Chapter 9
Leighton sat back, feet resting on the coffee table wishing he could have joined the protest himself. Shannon sat alongside while music videos whiled away time in the background. The interest from both, however, was on the live updates from the latest protest in the capital. Most of the commentary was based from within the largest group that formed north west of the city centre and seemed to be comprised of several journalists from the same paper. There were brief intermissions as updates came in from other areas. One that seemed to be picking up a little bit of momentum was following a group south of the river that seemed to be dividing into two separate groups. The only reports of any trouble were coming from the south bank, with ‘isolated incidents’ of vandalism and petty theft.
The couple casually read the updates as they came through, diverting their eyes from the television as each did so. One came up that caught the eye more than the rest. Opening with a picture of a burning shop front, an orange banner hung above the flames, before the resolution could fully render, it resolved to a grey rectangle on the screen instead. They didn’t read the text that came up below the space that should have provided the image, before they refreshed the page. When it had finished loading, neither the text nor the image reappeared. Shannon and Leighton both stared at the screen patiently waiting to read what had happened, but after five minutes, it still hadn’t been shown and more posts on the north London marches had been entered.
A few more posts referencing violence, burning vehicles and missiles being launched over the heads of civilians, all tagged as by the journalist Al-Noor, came up in quick succession. They were all short excerpts that were a maximum of three sentences in length.
“Seems like it’s finally getting exciting,” Leighton said.
Shannon was on another chair reading on her tablet. “What’s happening?”
“Probably just a bit of petty vandalism getting the journalistic treatment, let me scroll back down and read it for you.” Leighton scanned down the page, but before he could start reading, the page automatically refreshed and returned a page without those entries included. “They seem to be gone. The page just refreshed.”
“Those three just disappeared too?” Shannon asked.
“I think so,” Leighton replied. “I think it is just something wrong with their servers, it must be overloaded and struggling to keep up.” The baby monitor started beeping and Leighton stood straight up to go visit Zeke’s room and check on him. “See if there is anything on the twenty-four-hour news channel while I am gone, that looked like it could be fun.”
Tariq watched on as the organised group spread out across the junction. They set fireworks off in low arcs over the park, towards the London eye and down the street that passed to Tariq’s right. Those people who had stuck around to watch the progression of the group started to flee rapidly, keeping heads low and backs bent in fear of receiving a strike. As the area vacated, the group of black-clad people spread out, letting the smoke from the fireworks fill the area. The light, grey smoke started to dissipate quickly, but in its place a thicker and darker smoke billowed up and blocked Tariq’s view of the group.
“Hey dude, do you have a spare black jacket?” Tariq asked ‘AH’.
“Yea, it’s just a light rain jacket though. How come?” ‘AH’ said.
“Well,” Tariq started. “That group has just blocked our view of what’s happening, check it out.” ‘AH’ poked a head around the corner as Tariq indicated with one hand and a made a grunting affirmation. “If we are going to continue to live up to our title of ‘journalist’, we are going to need a better view.” Tariq waited for a nod, to ensure that he was being heard over the noise. “I propose we leave here, cut back across to the road there and join the back of that group.”
‘AH’ took a few seconds to process the information, a tentative and almost fearful look plastered on his face. He went to speak and hesitated again. “Oh, okay. For the truth.” He then proceeded to pull the jacket out of his bag and hand it to Tariq, replacing it with his expensive camera and lifting a much cheaper digital camera from one of the side pockets. Tariq gave the man a reassuring smile and tap on the shoulder before donning the jacket and pulling the hood over his head. Tariq swung his arms out wide to show off his disguise. A shrug was the only response to the gesture. “I’ll follow you,” ‘AH’ said finally.
Tariq replied with a grin, “I thought that would be the case.”
Tariq led them back the way they came until a break in the buildings and, keeping low, strained to see through the smoke that was now filling a large area around the intersection. After a moment, he reached his hand back and gave ‘AH’ a short tug on the jumper to ensure he followed. They kept their heads down as they passed across the empty pedestrian zone. The smoke continued to get thicker as they got closer to the intersection and over to their right, the flicker of orange light dancing on the underside of some fresh billows of smoke indicated the cause of it. They reached the outer fence that separated them from the road and Tariq adjusted his cycling bandana over his mouth and nose to help breath. He noticed that ‘AH’ had also pulled the front of his hoodie over his own face.
The other side of the fence was enough upwind of the fires that they could now see a number of cars, an ice cream truck and large van razed and they could finally make out the group of black clothed rioters moving directly up the road to the London Eye. Tariq and ‘AH’ both walked quickly and purposefully to meet the back of the group, constantly adjusting scarves and hoods to match the people that they were going to assimilate with.
