Hatred

by M J Dees

  Jack Allen visited the university, and when Jim saw the opportunity to corner Allen for a chat, it surprised him when the gaunt, greying, bearded man consented to the request. Carter had something to do with it.

  “If you want to know about the future of the university,” Allen began. “Then you must speak with Charlie Hamilton. I doubt things will go on like this much longer, but I can’t do anything without the agreement of Dr MacDonald.”

  Allen leant towards Jim and lowered his voice.

  “These people have a little city republic and the entire country is against them,” he continued. “I would have reformed the university during the break. Got rid of the professors unable to teach, given financial security to those who can. I’m interested in the truth.”

  Jim couldn’t suppress an involuntary smile.

  “You can laugh,” said Allen. “I know that truth is a relative concept, but now is the time to speak aloud about the things that people are not speaking about. I tried to cut out red tape by dealing with matters myself but they inundated me with a mountain of trivial requests so I left the administration as it was for the time being.”

  Allen struck Jim as a motivated child, playing with adult things. He was serious, educated and radical, but without an ounce of bloodlust.

  “I’ll turn my blog into a book,” Allen announced. “I only wanted Alba to rid itself of the ridiculous Westminster troubles. The way Westminster treated us after the last floods was unforgivable. I never wanted MacDonald to turn Edinburgh into a prison.”

  Carter laughed. Jim and Allen looked at him in surprise.

  “It’s all an enormous game to you, isn’t it?” Jim asked.

  Carter just smiled and took from his pocket his flip, showing Jim an app displaying a card allowing him to arrest counter independence factions.

  “Where did you get that?” Jim asked.

  “They forced it on me. I can get you one; things are wild at the moment.”

  Jim shook his head.

  “Give me a cigarette,” said Carter, deadpan. “Or I will arrest you.”

  “Use your authority,” said Allen. “Arrest Dr MacDonald.”

  With that, he left Carter and Jim staring at each other.

  That evening, Jim went to a lecture on socialism. 1,500 people packed the university auditorium but, as far as Jim could see, none of them were working class. They all looked like middle-class intellectuals.

  “Today, I welcome you as guests to the university,” the speaker began. “Tomorrow you can come as owners. Education has been the privilege of the wealthy, but we’ll change that. We will feed those who are suffering in this time of siege. People must turn over any hoarded food to the authorities so they can distribute it to those who need it most.”

  The speaker did not convince Jim. If he believed social media, there was only enough food in Edinburgh for two weeks, but Jim thought that was optimistic. According to Annabel, while Jim had been out of the country, they had closed food banks all over the nation.

  The nightly gunfire was increasing, and Jim thought the ammunition might run out first. It seemed all for show, a big standoff. Jim doubted anyone would get injured in any fighting. The occasional helicopter would fly overhead and the brigade would drive through the streets in their trucks.

  Every day messages on social media said that the people of Edinburgh should take heart because their liberators, Charlie Hamilton’s legitimate government, were on their way.

  “The liberators won’t come,” Carter told Jim. “They wouldn’t dare send English troops to march on Alba, and if you’re not a Scot, you’re an Englishman and they won’t dare send Englishmen. There will be an independence tribunal with those they have arrested, let’s go.”

  For the tribunal, they had commandeered the supreme courts. At the entrance, Bernican Brigade soldiers searched them for weapons, then allowed them to pass.

  There were many soldiers standing guard outside and inside. The court was hearing the case of a man who had bought ration credits and was trying to sell them on for a profit.

  “Didn’t you think you were hurting those less fortunate than yourself,” asked the judge.

  “I live in the highlands and I couldn’t get home because no trains were running and I’ve got to make a living.”

  The judge sentenced him, but his sentence was shorter than the time he had spent on remand awaiting trial, and so they released him.

  In the next case, a soldier performing house to house checks, got drunk and threatened a family with his pistol. The judge sentenced him to six months.

  This did not impress viewers in the public gallery. They could not see how this ‘kangaroo court’ was any different to the old justice system before the ‘independence’.

  As they were leaving the court, Carter winced in pain.

  “What is it?” Jim asked.

  “A hernia. I’m having it operated on tomorrow so I’ll be out of action for a while.”

  “Good luck with that,” said Jim as they parted company.

  Trade in the city had ground to a halt and the tram cars only ran now and then.

  The latest rumours were that the coffers of the council were running out, and once they could not pay the salaries of the police and the brigade, their mini revolution would be over.

  On his walk to and from the university, Jim passed a house in which an old couple were sitting at their window. He imagined they sat there, every day, all day, except for mealtimes, observing the comings and goings in the street below. Not just during times of independence, but at all other times.

  He also passed a group of young children, playing in the street like his father used to. They were playing independence and peppering each other with imaginary gunfire.

  There were just as many of the usual reassuring messages on social media from the Westminster Government telling the people of Edinburgh that help was on its way and that the siege would end soon as there were posts saying that they had strengthened the brigade with soldiers of other regiments. Rumours of supermarkets receiving deliveries and the usual crowds panic-buying so that the fresh stock would disappear from palettes before it reached the shelves. MacDonald and Allen appear to be tolerating each other in government, but the hope in the living rooms of the city was that the siege would end soon.

