Hater 1: Hater (24 page)

    The tarpaulin cover over our heads blocks out most of the light so it's difficult to see much in here. I've managed to drag myself over to one side of the vehicle and someone nearby has been able to lift up a small flap of material. I can't see very much through the gap, just the edge of the road rushing by. We've not slowed to take any turnings for some time. We must be on a major road and it must be virtually empty. I'm practically blind and I can't hear anything over the clattering engine of the truck and the rumble of the wheels on the tarmac. The world feels alien and desolate and the disorientation of the journey makes it a hundred times worse.

    The few faces I can make out nearest to me appear beaten, empty and expressionless. No-one understands what's happened to them or why. People are too frightened and confused to talk and so remain silent and subdued. There's no conversation, just the odd whispered word. I wish there was some distraction. Without anything else to occupy my mind all I can do is remember Ellis and also think about what might be waiting for me at the end of this journey. Where are we being taken, and what's going to happen when we get there? Someone near the back makes a half-hearted attempt to open the back of the truck. For a few seconds an escape seems possible until we find that the tarpaulin has been secured from outside. We're trapped in here.

    There's a girl sitting next to me who is gradually becoming more and more agitated. I've consciously tried not to stare at anyone in the semi-darkness but I've seen enough to know that she's young and pretty although her face is tired and grubby and is streaked with tears. She's in her late teens I think, maybe older. She's leaning against me and I can feel her body shaking. She's been sobbing for some time. Christ, I'm scared, how the hell must she be feeling? She looks up at me and makes eye contact for the first time.

    'I feel sick,' she whimpers. 'I think I'm going to be ill.' I'm no good at dealing with vomit. Please don't throw up, I think to myself.

    'Take deep breaths,' I suggest, 'it's probably just nerves. Try and take some deep breaths.'

    'It's not nerves,' she says, 'I get travel sick.'

    Great. Without thinking I hold her arm and start to rub her back with my other hand. It's more of a comfort for me than anything else.

    'What's your name?' I ask, hoping that I might be able to distract her and take her mind off how ill she's feeling.

    'Karin,' she replies.

    And now I'm stuck for something to say. What can I talk to her about? If she's anything like me she'll have found she's suddenly become a homeless, family and friend-less killer. There's no point trying to make small talk. Bloody idiot, I wish I hadn't said anything.

    'Do you think we're going to be in here much longer,' she asks, her breathing suddenly shallow.

    'No idea,' I answer truthfully.

    'Where are they taking us?'

    'Don't know. Look, the best thing you can do is try and take your mind off it. Just find something else to concentrate on and…'

    It's too late, she's beginning to heave. She grabs my hand as she starts to convulse. I try and turn her around so she can be sick out through the small gap in the tarpaulin but there's not enough space and not enough time. She throws up, splattering the inside of the truck and my boots and trousers with puke.

    'Sorry,' she moans as the smell hits me. I'm struggling to control my own stomach now. I can taste bile in the back of my throat and I can hear other people gagging and groaning in disgust all around me.

    'Doesn't matter,' I mumble. The inside of the truck, which was already hot and musty because of the sheer number of people trapped inside it, now stinks. It's impossible to escape the smell but I have to try and do something otherwise I'll shortly be adding to the stench myself. I stand up, holding onto the side of the truck for support and, now that I'm upright, I notice a small rip in the tarpaulin at my eye-level. I look closer and see that it's a seam which has begun to come undone. I push my fingers into the gap and try to open out my hand. As I stretch my fingers the stitching holding the material together frays and comes apart. Finally some welcome daylight and much needed cool, fresh air is able to flood into the truck. Not giving a damn about the consequences I shove both hands into the rip and pull as hard as I can in either direction. The gap increases in size to about half a metre and I can hear the relief of the people around me.

    'Can you see where we are?' a voice asks from somewhere on the other side of the truck. All I can see are trees at the side of the road as we rush past.

    'Haven't got a clue,' I answer. 'Can't see much.'

    'You can see more than me,' the voice snaps, 'keep looking.'

    I push my head right out through the canopy and try to look up towards the front of the truck. We're on a motorway, I think. The long and relatively featureless road gradually curves away to the left and, for the first time, I see that we're not travelling alone. There's another truck in front. Hold on, there's more than one. It's difficult to be sure, but I think I can see at least another five vehicles ahead of us, all trucks of a similar size to this one, equally spaced from each other. Taking care not to slip in the gross puddle at my feet I shuffle around so that I can look behind us. I count at least as many trucks again following, probably more.

    'Well?' the voice asks as I pull my head back inside.

    'Can't see where we are,' I reply, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'but we're not on our own.'

    'What?'

    'There are loads of trucks like this,' I tell them, 'at least ten that I can see.'

    'So where are they taking us?' another frightened voice asks, not really expecting an answer. 'What are they going to do with us?'

    'Don't know,' I hear Patrick reply in his familiar resigned tone, 'but you can bet it's going to be fucking awful, whatever it is.'

    I stick my head back out of the side of the truck again to escape the stink of vomit and the nervous, frightened conversations which Patrick's accurate but insensitive comments have just started.

    We finally slow down and the truck makes an unexpected swinging turn to the left. It's a sharp bend, too severe to be a normal motorway exit. The road we're travelling along becomes rough and uneven and continues to twist and turn for what feels like another mile or two further. Then, without any warning, the journey's over. We've stopped. My stomach churns with nerves again as the truck comes to a sudden halt and its engine is silenced. It's pouring with rain outside and the clattering noise on the roof above my head is deafening.

    'Where are we now?' someone asks nervously. I dutifully shove my head back out through the tear in the tarpaulin and quickly pull it in again when I see soldiers approaching on foot. I wait until they've passed before cautiously peering back out. The truck (and the ten or so other vehicles which have travelled in convoy with us) have stopped in a line along a narrow road which runs along the edge of what looks like a dense forest. I can't see where the track goes from here. I don't want to risk leaving myself exposed like this for any longer than necessary and I close up the gap in the heavy canvas cover. I'm sure we'll be seeing where we are soon enough.

    'There's not much to see,' I tell them all unhelpfully as I turn back round 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're 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 backwards 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 towards 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 lumping 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 queue.

    From where I'd been standing I'd only been able to see the people who'd travelled 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 queue 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 pyjamas. 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 queue 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 further down the queue 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.