moving, desperate to get out before it explodes. I look at the empty check-outs as I run past them and feel another momentary pang of guilt before pushing and shoving my way back out into the open and running towards my car. I throw the supplies into the back and then get in and lock the door.

I start the engine and look back at O'Shea's. Desperate people are flooding out of the ransacked shop now, tripping over each other to get away before the situation inside gets any worse. I stare at the building in disbelief, my head filled with images of my family and of what I've just witnessed. Could any of my children do what I've just seen to Lizzie or me? Worse than that, could we do it to any of them?

21

Lizzie asks me if I'm okay but I can't answer. I need to get back inside first. I need to get the food inside then shut the door and lock the bloody thing behind me and never open it again.

'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 having a go at me 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 cooker, 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 further away from me, edging back towards the door. And then I realise 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 further 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 round 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 queues 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 realise again just how bad things have suddenly got.

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 realise 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 is 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 night-time 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 turned 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 well fucked 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' 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 flat 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 flat 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 flat. 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 towards it.

'Up here,' the voice answers. I look up towards the top of the staircase and the first 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 flat 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 flat 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 flat 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 flat he shares with the other man. I follow a snail trail of dry blood along the hallway and into the living room of the flat 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 realise that I'm standing here checking out the flat 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 first 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 blood-stained lips, swallows and shakes his head.

'Too late now,' he wheezes. Every move this poor sod 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 towards 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 stood 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 about but some roads are inaccessible. Some are backed-up with slow moving queues, 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 sod 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 stood here watching him checking everything's switched off and then checking 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 humour 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 stood 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.

'Come on,' I say, interrupting him as he walks around the ground floor of his house, checking the windows and doors are locked for the third time, 'we need to get moving.'

I expect a sneering reply because that's what I usually get from Harry. He's a loud and opinionated old bugger who doesn't think much of me. He assumes he knows more than me about everything and he never takes kindly to being hurried or told what to do. I'm surprised when he just nods, picks up his bag and slowly walks towards the front door. I take the bag from him and put it in the car, leaving him to lock up his home.

'Quiet, isn't it?' he says as we drive back towards the flat. He immediately regrets his words as we pull onto a main road which is solid with traffic. We join the back of the queue. It's slow but it's still moving and I can't think of a better route home. I decide to sit tight.

'You okay, Harry?' I ask.

'Fine,' he mumbles. 'Bit tired, that's all.'

'Trouble sleeping?'

He nods his head.

'Something happened around the back of the house last night,' he explains, his voice quiet. 'There was a fight or an accident or something… lots of screaming, lots of noise...'

The traffic has slowed down again to almost a complete standstill. It's stop-start all the way.

'Don't know what's going on here,' I mumble.

The road we're crawling along runs past the front of a row of houses before swinging up and left over a bridge which spans the motorway below. As we follow the arc of the road the reason for the delay becomes apparent. There's a steady stream of cars leaving the motorway and rejoining the town traffic. We grind to a halt again mid-way over the bridge.

'What's the hold-up?' Harry asks, looking around curiously.

'No idea. Must have been an accident or something…'

'That's not an accident,' he says, peering out of his window and tapping his finger on the glass. I sit up in my seat and lean across him to try and see whatever it is he's looking at. There's a blockade of some kind stretching right across the motorway. There are dark green military juggernauts straddling both sides of the road. Armed guards are manning red and white-striped barrier gates while other soldiers direct the queues of approaching traffic. What the hell are they doing? Unless I'm mistaken, the cars trying to leave the city are being stopped. They're not even being searched. They're either being marshalled up the slip-road and straight off the motorway or they're being sent round through a hole that's been cut in the central barrier and forced back the way they came. The traffic is being channelled back into town.

'Don't want us to go far, do they?' Harry says, watching the cars below us as we begin to shunt forward again.

'Thought they said they were getting things under control.'

'What?'

'I was watching something on the TV just before I came out to get you. They said the situation is being brought under control.'

'Well this is probably part of that control, isn't it? They need to know where everyone is…'

'Do they?'

'How can the authorities protect us if they don't know where we are?'

I don't bother answering him. The fact that I've just seen a substantial military presence out on the streets doesn't inspire me or fill me with confidence. If anything it makes me feel worse.

As we move away from the motorway the traffic begins to thin out again. I put my foot down and continue towards home.

My nervousness and paranoia is increasing by the second. I need to be back with my family.

The streets we're driving through now are uncomfortably silent and still. It all looks and feels perverse. The country seems to be tearing itself apart with unprecedented levels of violence, so why is everywhere so quiet? The normal human reaction to a threat like the Haters would be to stand and fight but today we can't. These people are sick. They're driven by a desire to kill and destroy and, from what I've seen, they won't stop until those desires have been satisfied. To stand and fight against them would mean displaying the same emotions as they do. It would be self-destructive. To fight back is to risk being called a Hater too. All we can do is keep ourselves to ourselves and not retaliate. The population is withdrawing from each other in fear. Fear of everyone else and fear of themselves.

