Ousted: A thrilling debut novel of survival and humanity

by James M Hopkins

  Mina picked up her half-finished drink and her bag and took a place outside in the front smoking area which consisted of a row of large barrels with heated canopies above. Given the early summer heat they were not switched on. After just a few drags of her rolled cigarette she saw Grace walking cheerfully across the green. The bells from the nearby church rang out for eight o’clock.

  Grace came straight up to Mina and gave her a tight hug. “Perfect timing, Grace,” Mina said while pointing towards the church tower.

  “Ah, you know me, I like to make an entrance.” Grace rummaged around in her clutch bag for a slim cigarette and lit it appropriately gracefully. Her nails looked freshly done, long and filed to a delicate red point in stark contrast to Mina’s nails cut down as short as they could be, but at least clean and coated for her night out.

  While they smoked and talked, Mina finished her drink and after stubbing out their cigarettes simultaneously, Grace slipped her arm through Mina’s and trotted her towards the bar. They took a bottle of wine and a jug of iced water and by Grace’s decision, took a table that was in direct line to the door and with no tables blocking their route to the bar.

  Over the next hour, the pub gradually filled up with people, nearly all of those entering offering a polite ‘good evening’ to the two women. Grace was much more the social animal than Mina was and so the evening generally consisted of Mina being pulled into all sorts of conversations with people that Grace knew well and that knew her well. Everyone had kind words for her, but Mina was much more attuned to the jealously shown by other women and the lecherousness of the men that vied for her attention. She tried to tell Grace this only to be told that she was looking too deeply into it all. Mina could see why her friend got the attention she did. She was certainly a beautiful woman and spoke articulately, the time spent cycling paid dividends to her figure and men and women alike pontificated wildly as to why she had not married. Though, as much as Mina tried to raise Grace’s awareness of what people were saying, it was embraced more than it was ignored.

  A group walked into the pub. They were ordinarily dressed, smart if anything compared to the rest of the patrons, but something about them made Mina take note. They gave her a bad feeling and she didn’t recognise them from those in the village that she had met or seen before. Grace told her that they were from the ‘estate’ as it was known in the village, but they certainly weren’t as dodgy as some of them from that area. She knew them by sight, but not by name.

  A little later, the pub became very cramped and Mina and Grace, losing their table, had resorted to standing outside under one of the heated canopies with a few other friends of Grace’s. Grace was telling them about her investments in a few businesses around the area, explaining how she managed to have such a nice house working as a grocer. Each of the barrels at the front of the pub were surrounded by people and a few other groups were stood across on the green itself, pint glasses in hand being swung around in extravagant story-telling. The group that Mina had seen earlier on fell over each over, laughing as they came out of the pub’s side door and overhearing Grace’s talk of investments, came to stand with them.

  They probed Grace for information. Grace answered their questions eloquently and vaguely, trying at every pause to move the conversation onto a different subject. Mina nudged her friend a couple of times and suggested getting another drink. Mina could sense a devilish ambition in the oldest of the group, but didn’t want to make a clear scene over it in case they tried something too aggressive. It was clear to Mina what their intentions could be with someone clearly well off and open to talk, but she didn’t think that Grace could see through it as easily. Grace’s two friends even concernedly asked her if she was fine, and she replied that she was, and they eventually wondered off towards home, citing an early morning trip to see family.

  After they left, a silence dropped over those that remained in the circle. Mina decided it would be an opportunity to pull Grace away, but the next few moments seemed to pass in front of Mina so quickly that she felt as though she was moving through mud while everyone else was on fast forward. In reaction to Mina picking up their bags and putting her arm through Grace’s to guide her to the bar, one of the men in the group facing them made some comment to Grace about her ‘anxious little girlfriend’ which had the effect of rooting Mina to the spot with a sudden wave of anxiety and anger thrown together. Grace immediately held onto Mina tightly and defended them from the accusatory words that continuously spouted from the mouths of the group. Mina, in her immobile state, had a surprising thought that to an outsider walking past, they probably did look like a couple. Stuck in that thought, Mina missed completely whatever words came from Grace next and so was caught even more by surprise at what resulted from it.

