Дэвид Муди - Hater

‘Name?’ one of the officers at the checkpoint yells at the next person in line.

‘Jason Mansell,’ the man replies, his voice quiet and resigned but still carrying the slightest hint of anger and resistance.

‘Date of birth?’

He answers. He’s also asked for his most recent address and, while he’s answering, it finally dawns on me why these bastards are treating us like shit but are also strangely concerned about our bodies. We’ve been stripped of all individuality and yet they still want to know who we are and where we’re from. The answer is obvious — it’s a bloody census. They’re carrying out a bloody census of us. If they want to completely control us and wipe us out, then they have to know where every last one of us is. That was why they attempted to identify us when we were first taken at the house this morning. That’s why they collect the bodies of the dead. They have to know who it is they’ve killed to make sure we’re all accounted for. I stupidly think about giving them false information when it’s my turn but I know it won’t do anybody any good. As I get closer I see that they’re also taking swabs from people’s mouths and they’re using devices to scan their eyes and palms. Christ, we must be a hell of a threat to them. They’re running scared.

Another rolling roar of thunder. Storm’s getting closer now. Patrick has disappeared from view and there are now just four people left ahead of me in the line. We’re moving with an uncomfortable speed. People are being processed at a frantic rate which seems crazy. We’ve been stood out here for hours. Why start rushing now?

Three people. Wish they’d slow down.

Two people.

Now I’m next. I stand a short distance back behind two soldiers and watch as Karin is processed. I watch helplessly as one of them slams her hand down flat onto some sort of scanner as another one holds her eye open and scans her retina with another device. A few key presses on a computer keyboard and she’s finished and shoved towards the dark opening to the building. There are solid lines of guards on either side. It’s clear that once you’re past this checkpoint there’s nowhere else to go but inside.

‘Name?’ the officer at the desk shouts as I’m pushed forward.

‘Danny McCoyne,’ I answer. I glance to my left and see that there’s a rifle pointing at my head. Just do what you’re told, I think to myself, just do what you’re told.

‘Short for Daniel?’

I nod.

‘Answer!’

‘Yes,’ I mumble.

He asks my date of birth and my most recent address and I tell him. My right hand is then grabbed and scanned. Another trooper reaches up and with rough, clumsy fingers prises open my eyelid and uses the device on me. It has a bright light which I wasn’t expecting. It blinds me temporarily.

‘Send him through,’ I hear the officer order and I’m pushed forward into the darkness. They’re definitely speeding things up now. There are too many of us being sent through too quickly. I stumble and trip towards the back of a bottleneck which is quickly forming. Behind me I hear the next person being processed.

Less than ten meters now separates me from whatever fate is waiting inside this place. I still can’t see anything from here, just a huge pair of dark doors and the steady stream of bodies which go through them. Like so many of the desperate people I’ve already watched I helplessly glance back over my shoulder. I can’t see much but I know there are hundreds and hundreds of people behind me.

There’s a sudden noise which takes everyone by surprise. It comes from two directions — from the back end of the queue and also from the other end of the road we were originally queuing along. Even the soldiers appear confused for a second. Many of the troopers surrounding me turn and look back across the field.

It’s an attack.

Jesus Christ, someone’s attacking from both sides.

In just a few seconds the scene degenerates from resigned calm and relative order into uncontrolled madness. I have no idea who is doing this, but I can see the bright headlights of cars and motorbikes and other random vehicles converging on this building from many directions. They’re not just on the road now, I can see them driving across the fields from all around. Fucking hell, this is a coordinated attack.

I stop walking and try and turn back.

‘Move you fucking scum,’ a soldier screams at me and I’m hit hard in the middle of the back with something that knocks every scrap of breath out of my body. The force of the impact sends me tripping even deeper into the crowd being pushed through the open doors. I try to resist but I’m struggling to breathe and I can’t do anything when more rough arms grab me from either side and throw me forward again. I’m inside now. There’s a concrete floor beneath my feet and a high roof over my head which finally shields me from the rain. Behind me the sounds of gunshots and explosions ring out and are suddenly muted as the heavy doors I’ve just passed through are shut.

It’s dark in here and I can hardly see anything. I’m continually pushed and shoved forward until I can’t go any further, the mass of bodies in front of me preventing me from moving on. We’re tightly packed and it’s clear that they’ve shoved as many of us as they can in here to get us away from whatever it is that’s happening outside. The crowd here is silent — unable to move and hardly able to breathe. I can hear a constant soundtrack of muffled shouts, screams and explosions coming from outside.

A sudden crackle of radio static and the soldiers guarding us move again. Up ahead another set of doors is opened, immediately releasing the pressure and allowing the crowd to flood forward into another huge room like water roaring through a suddenly breached dam. I don’t want to move but, like everyone else, I have no choice. I know that the deeper I go into this building, the less chance I have of getting out again but there’s nothing I can do. I’m carried along by the sheer weight and pressure of everyone else around me and we’re all driven forward by the fear of the guns which are constantly aimed at us.

Space.

Unexpectedly I find myself in space and I’m able to move freely. I stop walking and spin around, desperate to try and get my bearings. The light levels in this room are unnervingly low and the people around me are terrified. They’re screaming and shouting and yelling for help. I watch helplessly as the doors I’ve just come through are slammed shut and locked from the inside by more soldiers. These are wearing a different uniform than the others. They’re wearing some kind of facemask. Is it a gasmask? It can’t be, can it…?

Dead bodies.

My eyes are rapidly becoming accustomed to the low level of yellow light and I can see bodies. Jesus Christ, this room is full of them. They’re everywhere — shoved up against the walls, piled up on top of each other around the edges of the room, laid out in lines on the floor… my worst suspicions and fears were right. This building is a slaughterhouse. They’ve brought us here to kill us. They’re cataloguing us and destroying us.

I have to get out. I run back towards the closed doors but I’m kicked back into place by one of the masked guards. I’ve lost all self-control now and I have to fight. I know these soldiers are armed but I don’t have any choice and I know I’m dead anyway. I pick myself up and run at the guard again with a speed, strength and determination I didn’t know I possessed. I launch myself at him and knock him off his feet before he has time to react. I’m aware of other people starting to fight all around me as I wrestle away his weapon and rip off his mask. He looks up at me with cold, hateful eyes as I punch his face again and again, pounding his flesh with my fists. I continue long after I know he’s lost consciousness. I can’t stop until I’m sure he’s dead…