The pair went unnoticed as they fell in just behind the back ranks. The group moved slowly and it was a few minutes of shuffling before they reached the Eye itself. Tariq grew comfortable enough to send out a message explaining what he had just done to the editing team with a note that further details will follow. ‘AH’ was still visibly nervous, the hands on his camera shook and his eyes darted trying to focus on the back of every one of the heads in front of him. Tariq noticed that the group looked significantly bigger from up close and wondered if another group had joined under the cover of the smoke. It certainly appeared to be the case, but the darkness and confusion that had veiled the last half an hour could have easily thrown his judgement off.
Passing under the two large supports of the London Eye triggered a flurry of movement and commotion. The familiar sound of smashing glass rung out as if all around them. The main group split apart rapidly, some moving off north to create a blockade against anyone coming in, another set brushed past the two journalists to do the same on the street they had just come down. Tariq stepped on to the river bank path itself. Ahead, a group started smashing their way into the control rooms and docking station of the London Eye’s pods, to his left a large group were already through the doors into the London Dungeon buildings via the ticket office and lights were being turned on in windows up to the third floor. It all seemed to happen so fast, Tariq felt as though his head was swinging back and forth rhythmically attempting to keep up with it all.
Tariq started climbing up onto the awning overhanging the path to get a better view. It was almost instinctual for him to want to see the whole picture and try and fathom the unfolding events. His accomplice looked nervously up from below and after placing his hands on the scaffolding that Tariq had climbed, clearly decided the best place for him was on the ground. From his vantage point, he could see people running in all directions away from where he was. Black-clad men at the near end of the dock were smashing into the pods before they left and were using gasoline to set fire to each one before it left on its path up to the top. The first pod was left rocking violently as acrid smoke poured into the night sky above the Thames. More lights fired up on the building opposite and drew Tariq’s eye to the windows at the top. People were leaning out of them and some were stepping out carefully onto the high roof. A huge, bright orange tarpaulin banner was unfurled, again reading ‘KoYΔ – THE REVOLUTION IS NOW! – KoYΔ’ in the
now familiar stylised writing and thick matt black letters. Tariq took the best photo he could of it and, while his camera was on, took shots of the burning pod, the crowd below him and the burning cars further back up the street. He put his phone away quickly and checked to see if anyone around him had noticed, but every person seemed to be moving pointedly and with great haste to fulfil the plans they had clearly made.
A strong piercing light caught Tariq’s attention from the south, in line with the Westminster bridge. Tariq looked away and clenched his eyelids tightly to shift the purple spots in his vision and learned forward to get the attention of ‘AH’. The man was looking straight up at him. “Sorry, mate. Did you just say something?” Tariq asked.
“No. I was about to ask you what was going on though. How’s it looking?”
“About what you can see, huge banner, burning pods, well organised destruction. There are some bright lights shining from down by the bridge. They are new, I know it’s a long shot, but do you have any binoculars?”
‘AH’ laughed. “You don’t know me well enough yet. Of course, I do.” He rummaged into his bag for a moment before pulling out a small pair of binoculars in camouflage paint. He threw them up and Tariq caught them easily with one hand.
Tariq found it hard to see through the lights, but could see that they were currently situated at the top of stairs at the level of the bridge. Once he dipped the lenses enough down the steps to block them out, he saw uniformed men for the first time in about an hour. They weren’t regular police uniforms, though. He looked down to ‘AH’, startled and shouted, “I think the army are pulling in!”
“What‽” ‘AH’ replied, obviously starting to become even paler, visible even in the orange light that filled the area.
“Uniforms, but not police. Looks like grey urban camouflage, I can’t quite make it out. Their lights are dazzling.”
A few men overheard that were passing underneath. “Hey, you. You say uniforms.” The man spoke with an unfamiliar accent. Possible eastern European to Tariq’s ear.
Tariq pointed in the direction of the lights. “By the bridge, coming this way. Can you see the lights there?”
“Yes, I see. One of you get a megaphone, tell everyone that you pass that the resistance is here,” the man said to the others with him. They split off quickly, just breaking stride as they passed each of the other people in their path. The one that had spoken ran into the docking station and Tariq watched. The sight of three pods burning caught his eye until the man returned wielding a megaphone.
The man pulled down the scarf across his face and from the docking station shouted over and over, “The resistance is here! The resistance has come! Everyone together!”
From every corner, men came running onto the path and filed in behind a line that had somehow managed to pick up riot shields as they marched in step towards the oncoming soldiers. Tariq lifted the binoculars, the soldiers ahead were much clearer now. They were about a third of the distance to the bridge and were clearly armed with side arms and shields of their own. Looking at the men from the group that they had joined, he noticed that there were also hand guns among some near the front.
Tariq yelled incoherently and dropped the binoculars down into ‘AH’s startled hands. He slid himself onto his stomach and slowly let himself over the edge. It was a good distance to drop and Tariq took a deep breath before letting go. Tariq landed heavily and fell backwards onto his small rucksack which painfully pushed some of his items into his spine. He let out a gasp, but ‘AH’ quickly came to pull him to his feet.