  One of the women, taller than both Mina and Grace, threw herself towards the pair. She managed to push Grace to the ground while missing Mina completely, whose arm simply detached like a lizard’s tail from being clasped around Grace’s. Before Mina could even turn to see what was happening, four farmers describable as ‘burly’ ran in and pulled the unknown woman from her friend, pushed the others back and started to close in on the group until they knew that they stood little chance, two averagely built against four farmers that looked strong in arm albeit a little rounded of stomach.

  Mina broke from her dismayed trance to give Grace a hand up from the floor and preceded to wipe her down of the gravel that had gotten into her hair and clung to the back of her dress and jacket. While she did this, the farmers walked back over to tell them that the group had been officially barred for the evening. Grace insisted against the farmers’ will that she would buy them all a drink, the act of which seemed to whisk Mina along in all the commotion and downing of shots. Grace seemed – as she did with everyone in the pub – to know the farmers well and spent a few minutes talking and laughing about what had just happened, brushing off being knocked down with ease.

  It was, after a few minutes, Grace that suggested they go back to her place to relax in case the barred patrons decided to come back in time for closing. As much as she didn’t show it right away, Mina could tell Grace was at least a little shaken up.

  Grace’s house was well kempt, every single item had its own place that seemed to make it stand out from the rest. In her living room, she had a baby grand piano, polished to a vibrant shine, a few of her sporting awards from her youth still had a pride of place on top. She had no TV which meant that two cream leather sofas lay opposite each other. Mina and Grace lay on one together, Grace’s legs lying over Mina’s. They each held a large glass of red wine.

  “I should have stood up for you better,” Mina said angrily.

  “You shouldn’t worry yourself, darling. It’s just the local chavs – even if they don’t dress as such – they just go around bullying for no reason. There is nothing you could have done to change the situation. -And anyway, it was just a little pushing and shoving,” Grace replied.

  “I knew that they would start something with you as soon as they walked in. I could have protected you. You mean a lot to me, Grace, and I know that that sort of thing does affect you, no matter how hard you think you are.”

  Grace pushed her foot firmly against the side of Mina’s face. “You know I’m as hard as nails,” she said playfully.

  Mina pushed the leg away, spilling a few drops of wine on her blouse. “Damn, look what you made me do. Anyway, I am being serious, I need to stand up taller. Especially for you. Being as you are one of a very elevated and exclusive group of people I actually like.”

  “Aw, you always get so soppy when you’re drunk, my love.” Grace nudged her again in the side. Mina caught her leg under her arm and held her calf tightly.

  “I thought I was always soppy and protective around you. Did you not notice?”

  “Perhaps I didn’t,” Grace answered.

  They shared a few seconds of silence before Mina shook her head and let out a sound of disgust. “I am done with wine,” she sai
d reaching to place the glass onto the shelf behind the sofa.

  “You!? I never thought I would see the day you give up before me. Do you want to have a cup of tea, a cigarette and then pass out upstairs?” Grace asked.

  Mina thought for a moment, her head lolling about dramatically as she did so. “Yes,” she finally answered.

  Chapter 8

  Tariq woke in the early afternoon. After staring blankly at his phone screen for a moment, he reached over to open his laptop. The browser was still open from the night before and after it refreshed itself, he noticed a message icon on one of the pages.

  AH6015: Are you going to join the marches tonight? It’s due to be a riot. Perhaps literally. Thousands will attend and it’s well planned across the board.

  The text was followed with a plethora of links to various awareness groups and events on social media. Tariq opened them up to see huge numbers of people pledging attendance.

  AH6015: Where are you going to be starting from? You’re south of the river, right?

  T3LM: South of London Bridge is the closest rally point for me. I need to phone my mentor at The Vigilante to find out for sure where he’ll want me. I am on the live-feed team for it tonight.

