Hater (Hater #1)

Hater (Hater #1) Page 38

SATURDAY

37

'Get out!' a terrified voice screams over a god-awful noise. 'For Christ's sake, get out of here!'

I sit up quickly. My body aches from sleeping on the bare floorboards. The half-built house is filled with a deafening thumping sound. I run to the window and push my face against the grey metal grille, desperate to see outside. There's a helicopter hovering nearby. It's not directly over the building site but it's close enough and I know that it's people like us they're looking for. I look around and see that I'm alone. Patrick's gone but his stuff is still here.

Shit. There's a truck at the end of the gravel track and soldiers are already piling out of the back of it and running towards these houses. I have to move. I grab my bag and head for the door. I can hear a loudhailer outside, someone shouting a warning about standing still and not moving and... gun fire. I run back to the window and look down again and now I can see Craig face down in a puddle of mud, a rifle-wielding soldier standing over his fallen bulk with his still smoking gun aimed at the back of his head. I can see Patrick and Nancy too, both trying to get away. More troops swarm around them quickly, cutting off their escape route as another truck arrives.

I have to get away from here. Maybe I could get up into the loft space and hide or should I just try and make a run for it? Is it too high to jump down from one of the windows up here? I can't allow myself to get caught. I have to get out of here and get Ellis. Now I can hear footsteps downstairs. Loud, heavy, clunking footsteps. Christ, they probably already know I'm up here. I run towards one of the smaller back rooms and meet a masked soldier coming the other way. I try to push past him but the fucker punches me in the face and before I can react I'm flat on my back looking up at the ceiling. I try to stand up but rough hands grab my arms and I'm dragged downstairs. There's no point fighting I think as I try not to panic. My only option now is to wait until I'm outside and then try to run. But then I think of that poor bastard Craig, face down, riddled with bullets. Co-operate with them I decide, despite the fact that every single nerve, sinew and fibre of my body wants to fight these animals and destroy them.

I'm dragged through the hallway and kitchen and then out of the building. They shove me towards the truck where Nancy and Patrick stand trembling. I trip and fall to my knees in the mud close to Patrick's feet.

'Get up!' one of the soldiers screams in my ear and a hand grabs me by the scruff of my neck and pulls me up. Patrick looks at me. I see desperation, terror and frustration in his frightened eyes.

What now, I think to myself? Come on, if you're going to kill me just do it. Let's get it over with. There are guns pointed at us, but surely they'd have shot us by now if they were going to? I look up at the nearest soldier. A dark visor obscures his eyes but I can sense the hate coming off him like the stench of decay. Two more uniformed figures emerge from the front of the first truck and walk towards us. One of them is carrying one of the flat computers I've seen them using before. The other has a smaller electronic device held in one hand. I can't see what it is. They move quickly. One of them shoves me back against the side of the truck while the other holds the small device up to my throat. There's a split-second hiss of air then I feel a sudden, stinging pain in the side of my neck like an insect bite. They let me go and turn their attention to Patrick then Nancy, doing exactly the same to both of them. Bizarrely they then use the machine on Craig's dead body.

We stand in a line at the side of the truck, silent and not daring to move. The soldiers connect the handheld device to their computer and study the screen.

'Well?' asks one of the other troops from a short distance away.

'All of them,' the computer operator replies.

'Any IDs?'

'Just one, Patrick Crilley,' he says, pointing at him. Patrick looks anxiously from side to side. 'Can't match the others.'

The first soldier turns away and makes a dismissive hand signal to the other troops who still surround us with their guns raised. I bite my lip and force myself not to react as one of them grabs my shoulder and pushes me towards the back of the truck.

'In,' he grunts. I stand my ground and stare into his visor. Two more of them come at me from the side and, grabbing a leg each, they lift me up and shove me through a grubby tarpaulin cover and into the truck. I land flat on my face in the darkness and, before I can move, Patrick and Nancy land heavily on top of me. My face is pressed hard against the dirty floor and I'm shoved further down as the other two struggle to disentangle themselves from each other.

'You're all right,' a voice that I don't recognise whispers from close to where I've fallen. 'You're with friends here.'

Whoever's on top of me manages to drag themselves up onto their feet and I'm finally able to get up myself. I try and stand but the engine of the truck is started and the sudden lurching movement as it pulls away causes me to fall again. Someone helps me up and, for the first time, I'm able to look around. I count the dark shapes of seventeen other people in here including Patrick and Nancy. The light is poor but I know immediately that they're all like me. Seventeen men, women and children just like me.