and crouch when I hear the sound again. It was a gunshot. It can't have been anything else.
Just to my left a group of people are screaming and yelling in panic. On the ground, right in the middle of them, is a body. I'm not close enough to see any detail but I can see that there's a quickly spreading puddle of blood around the top of the person's head. People start to move again, tripping and stepping over the corpse. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's over now. Maybe that's the body of the Hater lying dead on the ground and things will start to…
What now? People are running past me. Have they seen something that I haven't? I've got to get out of here before I get myself… too late - there's a third gunshot which comes from my left and which sends the crowd scattering in the opposite direction like frightened pigeons. I have to keep moving but my legs feel as heavy as lead. I'm disorientated. I look up at the buildings around the edges of the square, trying to get my bearings and work out which way to run. When I think I finally know which way to go I take a few quick steps forward, weave around another few frightened people, and then stop dead in my tracks.
The crowd has cleared ahead of me. No more than ten meters in front of me now stands a police officer, armed like those I saw here this morning. He's scanning the square, moving his head slowly from side to side. Now he's stopped and he's lifting his rifle again. Fuck, he's pointing it in my direction. Fucking hell, he's aiming at me! I look straight into his face and he stares back into mine. Do I drop to the ground again? Do I turn and run or…?
Fourth gunshot.
The officer fires and Jesus Christ, I can almost feel the shot whistle past the side of my face. I slowly look over my shoulder and see another body on the ground not far behind me, a bloody gaping hole in its face where its cheekbone used to be. Shaking, I turn and run. I'm going in the opposite direction from where I want to go but it doesn't matter. I just have to get out of here. What if it's me next? What if he's aiming for me now? Any second and I could hear the crack of the next shot and I could be down with a bullet in my back. I don't have a fucking chance. Just got to keep moving and hope that someone else gets between me and the gunman. Move faster. Move faster I keep telling myself. Keep running. Get yourself out of range. Keep going until…
Fifth shot.
Nothing. Didn't hit me.
Sixth, seventh and eighth shots in quick succession. They sounded like they came from a different direction this time? I glance back into the middle of the square.
The armed police officer is down. Another officer stands over him and unloads shots nine, ten and eleven into the twitching body of their former colleague.
I keep running. As I move a single devastating thought crosses my mind. Was that police officer a Hater? Christ, if there are people in the police force who are capable of this kind of cold-blooded, emotionless violence then what the hell are we supposed to do? The implications are vast and terrifying. Who's going to keep control? What the hell happens now?
I have to get home. Fuck work. Forget about the job. I change direction and run as fast as I can towards the station. I have to get back to Lizzie and the kids.
16
Thank God the trains are running today. It took hours to get home yesterday and I don't want to be out on the streets any longer than I have to be tonight. It only took a few minutes to get from the square to the station and I didn't have to wait long for a train. Christ knows what Tina's going to say to me tomorrow if I go back to work. I could call her from my mobile now and explain what's happened but I don't want to. I don't want to speak to anyone. I just want to get home.
There are just three carriages on this train. There can't be any more than twenty people on board. I've found myself a seat as far away from everyone else as possible. This is literally the last seat on the train, right at the very back of the third carriage. There are two other people in here with me. They're both nearer the front, one on either side of the aisle. I find myself trying to watch them constantly, scared that one of them might turn because as long as the train is moving I'm trapped in here with them. Now and then I see one of them look around. They're as anxious as I am. My stomach is churning and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I don't know whether it's the movement of the train or nerves that's making me feel sick.
We're pulling into the last station before home. Christ, I hope no-one gets on here. I've got my mobile phone in my hand and I have had since I got on. I want to call Lizzie and tell her I'm on my way back but I can't bring myself to do it. How stupid is that? I don't want to talk out loud because I don't want to attract any attention to myself. I don't want to do anything that's going to give the other passengers any reason to even look at me.
The train slows down and stops. I look out onto the platform (trying not to make it obvious that I'm staring) and watch as a handful of people shuffle quietly towards the train doors. One person from this carriage gets up and gets off and another passenger arrives. It's a man in a long grey trench coat with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. I do everything I can to avoid making eye contact with him but I have to keep watching. I have to see where he's going. Is he coming this way? Shit, he is. I quickly look down at the floor now, desperate not to let him know that I was watching. Is he still coming towards me? Is he getting closer?
He's stopped. I'm sure he must have stopped and I can't believe how relieved I suddenly feel. Christ, this is stupid. Am I paranoid? Am I the only one acting this way? I can't believe I am. Very, very carefully and moving very, very slowly I allow myself to look up and around again. The train judders and jolts as it shunts out of the station and I cautiously pull myself up using the back of the seat in front of me for support. The newly arrived passenger is sitting halfway down the carriage on the other side of the aisle. He looks like he's deliberately put as much distance between me and the third passenger as he can. Thank God.
I press my head against the window and watch the familiar sights and landmarks rush by. It all looks the same but everything feels different this afternoon.
Not far now. Almost home.
17
No more bullshit. It's just gone nine and the kids are finally in bed. Now we can drop the pretence. Now we can forget the happy voices and the smiles and laughs we've put on just for their sake. Now Liz and I can sit down together and try and get our heads around what's going on here. There's no point involving the children in any of this. What good would it do? If we can't work it out, what chance have they got? Better that they remain ignorant and happy. Ed's starting to suspect something's wrong but the little two are blissfully unaware. I wish I was.
We've been sat watching the headlines go round on a loop for about twenty minutes.
'This is different tonight,' she says. 'It's changed.'
'What's changed?'
'The news. They've stopped telling us what's happened. You keep watching and you'll see what I mean. All they're doing now is trying to tell us how to deal with things.'
She's right. There's been a definite shift in the focus of the TV news channel we're watching tonight and I hadn't picked up on it until Liz pointed it out. Until now there's been a steady stream of reports about individual attacks and major incidents but all of that has now stopped. Now all that's been broadcast is little more than a series of instructions. They're not telling us anything we haven't already heard - stay away from people you don't know, stay at home if possible, watch out for erratic and irrational behaviour and alert the authorities if trouble breaks out, that sort of thing. It's all straightforward, common-sense stuff.
'Probably not worth wasting time reporting on everything that's happening,' she says. 'One fight in the street's pretty much the same as the next.'
'I know,' I agree. 'There's still something else missing though, isn't there?'
'Like what?'
'If you listen to what they're saying, they're still telling us that everything's under control and the problem's contained but…'
'But what?'
'But no-one's coming up with any explanations. No-one's even making any attempt to explain what's happening. That tells me they're either keeping something from us or…'