We finally pull up outside the apartment block and I get Harry inside. I'm about to go back out to get his bag from the car when I spot a solitary figure walking down the street. Instinctively I wait in the shadows until I'm sure they've disappeared before setting foot out in the open again. Christ, I'm too scared to risk even being seen by anyone I don't know.

24

'Dad,' Ed says.

'What?' I grunt, annoyed that I've been interrupted. I've been reading through a pile of music magazines I found under the bed. I thought I'd thrown these out years ago. They've helped me get through the uneasy boredom of this never-ending afternoon.

'What's he doing?'

'What's who doing?' I ask, not lifting my head.

'That man from the house down the road. What's he doing?'

'What man?'

'Jesus Christ,' Lizzie screams as she walks into the room. The panic in her voice makes me drop my magazine and look up. Fucking hell, the man who lives in one of the houses adjacent to our apartment block is dragging his wife out of their house and into the middle of the street. She's a huge woman with a wide backside and flabby arms which are thrashing about wildly. The man - I think his name is Woods - is pulling her along by her feet and I can hear her screaming from here. He drags her down the kerb and her head cracks back against the road. He's carrying something else with him. I can't see what it is…

'What's he doing?' Ed asks again.

'Don't look,' Liz yells at him. She rushes across the room and tries to turn Ed around and push him towards the door. Josh is in the way. He's standing in the doorway eating a biscuit and Lizzie can't get past.

'Don't look at what?' Ellis asks. I didn't see her come in. She's behind me, standing on tiptoes and looking out of the window.

'Do what Mum says,' I say as I try to pull her away. She clings onto the windowsill and won't let go. The children have been going stir crazy trapped in the house. They're desperate for any distraction.

Outside Woods has stopped moving now. His wife is still lying on the ground and he's standing on her neck. Bloody hell, he's put his boot and his full weight on her throat. Her face is blood red and she's thrashing about more than ever but he's managing to keep her down even though he's half her size.

'Ellis, let go,' I shout as I finally manage to prise her away from the window. Ed is still watching and I can't help staring either. I can't look away. It was a bottle that Woods was carrying. He's unscrewed the lid now and he's emptying the contents all over his wife. What the hell is he doing?

'What's happening?' Harry asks. Now we're all in the living room. He's between me and the door and I have to move round him to get Ellis out. I try to close the curtains again but I can't reach from here. Harry's in the way.

'Get the children out of here,' Lizzie screams.

'Will you move, Harry?' I snap. 'I can't get through…'

I look out of the window again as Woods sets fire to his wife. Christ knows what he just doused her in but she's gone up in a huge ball of flames and the fire has caught him too. She's still moving. Bloody hell. I put my hands over Ellis' eyes but I'm slow to react and she's already seen too much. Woods trips away from the burning body, his trouser legs on fire. He staggers down Calder Grove but only makes it halfway down the road before he's consumed by the flames.

Between us we push the kids out into the hall. I go back to the living room.

Outside no-one does anything. No-one moves. There's no activity out on the street, not even when the fire from Woods' wife's burning body spreads and sets light to a pile of plastic sacks filled with rubbish which have been sat at the side of the road for more than a week. Thick black smoke billows up from the bags and from the corpses in the road, filling the air with dirty fumes.

Sobbing, Lizzie pulls the curtains shut.

The man on the landing at the top of the stairs is dead. I crept out of the flat a few minutes ago and went up to check. What a fucking horrible way to go - ending your days slowly bleeding to death on your own at the top of a dark, concrete staircase. Could I have done anything for him? Possibly. Should I have done anything for him? Definitely not. He was a Hater, and its scum like him that have caused all of this. They're the reason everything is falling apart. They're the reason I've had to lock myself and my family in the flat. They're the reason we're all fucking terrified.

What scares me most about the body upstairs and what we saw on the street is the closeness of it all. I could cope with this crisis when it was just something on the news. I could even deal with it at the concert and when we saw the fight in the pub and the kid under the car. What's changed today is the proximity of the trouble to my children and my home. This flat felt safe until today.

25

The kids have definitely sensed a change now. Maybe it's because they've been trapped in the flat without contact from anyone else for days. Obviously what they've seen today has made matters worse. They keep asking questions and I don't know how to answer them. I don't know what to say to them anymore. I took the bolt I fixed on Sunday morning off the bathroom door and attached it to the inside of the living room (or 'safe room' as we're now supposed to call it) to try and make everyone feel a little safer. I don't know if it's done any good.

