Chapter 5
Pam Smith, the newsreader for the Chronicle Televised, announces the latest story: ‘The grass is becoming greener. Experts have measured the colour of grass from eight different regions in the UK, and are finding that the hue of the grass is becoming a more distinct green than it ever used to. And now, for the next story: Henry Reeves has announced at his latest signing that he is at one with all the people. He has been handing out free copies of his latest memoirs, and has personally signed these. He is now chairman of 10 football clubs, presents four shows on national television, and is planning to appear in the film Critically Acclaimed. His signing tour will be continuing tomorrow in Birmingham.’
Reeves suddenly appears.
‘What makes you at one with the people?’
‘I represent them. All they have to do is listen to me, and I will be at one with every single one of them. Including you.’ He points towards the edge of the camera. ‘I know that they all need an icon that they can worship. And that’s what I am.’
‘What are you going to do next?’
‘I’m going to do more of these, then I’m going to hit the road. Going on a world tour, where I’ll be telling everyone how wonderful our memoirs are. Then I’ll come back and appear on TV again. Someone’ll have to replace me while I’m away.’ He spits on the ground. ‘That’s my life, that’s what I do. Do you know I’m in all the magazines? They gossip about me. I read the other day that they saw me at the beach. Um... I don’t remember what happened.’ He flexes his arms. ‘I expect they enjoyed it anyway.’ He throws his shirt over his shoulders. ‘As you can see, I’ve got the cool bod. Hooray for me! Anyway....’ He puts his shirt back on. ‘Getting a bit cold now. So, as I was saying, oh yeah, we might have an election in three years time, no four years, I mean five. Will you still be here then? Getting a bit old, aren’t you?’
‘Ahem. I don’t think that’s appropriate.’
‘Well, we need to know. Say it for the people.’ He wipes his hand on his posterior. ‘So, yeah, election in four, five, six years time, no polls, we don’t like any of that, reform education a bit, um, I mean it’s not up to me but, yeah, sorry I’m a bit...’ He mutters under his breath. ‘Don’t do drugs, drugs are bad. We’re outlawing them all, no they’re outlawed already aren’t they.... er.... no, none of them....’
‘You’re becoming very incoherent, Mr. Reeves. I’m aware that the Government is becoming tougher on drugs. Can you tell us more about that?’
‘How do you know that?’ He farts loudly. ‘Well, yeah, it’s got to be done. May allow them a bit. Oops. Edit that out. Please. You old bitch. I’m begging you.’ He drops to her knees and holds her.
Simon Evans appears. ‘Can you turn the camera off, please?’
The screen goes blank for a few seconds, then Pam Smith reappears. ‘A recent scientific report has announced reading newspapers helps to lower the risk of heart disease. It is believed that concentrating the eyes in the way that is required of newspaper-reading causes arteries to be cleared through a synergistic process. This benefit cannot be obtained from reading other forms of written word, because they do not use the eyes in the same way. We cannot presently disclose the actual results of the experiment but when they are available, they can be found online, at our website www.nwnews.uk’
The following item starts: ‘Simon Evans, the Prime Minister, has announced that every service is now under state ownership. He has taken this measure to prevent competition from stagnating the economy, and because he believes that these services will be safer under government control. The New Way’s popularity has helped this to happen: they are at their highest in opinion polls since their formation. However, some people are concerned about the rapid increase in crime, particularly vandalism, theft, GBH and murder, since they were elected.’
The camera switches to Evans speaking to an unknown minister.
‘The people, they are angry. Angry people will do angry things. We have to go through this period of destruction before we can have the renaissance.’
‘But, aren’t you concerned about this?’
‘I am. I’m extremely concerned. But how do you deal with them? We’ve tried increasing police resources, but there are just so many of them to take on at a time. I think we’re just going to have to let it mellow, which it will eventually.’
‘Managers across the country are having their stores ransacked. They accuse you of being flippant.’
‘Well, they should try being in government. Don’t they realise what hard work it is?’
‘It is really ruining local communities. People are trying to move away, but they have nowhere to go.’