  AH6015: Well, I hope only truth will you be spreading.

  T3LM: Of course. The truth is key. Someone at the office will be proof-reading and editing where appropriate, so I can’t be held fully accountable for the end output to my name.

  AH6015: Do your best, brother. Let me know on here where you will be, it would be good to catch up if we can in all the commotion.

  Tariq lay back on his bed, he wanted to make sure that he had as much energy as possible before he set out for the night. It wasn’t due to start until eight o’clock and the final meeting of the different groups outside the Houses of Parliament wasn’t predicted to occur until close to midnight.

  Tariq walked, carrying his small rucksack, usually reserved for his bike rides, filled with a few snacks, a water bottle, spare pen, notepad and two external phone chargers. It was a couple of miles from his flat to London Bridge, but he covered ground quickly with a purposeful stride. He had arranged before leaving that he was going to meet ‘AH6015’ on the corner of Montague Close, just south of the river.

  He waited on that corner for twenty minutes. The number of people grew rapidly and he noticed the proportion of those wearing earthy or bright colours – the typical garb at most of the protests and marches that Tariq had attended – to those wearing black hoodies or dark tracksuits was declining. A few of the eyes peering over bandanas and scarves gave him glaring looks and Tariq felt himself withdrawing towards the walls of a nearby building. It wasn’t much longer until ‘AH’ came through the crowd towards him. He had shaved his moustache, but left the beard intact and he was bigger across the middle than Tariq had remembered of him. He was dressed in a dark blue hoodie and black jeans, looking well integrated into much of the crowd that surged and pressed around him.

  “Tariq,” he said as he approached. “Good to meet you, my man.” He stretched his hand out and Tariq took it. They exchanged small talk for a few minutes before it became apparent that the crowd was starting to move. As they walked along, the sun lit the underside of the clouds – only covering half the sky – a vibrant rust colour.

  Tariq and ‘AH’ carried light conversation as they went onwards, both pausing from time to time to record or write down some notes for reference later. As the sunlight failed and the orange street light took over, the noise of the crowd picked up. The pair walking together noticed some graffiti tags starting to appear on some of the walls they passed. Random words and names appeared first, but eventually they took a more stable form from one to the next. The word ‘KoYΔ’ started to appear frequently. Neither of them knew the meaning, but both took note due to its regularity in repetition.

  The river continued to push its darkened waters in the opposite direction to the flow of people walking alongside it. The buildings lining the other bank glowed passionately, a distorted reflection of their amber glow floating above the water. Tariq had expected to have seen a police presence appear alongside the throng of people that they were a part of, but even the better part of an hour after he had met up with ‘AH’, he had not seen a single uniformed officer. The realisation of this was not just limited to himself, he could see up ahead that more black-hooded men were geeing themselves up. A racket of noise – shouting and chanting – came back from towards the front. Gloved hands waved into the air, some grasping hold of heavy bats or sticks. The crowd near the pair grew in unease and some of those more vulnerable were starting to fall behind or move away from the main crowd down more lightly travelled paths.

  ‘AH’ and Tariq kept a steady pace and soon realised that they were separated from both the main groups that had started as one. Behind them, those carrying banners and ahead, those carrying weapons. Tariq supposed that it was where journalists best operated, separating the reasonable man from danger whilst close enough to it themselves to retell the story later.

  An instant after turning and passing under a wide overpass, the gradually rising tension snapped like a cord in front of Tariq’s eyes. From watching the growing group of black clad people in front of him, walking almost in unison, to an instant explosion of energy around them. It stopped the two journalists in their tracks. Before ‘AH’ had even had the wherewithal returned to him to pick up his camera and start taking pictures of the events unfolding in real time, smashed glass was thrown up into the air with some falling near enough to skitter across the ground between them and the group causing the carnage. The sound was replicated multiple times giving the effect of being near a fireworks display that was out of sight.