  “Can’t we go out into the country for a break?” asked Annabel.

  “It’s too dangerous,” said Jim. “They might think we are with the brigade and get shot at.”

  “So we are prisoners?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Let’s at least go for a walk into the city.”

  They walked as far as the tram stop where they were told that the tram was only for the use of those with party membership.

  “What party?” Jim started to ask, but Annabel stopped him.

  “Leave it,” she said, dragging him away.

  Most of the bike hire stations were empty, with the brigade commandeering almost all bikes because of the lack of fuel.

  Jim and Annabel continued on foot and entered every shop they passed. Jim wondered where the rumours of deliveries had come from because the shelves were bare.

  They heard distant shots and alarm bells. Social media warned them of incidents of looting, and they gave up and returned home. They passed posters blaming foreigners for the troubles and the siege. Social media was also full of accusations but an ideological social media bubble, because of those he followed, isolated Jim from these accusations and he had to rely on Annabel sharing her newsfeed as she, much to Jim’s disgust, was much more relaxed about whom she followed.

  Foreigners were becoming a scapegoat for everything, and even at the university, lecturers didn’t appear to be taking a stand against the rising xenophobia. The monkey flu was making things worse, foreigners were being blamed for bringing it into the country and sufferers were being isolated from the rest of society in quarantine camps to prevent another pandemic.

  Jim had been born in the US. Hi
s father had been British but his mother was an Afro-Mexican and he had inherited her dark skin. He never felt hostility towards himself, but he felt a sense of isolation. Annabel had been born in Britain and, even though her mother had been Brazilian, her skin was light enough for her heritage to never come into question.

  Joe Wood visited Annabel and Jim with his late wife’s sister, Zoey. They couldn’t believe how much she resembled her sibling.

  “What do you do?” Annabel asked.

  “I’ve tried hundreds of things,” Zoey boasted. “At the moment, I’m a freelance journalist, but I’m trying to set up a business teaching rhythmic gymnastics. I have a few private students.”

  Because of Annabel’s constant interrogations throughout the evening, she and Jim discovered Zoey was a divorcee with a child and that the ex-husband and her ten-year-old child were both living abroad.

  “We are going to Green’s house tomorrow night,” said Joe. “Why don’t you come along?”

  “Well, if you think he won’t mind,” said Jim.

  “It would delight him to see you both.”

  The next evening, Annabel and Jim enjoyed a delightful evening at Doctor Green’s house in the company of Joe and Zoey, and they felt like they were making some friends at last.

  A week later, Jim was at the university when he saw Zoey coming towards him in the corridor.

  “We haven’t seen you for a week,” said Jim, offering his fist for her to bump. “You and Joe should come over to ours for the evening.”

  Zoey stared at him, ignoring his hand.

  “I’ve heard your family are immigrants. I don’t associate with foreigners,” she said, loudly enough for everyone around to hear, before turning her back and walking away.

  That evening, Doctor Green had invited Annabel and Jim to his house again, and Joe and Zoey were there. They chatted with Green and Joe over the head of Zoe, who sat between them. It was as if her chair was empty. Jim felt it must have been very obvious.

  “Now, they’ll have me,” Jim commented to Annabel as they left.

  The next day, Jim bumped into Doctor Green outside the staff room.

  “Don’t worry, Jim,” the professor consoled. “Zoey Young is a fanatic. They rub me up the wrong way, fanatics. But Joe is very keen on her; she has been a great comfort since his wife... since she died. Zoey published an article arguing the country does not have enough xenophobia, if you can believe it.”

  Jim could believe it.

  “Despite all this,” the professor continued. “Joe needs her and I need Joe.”

  Later, in the staff room, Joe arrived.

  “Being called a foreigner isn’t something to get upset about,” Joe began. “Zoey would like a debate on the topic.”

  “I don’t know, Joe.”

  “She’s threatened to hold you to account if you don’t.”

  “Hold me to account?” Jim said, amazed. “Look, Joe, I won’t debate xenophobia with that woman. You’d be best to warn her that any further attacks on me could have consequences both for her and for you.”

  Jim did not know what those consequences might be and felt inwardly terrified about what he might do if she turned up to one of his lectures and heckled abuse in front of the students.

  Annabel and Jim avoided both Joe Wood and Zoey Young, and Doctor Green only invited them round when Joe and Zoe would not be there.

  It had been three weeks and Dr MacDonald had resigned as President. The population seemed to wait for England to save them. But even Charlie Hamilton’s government didn’t seem enough to resolve the situation. They needed something more.

  *

  The counter-independence movement arrived, with the English troops marching into the city in a carnival atmosphere. There were reports of fighting in the centre where the hard core was holding out, but outside Annabel and Jim’s window, the people were out on the streets to greet the soldiers.

