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  'If you look at what we've seen over the last few days,' the politician says, shaking his head, 'there has been a steady increase in the recorded levels of violence around major cities where there are high population levels. This is wholly expected. With situations like this the more people who are concentrated in a particular geographic area, the more likely it is that trouble will develop there...'

  I stop listening. I sense that this bureaucrat is launching into some pre-arranged spiel in which he'll no doubt deny all cover-ups and hidden agendas. This sounds like more bullshit. The other people taking part in the debate challenge him but, although he squirms and struggles to keep control, he ultimately remains tight-lipped. I get the feeling that this programme might have been arranged as a public relations exercise but it's failing miserably. The politician's unease and the way he's blatantly avoiding the questions people are putting to him means one of two things. Either the government knows full well what's happening and is simply choosing not to tell the public, or the authorities genuinely don't have a clue. Both alternatives are equally frightening.

  Twenty minutes more of the news channel and my eyes are starting to close. The debate is over and the headlines are back on. They say that the military may be drafted in to help maintain law and order if the police do become over-stretched as the grey-haired panellist suggested in the debate earlier. They also say that the problem is largely limited to major cities and there are, as yet, no reports of it spreading to other countries. Most worryingly of all, there's talk of an after-dark curfew and other restrictions being introduced to keep people off the streets and out of each other's faces.

  It's what isn't being said that bothers me. I'm just concerned that no-one seems to have a clue what's going on.

  TUESDAY

  vi

  Jeremy Pearson felt like he was about to be sick. He'd been okay when he'd been prepped for the operation, but now he was actually lying on the table in the operating theatre with people crowding around him and machines beeping and buzzing and that huge round light hanging over him he was beginning to feel nauseous and faint. I should have gone for the general anaesthetic not a local, he thought to himself as Dr Panesar the surgeon walked towards him. I'm paying enough for this operation as it is, a general anaesthetic wouldn't have cost that much more…

  'Okay, Mr Pearson,' he said through his green cloth facemask, 'how are you feeling?'

  'Not too good,' Pearson mumbled, too afraid to move. He tensed his body underneath the sheet and gown which covered him.

  'This won't take too long,' Dr Panesar explained, ignoring his patient's nerves. 'You're the fourth vasectomy I've done today and none of them have lasted much longer than half an hour so far. We'll have you out of here before you know it.'

  Pearson didn't respond. He was feeling faint. Maybe it was the heat in the theatre or was it just the thought of what was about to happen that was making him feel like this? Was this normal? Was he having a reaction to the anaesthetic they'd used to numb the feeling in his balls?

  'I don't feel…' he tried to say to the female nurse who stood next to him, holding onto his arm. She looked down and, seeing that he was struggling, slipped an oxygen mask over his face.

  'You'll be fine,' she soothed. 'Have a bit of air and try and think about something else.'

  Pearson tried to answer but his words were muffled under the mask. How can I think about something else when someone's about to cut into my balls?

  'Do you follow cricket?' an older male nurse on his other side asked. Pearson nodded. 'Have you seen the tour report today? We're not doing too badly by all accounts.'

  The oxygen was beginning to take the edge off his nausea. That's better. Starting to feel more relaxed now…

  'Okay, Mr Pearson,' Dr Panesar said brightly, looking up from the area of the operation. 'We're ready to start now. I explained what I'm going to do in clinic, didn't I? This is a very small procedure. I'll just be making two incisions, one on either side of your scrotum, okay?'

  Pearson nodded. I don't want to know what you're doing, he thought, just bloody well get on with it.

  'You feeling a bit better now?' the female nurse asked, gently stroking the back of his hand. He nodded again and she removed the oxygen mask. He could feel the surgeon working now. Although his genitals were anaesthetised, he could still feel movement around his legs and occasionally someone brushed against the tips of his toes sticking out over the end of the operating table. More nausea. He was starting to feel sick again. Christ, think of something to take your mind off this, he silently screamed to himself. He tried to fill his head with images and thoughts - the children, his wife Emily, the holiday they'd booked for a few weeks time, the new car he'd picked up last week… anything. As hard as he tried he still couldn't forget the fact that someone was cutting into his scrotum with a scalpel.

  Is this how I'm supposed to feel, Pearson thought? I'm cold. I don't feel right. Should it be like this or is something going wrong?

  'Don't feel right…' he mumbled. The nurse looked down and slammed the oxygen mask on his face again. The sudden movement made Dr Panesar look up.

  'Everything okay up there?' he asked, his voice artificially bright and animated. 'You all right Mr Pearson?'

  'He's fine,' the nurse replied, her voice equally artificially trouble-free, 'a little light-headed, that's all.'