Still recovering from the loss of air in his lungs, Tariq said, “Both sides are armed,” closely to ‘AH’s ear.
Before he could be answered, pops struck loudly through the air and instinctively the two of them dropped to the ground. Tariq pointed up the path they had come down and they both took to a stooping run to the cover of the building’s corner.
“We are leaving now. This was too much half an hour ago,” ‘AH’ said breathlessly as they pulled up.
“I’m with you,” Tariq replied.
After running for some time and stealing a pair of bicycles that had been left unchained, Tariq was returning to his neighbourhood. It was a neighbourhood that seemed too much the same and yet so different. Tariq was sweating insatiably even in the cold night air and he left the stolen bike down a shop ally about half a mile from his house. His legs felt as though they could barely support his weight, in part from the fast and panicked cycle from central London to home and partly from the scene he had left behind. He knew in his heart that people were dying there and didn’t fully know the cause that was worth a large group of people to most likely be throwing their lives away for. The revolution sponsored by whatever or whomever this KoYΔ was.
Tariq’s street felt as if four thousand miles away from the fighting rather than the four that it was in reality. It had the same old bustle. The kebab shops spilling a light into the road that was disrupted by the throngs of drunk people harassing the staff for faster service. Bars were left with a few lingering patrons smoking cigarettes and taxis passed through, cutting each other up to claim fares. It was too normal. -And Tariq was too different.
Chapter 10
The unchanging road lay out ahead as far as the two beams of light broke through the darkness. Zeke was fast asleep in the back seat and Shannon struggled to keep herself awake too. She had gotten used to taking naps whenever Zeke did, but in company she felt obliged to stay awake in respect for the driver.
“It seems you won over my uncles and aunts this evening,” Shannon said.
Leighton replied, “Really? I didn’t do anything special.
“You did, you were protective of me when everyone started fighting and got me and Zeke out of the situation. To my aunts they will see that as a really good thing.”
“You have to do that in the situation, I don’t want drunks falling over on Zeke or bumping into you. All I heard about was how much weight I had put on since they first saw me. They were asking if you could cook at the next party, because it is obviously good food. Do you know what caused everyone to get rough, anyway?”
“I have no idea. I heard that there was a guy who was trying to steal beer that everyone had brought, but wasn’t one of us. He tried to chat up one of my cousins, I think. So, he must have been someone’s friend because otherwise they wouldn’t have kicked off on each other. Best to stay out of those, just everyone being drunk. You can see why I hate going to family parties, now.”
“Well, they are certainly livelier than mine,” Leighton said. A two-hour drive still lay ahead and he flicked open the coffee flask. “You sleep, Shannon. Make the most of the opportunity.” He had barely finished speaking when the rhythm of Shannon's breathing slowed. He turned the radio up a touch to match the noise of the road and engine.
Once home, Shannon and Zeke had enjoyed a lengthy sleep and Leighton was positively caffeinated. They spent an hour or so trying to put Zeke down into his cot. As much as they attempted to be fast between car and bed, before he reached it, he was wide awake and refused to go down quietly. Leighton lay with him, sat up in bed, while Shannon, newly re-energised, put a few of their clothes back in the drawers and washing basket as appropriate. Leighton shushed her, but as she slinked into bed alongside them it was clear that Zeke's eyes were open.
Each time it appeared he had fallen asleep in Leighton's arms, Zeke’s sleep was broken as he was placed into the crib. Leighton resided himself to staying upright to cradle his son. Neither of them were too ready for sleep after Leighton's coffee and Shannon's nap in the car.
“It still feels like only yesterday that we brought him back from the hospital, doesn't it?” Shannon asked.
“It feels like only yesterday that I found out you were pregnant. I think that the feelings of that day will always be as clear as glass. Child birth, though. I don't think I have ever gone through anything as scary,” Leighton replied.
“You big baby, it was nowhere nea
r that bad. Hurt like hell, but not that scary.” Shannon touched her abdomen at the scar that was now hard and barely noticeable except by touch.
“Well, let's be honest it was not that bad for you, because you were high as a kite the whole time. I was sober watching it all unfold.”
“So, let me get this right,” Shannon said incredulously. “You think the birth of our child was worse for you than it was for me?”
“Yea, well, while you were gasping on the gas and air I was being jostled by a room full of doctors and midwives, watching the heart rate monitor for Zeke bouncing up and down. Every time you had a contraction his heart rate went from a hundred and fifty down to sixty or at some points, forty beats per minute. I was seriously weighing up the fact that he was going to die. Then they start faffing around with a monitor on his skull, but instead of making it clearer it kept coming unstuck and the heart rate was flat lining on the machine. I was thinking to myself, this is eight months’ hard graft and no prize. I was shitting myself, trying not to let it show so that you wouldn't freak out.”
Ousted: A thrilling debut novel of survival and humanity Page 5