We've been sitting in the safe room for hours and I can't stand it any longer. I get up and wander aimlessly around the flat. I can't sit and do nothing, but there's nothing I can do either. I don't want to talk to anyone. I'm cold and tired and frightened. I walk into Josh and Ed's small room and climb up onto Ed's top bunk. His small screen TV is at the end of the bed. I switch it on and flick through the channels. Nothing worth watching. There are a couple of channels showing repeats of old TV shows, the rest are just showing the public information film that we saw earlier. It's running at exactly the same time on all the major national channels. It must be produced and broadcast by the government. At least I assume it's the government. Who else could it be?

With nothing on TV and no other distractions I find myself looking out of the window just to the side of the bed. I lie down flat on my stomach on the narrow bunk and stare out through the net curtain at the street outside. From here I can see along the full length of Calder Grove - from the still smoking bodies of Woods and his wife right down to the junction of the road with Gregory Street. Apart from the drifting smoke everything else is still. The world feels silent and deserted, as if we've all been put in quarantine from each other. Now and again I catch sight of a lonely figure in the distance. People stick to the shadows and they're gone as quickly as they appear. There's hardly any other movement at all. Once in a while a car passes by, otherwise nothing else seems to move. It's like looking at a freeze-frame photograph of the world.

Why hasn't anyone done anything about the corpses? We've kept the curtains in the living room closed so the kids can't see them. If Woods' wife's body is still there in the morning I might go and throw a blanket over it just so it's out of view. I can see the blackened remains of the dead woman's arms. Her bony hands and fingers are lifted up and clasped together like she's praying or pleading for help.

I don't know what we're going to do. I'm trying not to panic. I don't think we have any choice but to lock ourselves in here and sit this thing out, however long that takes. I don't want to…

'What are you looking at?' a voice suddenly asks from beside me, making me jump. I look round and see that it's Ellis. She's crept into the bedroom and has managed to climb the ladder up to Ed's bed. She peers at me over the top rung with wide, saucer-shaped eyes.

'Nothing,' I answer, rolling over and giving her space to climb up with me. She puffs and pants and drags herself onto the bed.

'What are you doing in here?'

It's difficult to answer. I'm not exactly sure myself.

'Nothing,' I say again.

'You looking at the dead lady?' she asks in a remarkably innocent and matter-of-fact way.

'No, I'm just lying down for a while. I'm tired.'

'Why are you lying on Ed's bed? Why aren't you lying on yours and Mummy's bed?'

Her questions never seem to stop. I wish they would. I'm not in the mood to answer them.

'I wanted to watch the TV,' I tell her, not being entirely honest. 'I haven't got one in my bedroom.'

'Why not watch the other telly with the rest of us?'

'Ellis,' I say, stifling a yawn and pulling her closer, 'shut up, will you.'

'You shut up,' she mumbles under her breath. She yawns too and shuffles closer to me.

For a little while the room is quiet again and I begin to wonder whether Ellis has fallen asleep. But it's not just this room that's quiet - the whole flat is ominously silent. In the distance I can just about hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the living room. Are they being quiet or is there something wrong with the others? Is it because of what's happening outside, or is the isolation and uncertainty starting to have an effect on the rest of my family? Is one of them about to start changing, or have they already changed...? I find myself thinking about what's happening outside again and I'm depressed by a constant stream of dark and uncomfortable thoughts. Surely things can't continue like this indefinitely? There has to come a point when something gives or the situation resolves itself, doesn't there? I don't have any answers and I'm actually relieved when Ellis decides to attack me with another barrage of much easier questions.

'Will we be going back to school tomorrow?' she asks naively.

'I don't think so,' I reply.

'The next day?'

'I don't know.'

'The next day?'

'I don't know. Look, Ellis, we don't know when school's going to be open again. Hopefully it won't be too long.'

'I'm going on a trip next week.'

'I know.'

'My class is going to a farm.'

'I know.'

'We're going on a coach.'

'I know.'

'Will we still be able to go?'

'I hope so.'

'Will you take me if school's still shut?'

'I'll take you.'

She seems happy with that and, again, she becomes quiet. I lie back and close my eyes. The day so far has been long and emotionally draining and it has taken its toll. My eyes feel heavy. In just a few short minutes I feel Ellis' body go limp in my arms. Her breathing changes, becoming shallow and steady and I look down at her. She's dozing, completely relaxed and almost asleep. In a world which has suddenly become completely irrational, unpredictable and fucked-up she remains perfect and unaltered. This little girl means everything to me.

I'm tired. I close my eyes.

I was almost asleep for a second until the image of the girl in the supermarket this morning returned. For a terrifying moment I imagined that it was Ellis, and that she was attacking Lizzie lying on the ground. I'm frightened. I'm petrified by the prospect that whatever it is that's happening outside will eventually find its way into my home and harm my family.