  'Nothing to worry about,' the surgeon said as he took a step around the edge of the table and looked into his patient's face. Pearson's wide, frightened eyes were dancing around the room, squinting into the bright lights which shone down over his prone body. Dr Panesar stopped and stared at him.

  'Dr Panesar?' the nurse asked.

  Nothing.

  'Is everything all right, Dr Panesar?'

  Panesar stumbled back to the other end of the table, his eyes still fixed on Pearson's face.

  'You okay, Dr Panesar?' his surgical assistant asked. No response. 'Dr Panesar,' he asked again, 'are you okay?'

  Panesar turned to look at his colleague and then tightened the grip on the scalpel in his hand. Crouching back down again he slashed across Pearson's exposed genitals and severed his testicles and scrotal sac. Blood began to spill and spurt over the operating table from sliced veins and arteries.

  'What the hell are you doing?' the surgical assistant demanded. He pushed Panesar out of the way and moved to grab his hand and wrestle the scalpel from him. Delirious with fear, Panesar turned and sliced the man with the blade, cutting him open in a diagonal line down from his right shoulder.

  Panic erupted in the operating theatre. The staff scattered as the surgeon lunged towards them. Pearson lay helplessly on the operating table, turning his head desperately from side to side, trying to see what was happening around him. Covered in blood and still brandishing the scalpel Panesar fled from the room. Pearson watched him run. What the hell was going on? Christ, he suddenly felt strange. He felt cold and shaky but his legs felt warm. And why were people panicking? Why all the sudden movement? Why had the nurses gone to the other end of the table and where was all that blood coming from?

  Still anaesthetised and oblivious and ignorant both to the pandemonium which was rapidly spreading through the private hospital and the fact that he was rapidly bleeding to death, Pearson looked up into the light and tried to think of anything but the fact that his surgeon had just disappeared in the middle of his vasectomy.

  12

  There's a strange atmosphere everywhere today. Everyone seems to be on edge. No-one seems certain about anything anymore. Everybody seems to be thinking twice about everything they do and worrying more than normal about what everyone else is doing. Our ordinary lives and the day to day routine suddenly feel more complicated than they did before and yet I'm still not even sure if anything's actually changed.

  I had a phone call from Lizzie just after I'd been out for my lunch break today. We had an appointment to take Josh for a hospital check-up this afternoon and, with everything that happened at school
yesterday, we'd both forgotten about it. He fell off a chair at playgroup three weeks ago and cut his head open. The appointment was just to make sure that everything had healed properly and that he was fit and well. Lizzie had also forgotten to tell Harry that school was closed. He arrived on the doorstep at eight this morning expecting to be looking after Josh as usual. Liz arranged for him to drive her and Josh into town, then take Ellis and Ed back home. I said I'd meet them at the hospital and we'd travel home together after he'd seen the doctor. I managed to convince Tina Murray that I needed to be at the appointment too. For once she bought my story without putting up much of a fight.

  Despite trying to make a quick getaway I was later getting away from the office than I should have been (I stopped to chat to someone) and it's taken me ages to get across town. Josh's appointment was at three o'clock - three-quarters of an hour ago. Still, hospitals are always behind and with everything that's going on there's bound to be more delays than usual today. I bet he hasn't even gone in to see the doctor yet. I walk quickly down the sloping path which cuts through the car park. The hospital looks busy. The afternoon is dull and dark and bright yellow light shines out from the building's countless windows. It's a bloody grim place. I wouldn't want to have to stay here for...

  'Danny!'

  Who the hell was that? I turn around and see Lizzie walking towards me with Josh in his pushchair.

  'You okay?' I ask, confused.

  'Where've you been?'

  'I couldn't get here any earlier,' I answer, lying through my teeth. 'Have you only just got here?'

  She shakes her head.

  'You're joking, aren't you? We've already been in.'

  'What, he's had his appointment?'

  'It was booked for three o'clock. It's a good job you weren't taking him.'

  'I know but...'

  'We've been waiting for you for the last twenty minutes. We were in and out in seconds. They rushed us through.'

  'I'm sorry, I...'

  She shakes her head again and starts to push Josh up the hill back towards the main road.

  'Doesn't matter,' she mumbles. Christ, she's in a bad mood.

  'And is everything okay?' I ask, having to shout after her as she storms away. 'Is Josh all right?'

  'He's fHe's fine,' she grunts back over her shoulder.

  The afternoon goes from bad to worse. Lizzie's talking to me again now but she's still not happy. Neither am I. We've walked back across town to the station but there's been a problem with the lines and our train has been cancelled. We can't get Harry to collect us (there isn't enough room in the car) so the only option left is a long journey home on three buses. Liz has just phoned Harry and told him we'll be late back. By all accounts he's not at all impressed.