‘We’ll repair the communities.’
‘But what are you going to do now?’
‘I’ve told you. Just let it mellow.’
‘That will affect your results in the opinion polls....’
Evans falters for a moment. ‘OK, we’ll put a plan in place. But it won’t be easy.’
‘When do you plan to have elections?’
‘We’re not decided yet. Perhaps five years.’
*
As news reaches Steve Johnson regarding the state takeover of businesses he knows that he cannot cover up what he is doing any more. There is only one thing for it: he has to move the business into his home. He is concerned that, now known to the mob, reprisals may happen. He would recruit security but he does not know where from. His worst fear is that they will find the private news network. What can be done about all this? For now, he takes priority: he will make the trip back to Maple Road.
When he arrives, what he takes in of his surroundings barely surprises him; yet, at the same time, something moves him: something to do with the fact that this is his building, his business. And, now, the reality really hits home. He considers looking round the ruins, but decides that he just has to get on with it. As he leaves, something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge gnaws away at him: where are his staff?
The penny drops.
‘You fuckers!’ he screams, shaking his fist. ‘You utter, utter, cowards!’
He doesn’t know if he wants to go on with this anymore. At this rate, it’ll probably be him next. For now, all that seems possible is that he watches and waits, hoping that the storm will pass.
*
Much to the delight of the alliance, the attacks have ceased for a month. The next stage is to decide what to do in the next election. It is not hopeful for any of the major political parties, who are still being beaten significantly by the New Way in the opinion polls, and the minor ones have virtually given up. There is a general consensus among the alliance that trying to obtain popular support is the best way to improve. How will they find out what these mobs wanted? Once that is done, how will they appease them?
The following week, a meeting of the Centre Party in the Elephant & Castle area is forced to cancel when a protest takes place outside. The alliance appeals to the New Way government to provide extra policing around the area. A letter from Henry Reeves arrives, stating that the resources of the Metropolitan Police are overstretched and this cannot be done. A day after, the Conservatives have to cancel a meeting in the same area. The protests soon spread to Southwark and Kennington, where Labour and the Liberal Democrats find out just how difficult it is to hold meetings at the moment. Everyone wants to know if anything has happened to the New Way since they have been in government. Reeves replies, explaining in his letter that there have been two disrupted meetings, and the New Way are doing what they can. Everyone is relieved.
No-one is amused when the attacks grow at an increasingly alarming rate. Soon, people are moving out of London just to escape the constant violence. But they find that elsewhere nothing is any different. A series of letters begin to reach Reeves’ desk. Tired of reading them, he places them in the bin. Soon, the New Way are facing the first protest that actually happened.
‘Go on, kill them!’ commands Evans.
‘But we can’t do that!’ complains Anderson. ‘They’ll vote us out.’
‘We’re-not-going-to-have-elections are we?’ growls Evans.
Stant joins in: ‘What are we actually going to kill them with?’
‘Er... dunno.’ Says Evans. ‘Just kill them anyway.’
‘Are you crazy? How can you expect us to...’ Stant finds himself being marched towards the exit of the venue.
‘We can just call this off.’ Says Anderson. ‘Then they’ll leave us alone.’
Evans glares at her. ‘Yeah, but then we can’t have our meeting.’
‘We can hold it later. When they’ve gone.’
‘I still want to kill them. It’ll be fun.’
Anderson gasps. ‘I cannot believe you said that!’ She is hating him even more already.
‘Uh...I didn’t mean that. Joke.’
She relaxes slightly ‘I’m glad.’
Sucker.
Stant suddenly bursts in. ‘It’s ok! They’re all gone!’
‘There’s no point in having a meeting anyway.’ Says Evans, ‘Now bog off.’
‘Oh right. That’s it, is it?’
‘You..... you.....’
‘Oh, alright! I get the message! I’m going!’ With that, he quickly makes his way out.
‘I’m leaving too.’ Says Anderson.
Mrs. Evans and Reeves also make their way out.