  Annabel and Jim went for a walk to see what was going on. There were huddles of people everywhere and they could hear explosions from the direction of Waverley station, where they could see black smoke rising.

  The 6g coverage was patchy. But when they could get on social media, they found it was full of rumours of delivery trucks being allowed through, and people watched closed supermarkets with eager anticipation, hoping that a delivery truck might arrive at any moment.

  The army had cordoned off a sizable area around the centre and more troops were arriving, cheered by the crowds.

  “With such popular support,” Jim commented. “It seems pointless to offer any resistance.”

  “The brigade doesn’t seem to think so,” said Annabel, as they heard more shots in the distance.

  Drones flew overhead, and every so often there would be a scuffle as the crowd accused someone of being part of the independence organisation. More often than not, the troops would take them away, either to arrest them or for their own safety.

  “What’s stopping all this flaring up again once the troops leave,” Jim asked.

  “They will surely confiscate all the weapons,” said Annabel.

  “What about the police? We need to be sure they leave someone behind to keep the peace.”

  “Hamilton should resign after this. That’s the only thing that will stop this flaring up again.”

  There was gunfire nearby.

  “Clear the street!” someone shouted.

  The people, including Annabel and Jim, ran, though not with fear. It was still very much as if everything was just a game.

  The delivery trucks, when they arrived, also came with armed guards and queues formed outside supermarkets which would only admit limited numbers at a time.

  As Annabel and Jim queued, they read reports on the middle class news sites that Hamilton had received support from all sides in a sign of national unity.

  By the time they left the supermarket with as much food as they could carry between them, it was getting late, but they didn’t worry because they had extended the curfew until 11 pm.

  Chapter Six – 23 years and 6 months before the collapse

  They found they could walk the streets without being searched. Stories emerged on social media of the casualties and the travesties that took place of accidental shootings and those caught in the crossfire. Of the 100,000 weapons that the independence fighters had supposedly smuggled in from across the water, the armed forces and police had only recovered 5,000 as part of the official amnesty.

  “The cockneys are here eating our food,” Jim heard people complain about the troops. Though they had liberated the city, people already considered them to be an occupying force.

  But for now Colonel Finlay Fraser and his troops were in charge, Allen and MacDonald were pages in a history book but Jim feared that if all the government offered to replace Fraser was Charlie Hamilton, then all the missing guns would soon resurface and the whole bloody business would begin again. As if his thoughts were a prophecy, Annabel heard gunfire and explosions from the centre again that night.

  Social media reported that the last of the resistance had taken and killed hostages. Now the murderers were fighting for their own lives.

  Stories were emerging of a religious gathering, murdered by the liberating troops, who had mistaken them for a group of resistance fighters. The authorities were making much of the fact that the soldiers to blame were from a Scottish and not an English regiment.

  There was a meeting held in the university auditorium to celebrate the liberation, but it soon turned into a recruitment exercise for Fraser’s new militia, which he intended to support the police in keeping the peace once the troops left.

  “We have to protect our city against foreign elements,” the zealous speaker shouted.

  “You are playing the Brit,” Zoey Young accused him when she saw him.

  “No, I’m not,” Jim protested. “I am British. Why should I conceal my heritage?”

  The university had made a deal with Fraser so that students could study and serve in th
e militia at the same time. The university also now had its own armed security guards and, the next day, when Jim tried to enter through a back entrance, a guard shouted at him from some distance away.

  “Stop! Are you allowed?” the guard shouted as he approached, waving his gun around.

  As he got closer, both men realised they recognised each other.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said.

  “Griffiths?” Jim was astonished. “I didn’t know they required associate lecturers to perform guard duty.”

  “We all had to sign. You too?”

  “Ah yes, but I have exemption from actual duties on account of already having served in the military.”

  “I couldn’t get out of it,” Julian Griffiths complained. “You have it easier.”

  “Have you got the safety on that gun?”

  “No, how do you do that?”

  Jim stepped behind him and engaged the safety.

  “There could be an accident if you keep waving that gun around like that,” Jim said.

  “I know. I shot the ceiling earlier but nothing happened,” Julian paused for thought. “Who are we serving with? Fraser? Westminster?”

  “The lesser of evils than MacDonald,” Jim said, and he hoped he was right.

  Jim went to visit Carter.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, looking at a very pale friend lying in bed.

  “The pain has stopped, but I still feel very weak.”

  “Carter, they are doing house to house searches. Do you have anything incriminating here?”

  “My briefcase, next to the bed, there’s nothing else.”

  Jim took out the papers and burned them in the toilet bowl, flushing away the evidence.

  “If they interrogate you, mention me,” said Jim. “I’ll vouch for you.”

  The next day, Dylan Davis called on Annabel and Jim.

  “The police have been around to see Carter,” he said. “They searched his room, but they found nothing. They arrested Mia at first, but released her soon after. They have a list of everyone associated with Carter. Your name was on it, Jim.”

  Annabel grabbed Jim’s arm.

  “That’s fine,” Jim said. “I told Carter I would vouch for him.”