  Their senses returned and with it an overwhelming urgency. They both had a fight in their minds to stay with the group, the desire to find safety chewing through their sense of duty to document the story. Tariq started hastily typing into his phone, eyes still locked on the group ahead of the them, to keep note of progress while ‘AH’ got his camera rolling and started taking hard footage.

  The first targets were a line of shops on the left-hand side of the street that were undercut from the high rise flat block above them. Nearly all the windows were smashed in, leaving a jagged, glistening outline around each frame. The shouts were deafening with only a few clear words making their way above the rest. Screams of, “get weapons” and “missile up, lads” were among similar sentiments. Civilians and shop owners streamed down the street away from the carnage, some helped on their way by forceful pushes or throws from hooded and masked men. Some cars tried to turn around to get away, but after quickly finding themselves blocked in, most were abandoned in the haste of their owners’ escape.

  A small group of men with rucksacks took to ascending the steps up to a footbridge that joined the second floor of the building with the other side of the road. Several flares and fireworks were set off from there, aimed high over another building between them and the Jubilee Gardens. A pair of them broke off and started to unfurl a banner that stretched across the footbridge. Either end was branded with a stylised word, ‘KoYΔ’ and ‘Revolution is NOW – Rise Up!’ written in between. A few fireworks went off target and careened through the windows of the opposite building, bringing with it a heavy shower of glass shards to the pavement below. Tariq kept his distance, edging backwards with slow steps until the underpass that they first passed under protected him from above. Behind him an equal and opposite force of commotion occurred, people were running past the other entrance, a few of the bold coming to within a few paces to see what was happening, but none staying long.

  Tariq and ‘AH’ slowly followed the black-clad group as their path of destruction stretched onwards towards the London Eye. Left in their wake were hollow shops disregarded as though by a powerful storm and smashed and burning cars abandoned in the streets. A few of those that owned the shops or cars were in tears, making phone calls to the police or insurance companies even as the
storm that created their loss continued unabated. The pair felt unseen as they passed under the bannered footbridge. They carved a path through the ruin that avoided coming too close to the burning cars. Ahead, most of the group, which was probably a few hundred people to start with, converged with another coming from the east at a crossroads. A small portion carried on straight ahead, hunting down untouched cars and windows and ensuring that anyone that might try and stop them was forced to flee instead. The rest turned right, towards the river. Tariq and his accomplice vaulted the centre of the road and another fence that surrounded a pedestrian zone. Some single floor buildings ran on the right of it in a line towards Jubilee Gardens. They both kept low, now parallel to the main group of revolutionaries – probably now referred to as terrorists on most media outlets – so they could remain unseen.

  At the end of the line, ‘AH’ pulled up. Tariq hadn’t noticed how out of breath the man was. “I need a rest, dude. My heart is pounding,” the man said, reaching into a pocket for an inhaler.

  “That’s absolutely fine, my man. I need to pull myself together too. I am shaking too much to even type right now,” Tariq replied. He hunkered down with his back to the wall and took some deep breaths. Once he felt back in control, he hastily typed in a few more paragraphs into the phone and sent them off to the editing team at the paper. He did it as much to announce the danger he was walking into as for the benefit of the reader, although he knew that there was no way to get an evacuation procedure put in place for him. The risks he took now were his alone.

  After a look at ‘AH’ that told him the man was still not ready to get moving, Tariq crawled to the edge of the building to try and spot the group. The main congregation of people was starting to gather at the end of the street on the other side of the pedestrian zone, coming together patiently as stragglers still in the process of destruction spread along the rest of the street like the tail of a comet. Back at the first crossroads, Tariq could just make out a group of around fifty hooded men that seemed to be guarding the ways that they had come from. Tariq looked back to the main group that looked as though it was squaring up to the London Eye itself. He was shocked at how organised and regimented they were. It was as if each man made up only a small part of a greater being. In effect, they were. The supposed revolution was a cause worth coming together for and they certainly didn’t have the appearance of a self-serving group of individuals. They were purposeful and it felt like each of them knew their ends and how to get there. The last piece of information that scared Tariq more than anything else was the continued lack of police.