‘Oi! Oi! Oi! I decide when the meeting ends! Wait! Wait a minute!’ Evans suddenly realises he is talking to himself. ‘Well, they’re no use to me anymore anyway. While I’m here I can do what I like.’ He spits in the plate of biscuits in the centre of the table, and sticks his fingers up at a painting of Michael Turner. He makes his way to the painting and starts gouging at the eyes.
‘Doesn’t fucking work! There isn’t anyone around to torment. What can I do?’ He waits around for a while. ‘Oh, come on, please come back!’
With nothing to occupy him, he waits around the rest of the evening, before failing asleep. He is startled by a dream where everyone is laughing and smiling, and he is joining in. He wakes up in a panic, but completes the rest of his sleep uninterrupted.
*
‘It is our destiny on Earth to act in the name of the Lords who created us. And they mean for us to go that place elsewhere that will offer us a refuge from all the problems that face us here on Earth.
The first part of the destiny is to act in righteousness. If an act seems wrong to you, bear in mind that you are doing that in a good cause. The Lords would be proud of you if you did such a thing, for you are serving that purpose. The second part of the destiny is that you will be kind and helpful to anyone who matters. Shower them with affection, share your wealth with them, keep them involved in a meaningful structure, and cherish them for who they are. Be aware that there are people who choose not to follow the destiny set for you, or perhaps those who have not been blessed with a route into the galaxy that beckons at the end of the tunnel. These people cannot know why we must show such kindness, and as a result they cannot feel its benefits. The third part of the destiny is you will avoid the unearthing of secrets. This would lead to upset at first, and eventually to unrest. We must keep a positive ethos on Earth, so that we can be rewarded in the galaxy. Honesty was a concept invented by those who wish these secrets to spread, thus leading to the dissolution of society. If anyone encourages you to take this policy, they will not be going to the galaxy, and are exempt from the destiny, so do not follow their example. The fourth part of the destiny is that you must follow the only path chosen for you. Do not give into temptation and follow your path, as that leads you to the depths of the Great Abyss. The same applies for following the path of others. They are wicked tempters, sent from that place to deter you from the path that is correct. For this reason, they also have no right to be on Earth, and their annihilation is essential to preserve the fate of the believers.’
He clenches his fists, infuriated at the idea that he would be led from the destination that awaits him at the end of his life. A customer enters. He looks up. She seems very refreshed, as if she has been in a sauna. She walks over to the counter and picks up a copy of The Chronicle, now the only newspaper. He is aching to carry on reading his copy of Your Fate, the book issued by the government to inform people about the currently nameless religion that has spread throughout the land. However, he knows he will not have the time.
‘Good read?’
‘Very. If only I had known all this before.’
‘I’m still not very convinced that the Earth was created from asteroid matter by one of these Lords. And why are they are not named? It all seems new as well, which is suspicious. Apparently, it has spread from London, but I’m beginning to wonder who implemented it and why....’
He gets lost in the words, before something suddenly registers.
‘Heretic!’ he shouts. ‘You are not welcome in this shop!’
‘You can’t stop me buying a paper.’ She complains.
‘Yes I can! I just won’t serve you! You must not even stay here!’
She’s personally seen him take something from a shop. Will it teach him a lesson if she makes away without paying? She decides to ask him something first:
‘Where else can I go?’
‘No questions! Just go! Scram!’
She quickly tucks the newspaper under her jacket, and walks over to the door. ‘Byyeee!’ she calls to him, teasingly. As she gets out, she feels slightly guilty, but acknowledges that it would be difficult to buy the newspaper elsewhere. Remembering the time when she had her handbag stolen, she also realises that it is unlikely she will be arrested for shoplifting. The police have other priorities these days.
*
‘One more!’ They chant. ‘One more!’
The lead singer of the Mallrats shouts into the microphone in reply: ‘No, sorry, that’s it guys.’ He looks sombre, despite the glow of the strobe lighting. He has enjoyed the set, but just wants to get back home. The band begin to make their way to the back of the stage.
‘Oh!’ They chant again, this time in disappointment.
Suddenly the band come rushing back and once more assume their positions on the stage.
‘Yeah-hey!’