I try to imagine this beautiful little girl attacking me.

I try to imagine me attacking her.

26

It's just before midnight. The children are asleep. We're sitting in the living room in silence and in almost total darkness. Harry, Liz and I couldn't be sitting any further apart from each other in here. Harry's opposite the window, looking out through half-drawn curtains. Liz is by the door, staring into space. The television has been off all night. No-one's saying anything new so there's no point watching. The lack of information is just making things worse.

'Anyone want a drink?' I offer. This silence is unbearable.

'Not for me,' answers Harry. I look over at Lizzie. She shakes her head and looks down. She hasn't spoken for hours. We had a conversation about the kids just after they'd gone to bed but since then she's hardly said anything.

The room is filled with dull, rumbling noise and a sudden flash of light as a huge ball of flame mushrooms up into the sky from a building nearby.

'What in hell's name was that?' Harry grumbles as he gets up from his chair and staggers to the window. He pulls the curtains fully open and I stand behind him and look over his shoulder. I can't see what's burning. It looks like it might be the medical centre on Colville Way. It's about quarter a mile away from here but that's too close for comfort. As the initial noise and burst of flame dies down I hear other, equally frightening sounds. A desperate woman yells out for help. Her voice is hoarse and terrified. She's pleading with someone, screaming at them to get away from her and leave her alone and… and her cries suddenly stop. Now I can hear a car starting. The engine is revved and accelerated furiously. The car begins to move at speed but its brief journey is over in seconds. Brakes squeal and tyres skid across the road before I hear the unmistakable thump and crunch of a collision.

The quiet which follows the sudden mayhem is a thousand times worse than the flames and the screams. I'm standing here waiting to hear sirens as the police, fire brigade or anyone who can help reaches the scene but there's nothing, just a cold and empty silence. I know that the response would be the same if anything happened here. We're completely on our own.

I turn around. The room is still filled with dull light from the fire and I can see that Lizzie's crying. I sit down next to her leaving Harry at the window watching the inferno in the near distance. I put my arm around her and pull her closer.

'Come on,' I say uselessly. She doesn't react. I reach out and hold her hand but it just sits limply in mine.

'It should never have got to this stage,' Harry chunters with his back to us, standing at the window like a general surveying the battlefield. 'They should never have let it come to this.'

He turns round and stares at us both, seeming to be almost demanding a response. Liz stares back at him, her face streaked with tears.

'Leave it, Harry,' I warn him. 'This isn't the time…'

'When is the time then?' he snaps. 'When do you want to start talking about it? When the trouble reaches your front door?'

'There's a body in the street about ten meters away. I'd say it's reached the front door already,' I snap back angrily.

'So what are we going to do about it?' he demands. There's an uncomfortable hint of panic and desperation in his raised voice. 'Are we just going to sit here? Are we just going to…?'

'What can we do?' I interrupt, holding Lizzie's hand a little tighter. 'What are the options, Harry? Should we sit here and keep ourselves and the children safe, or do you want us to go out there and join in the fighting?'

'That's what caused the problems in the first place,' he argues.

'Exactly, so what else are we supposed to do?'

Harry is pointing his finger at me now and his voice is getting louder. He's not making any sense and I'm biting my lip, trying not to panic. Once again I find myself wondering if he's about to turn.

'This is just what people have been waiting for,' he continues at an uncomfortable volume, 'an excuse to fight. Not that they've needed much of an excuse before, but now it doesn't matter. People can do what the bloody hell they like without fear of any repercussions. It's a chance for the scum around here to show their true colours and…'

'Shut up,' Lizzie yells angrily. 'Just shut up, Dad. You're not helping.'

'These people need a firm hand,' he rants, oblivious. He points accusingly at the TV. 'And if the idiots running the television stations hadn't sensationalised things by showing more and more violence then maybe we wouldn't be in this mess. If there had just been some respect for authority maybe we'd all be…'

'There is no authority any more,' I shout back. 'I saw a policeman shooting people in cold blood yesterday and then I watched other officers turn their weapons on him and gun him down. The authorities are as screwed as the rest of us.'

'But if people would just stop...'

'For Christ's sake, shut up!' Liz screams again. She snatches her hand from mine and storms out of the room. I watch her disappear down the hallway and almost immediately the paranoia begins. Harry is quiet now - is it Liz who's turning? Is she heading for the kids' rooms? Is she going to hurt them? I get up and run after her. I'm relieved when I find that she's shut herself in the bathroom and I feel stupid and guilty for thinking she could have been doing anything else. I slowly trudge back to the living room where Harry finally seems to be calming down.

'She all right?' he grunts.

I nod but I can't bring myself to speak to him. He turns his back on me again and continues to watch the smoke rising from the building burning on Colville way.