They launch into ‘Paradise Is Outta Here’. Everyone goes manic, headbanging and jumping into each other. It as if an electric current has been sent into their brains, and they are responding accordingly. The atmosphere is filled with energy and also a platonic kind of love. Everyone is together. Midway through the song, the band stop playing. Everyone looks to see the lead singer, wide-eyed in terror.
‘What is happening? Stop fighting!’
At the back, a couple is on the floor, being kicked and beaten repeatedly by a group. They are unable to resist the tyranny that rains down on them. Among the group is someone reading from a book and shouting something incomprehensible. The security personnel are at the edge, ready to spur into action but uncertain if the odds will be in their favour if they go in now. A few people at the edge, who are now watching, prepare for the possibility. However, no-one has ever been in anything like this: they don’t even know the risks, and they suspect the risks aren’t worth taking. Almost immediately, they find themselves being grabbed and shoved into the melee. A security guard dials 999: he is just about to make the call when he is rugby-tackled by someone in a Mallrats t-shirt. He is so astonished that one of the fans would do something like this that he cannot see it coming: he is now on the floor, being punched in the stomach. Another of the group, in similar garb, approaches and stamps on him repeatedly: teeth and blood sprays everywhere. Enraged by what is happening before them, the rest of the security team attempt to get hold of the assailants. Immediately, they run off. The first one falls, tripped up by a fan. The second, on realising this, attempts a knockout: he has no time to see the results of his work before he is confronted by an angry throng. Everyone is now so pissed off with what is happening that the uncertainty, inhibiting violent retribution, is a thing of the past. It is obvious to him he has no chance. He tries desperately to escape, but there are eight pairs of hands on him....
At the back of the venue, a brawl is now taking place between security, the mysterious invaders and the fans. No-one knows who’s who amongst the sea of sprawling limbs. A certain amount of blood is spilling onto the floor, but no-one can feel the pain: they just keep on going, not even knowing, or caring, what their end goal is. There isn’t time to think about that.
‘You wankers! Fighting at our gig!’
‘We’re not fighting!’ shouts one of the fans.
‘Well, what the fuck are you doing?’
Everyone takes a step back from the confusion: it becomes apparent that all the invaders are wearing Mallrats t-shirts, something which had previously gone unnoticed. They are now surrounded by a crowd of angry, baying, vengeful people. Simultaneously, they break into a run: two get away, but the remaining are pinned down.
‘Hang on! Look at this badge!’
‘That’s the you know.... those guys on telly. Who is it?’
A tall fellow with his hair shaved in a Mohican style steps up. ‘I’ve seen that. That’s the New Way badge. What the fuck are they doing here?’ His voice is like acid to the stranger lying on the floor: he knows he is in trouble.
The guy puts his hand on his victim. ‘It’s alright. Just tell us why you’re here and we’ll let you go.’
‘It’s....it’s....I can’t tell you.....’
‘Come on, you’ve got to do better than that.’
He starts to tremble. There is some muttering from the other downed invaders: among the words are ‘Don’t tell them’.
‘I-I-I.....’
‘OK. Suit yourself. We’ll leave you here then.’ He takes his hand off and turns away.
‘I was sent to disrupt the concert!’ the downed one blurts out.
There is an echo from the crowd: ‘A-ha!’ He founds himself being yanked up by his sleeves, and pushed forward. Suddenly he is the middle of a mad stampede. It spills over into the street, causing passers-by to divert. It’s as if he’s on a conveyer belt to nowhere.
‘What are you doing?’ he yells, repeatedly.
The commotion halts, just outside a branch of Argos. He recognises his interrogator, who is clearly preparing to make an announcement.
‘Today, our gig was infiltrated by a group of people pretending to be our fans. It has never kicked off before, so it all seemed strange. Turns out, as a matter of fact, that the government has been attacking us! Look at this!’
He is helpless as he is moved to the fore. ‘Show us your badge.’ The interrogator commands.
Reluctantly, he follows the order.
‘That is the badge of the New Way. I am surprised that they are behind all this, but there you go. Anyway, I’ve a question for you. Why did you do this?’
An unfamiliar voice arrives: ‘Shut up! Shut the fuck up!’
An irate crowd is moving towards them. After the mobs, this all seems like nothing. Nevertheless, everyone turns in their direction, watching cautiously.
‘You have no right to protest!’
‘Why not? Just because of this?’ The interrogator looks down at his leather-and-tartan costume, to make his point. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘You criticise them, you criticise us all!’
‘Bollocks!’ He spits out in reply, clenching his fists.
‘Off our streets! Off our streets! Off our streets!’ They chant.
‘We’re not going anywhere.’
‘Off and out! Off and out! Off and out!’ The throng moves to surround them.
He turns back to his audience. ‘As I was trying to say....’
The chanting grows louder and faster: ‘Off and out! Off and out! Off and out!’
He tries to speak, but the chanting drowns it out. Soon, he gives up.
‘Off and out! Off and out! Off and out!’
Nothing happens, except the chanting, for around half an hour. By now, everyone is bored. The interrogator signals to his crowd. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’ They gradually start to follow one another through an exit formed by the opposition. ‘You can go.’ He says to the captured man.
When no-one is near, he utters: ‘We’ll be back.’
*
All across the country, people are watching the same news on the same channel, whether at home, in cafes, bars, or pubs: anywhere there is a television.
‘Under the proposed Public Order Act, all instances of live music between 7pm and 10pm will be banned. The act began to be debated when a fight took place at a showing of the Mallrats in Surbiton last week. A recent experiment has shown that trouble is more likely to take place in a public enclosed space that allows live music to take place at these hours, then during the same hours at home, and this has helped to support the introduction of the Act. And, now we move to the next item.
It has been alleged that three Labour MPs have collaborated to block the opposition in the next election. As yet, we are unable to name them. The work they have done in the community has been very commendable, improving the vicinity in a way that cannot be forgotten. It is atrocious that this would be brought to light, but it has long been suspected. A recent poll suggests that the areas they are responsible for are considerably more pleasant places to live than they were under previous local governments.
An unnamed Conservative MP has been accused of plotting to put GHB in the water supply. He is extremely well-respected by the general public, and has even been dubbed ‘The Saviour’ by the local church. On finding out the news, he has been excommunicated. He is known to have had several affairs, which influenced the decision. Local churchgoers describe him as a ‘nice man’.
The grass has stopped becoming greener, because it cannot get any greener, say scientists at the University of York. However, they are continuing research, before considering the possibility of analysing trees for changes in hue.
The New Way is still by the far the most popular government: a survey of 933 respondents showed that 87% of the population agreed that policies on policing, taxation and agriculture under the New Way are the best since 2000.
Currently, the world is so wonderful that there is nothing else to report. Goodbye.’
*
Tim Anderson can only thank his lucky stars that it is still possible for him to enter the political scene. However, as he draws up the new constitution, he is plagued by a lingering doubt. He knows that this is really just a gesture, that so much more than this is needed to become serious opposition. He begins to wonder: why am I bothering?
He keeps his doubts to himself as he draws up the constitution, and prepares for the internal election: each position within the new party will be decided by a secret ballot. There is nothing left to do now, except to wait. And that is exactly what he does.....
*
For weeks now, none of the major political parties have held meetings. Almost as soon as they take place, mysterious people come in and throw bottles, tins, and rocks. Some even have knives. No-one even knows what to do any more. The police have been called several times, but it makes no difference. However, some recent news on the grapevine has changed everything. Everyone at the secret meeting of the alliance, in Hertfordshire, now knows who is behind it.
There is a vote in favour of forming a vigilante force to defend against the attacks, but everyone is divided as to whether to proceed to further action. Can retribution be the only means? The alliance is split into those who believe that it is a last resort, and those who deem it necessary to act now. Everyone is in favour of a spy network to track down the mobs, and everyone, but everyone, is now determined to oust the New Way by means other than the electoral process.
At the end of the meeting, it is decided that each party can decide on their own agenda, while joining together to fight the newfound enemy....