  The working day is drawing to a close. The light is fading and those office workers who finish at four o'clock are already starting to crowd onto the streets. We need to get out of town quickly or we'll get caught up in the main rush hour crush.

  'Which bus?' Lizzie asks, having to shout to make herself heard over the traffic.

  'The 220,' I answer from just behind her. I'm pushing Josh now and we seem to be moving in the opposite direction to almost every other pedestrian. It's hard to keep moving forward in a straight line. 'The stop's just up here.'

  Our stop is halfway down a one-way street. Lizzie ducks into the shelter and I follow. Josh is moaning. He's cold and hungry.

  'Look, I'm sorry I didn't make it to the hospital on time,' I say. 'Things are difficult at the moment. You know what it's like when...'

  'Doesn't matter,' she interrupts, obviously not interested in my explanations.

  I peer down the street as a bus appears. I hopefully squint into the distance to make out the number but it's not ours. I slump into the shelter again.

  'So what did the doctor say?'

  'Nothing much. We were in and out in five minutes. His head's healed as it should have and there's no lasting damage. He'll have a small scar but it'll be hidden by his hair.'

  'That's good,' I say, looking down at Josh who, somehow, now looks like he's about to fall asleep. 'It's a relief. You can never be sure when they hurt themselves like that...'

  I stop talking when a sudden stampede of footsteps thunders past the bus stop. A group of six men are chasing after a single shaven-headed figure who is desperately trying to get away. He's wearing jeans and a white T-shirt which is covered in blood. Two of the men barge past us and almost knock Lizzie over.

  'Watch where you're going you fucking idiots!' I shout after them. I immediately regret opening my mouth. Lizzie glares at me. Thankfully both of the men keep running and neither of them reacts.

  The man they're all chasing sprints into the street and runs immediately into the path of a taxi which blasts its horn and flashes its lights at him. The driver swerves and skids to a halt and somehow manages to avoid a collision. The man pushes himself away off the bonnet of the taxi and turns and starts to run down the middle of the road. But the slight delay is his downfall and the group of men following are onto him like wild animals chasing down their prey. My heart is in my mouth. The rest of the world seems to have stopped still.

  The nearest of the chasing pack reaches out and manages to grab hold of the man's sleeve. With a single strong yank he pulls the desperate figure backwards. He trips over his own feet and falls in a crumpled heap on the dotted white line in the middle of the road.

  'Fucking scum,' I hear one of the other men shout. 'You fucking Hater scum.'

  They encircle the lone runner and batter him. They kick and hit him relentlessly. I look at Lizzie and she stares back at me, her eyes wide with shock and fear. Does she expect me to do something? There's no way I'm getting involved. I look around and see that no-one else is doing anything either. The traffic has ground to a halt and many of the pedestrians on either side of the road have stopped walking.

  The beating lasts for less than a minute. They surround him and batter him from every side and every angle kicking his face, his kidneys, his chest and his bollocks and stamping on his head, his kneecaps and his outstretched hands. Once the frenzied attack is over the man's breathless assailants step back, leaving the twitching body on the ground in full view. The wail of approaching sirens shatters the heavy and ominous silence. I look back down the road and see that a police motorbike is weaving through the stationary traffic. By the time the police officer reaches the body all but one of the attackers have disappeared into the crowds. The one who remains stands his ground and shouts and screams at the officer and points accusingly at the helpless, broken man on the road before turning and running after the others. With a bizarre lack of urgency, interest and care the police officer drags the body away from the middle of the road and leaves it in the gutter before signalling to the traffic to start moving again.

  The world slowly starts to crank itself back into action.

  Lizzie is holding onto my arm, gripping me so tight that it hurts. I can't take my eyes off the dark mound at the side of the road. Who was it? What had he done? If he really was a Hater then he deserved everything he got.

  It seems like every time we go out now something happens.

  I think back to the television programme we watched last night, and then I think about the other attacks I've seen and those I've heard about. All that bullshit I came out with last night suddenly seems to count for nothing. There is something more to this. This isn't just paranoia or people exploiting the situation.

  I feel sick with nerves and fear.

  Who is it going to happen to next? Me? Lizzie? Harry or one of the kids? Someone at work? It could be anyone.

  13

  It's late by the time we finally get home. We'd expected to be back by five. There were more traffic delays on the way out of town. It's now almost eight.

  'Someone's in a hurry,' one of the men from the flat upstairs says as we pass him on his way out of the apartment block. I think this is Gary. He has another man with him who I've never se
en before.

  'Sorry,' I mumble as I struggle to get through the entrance door with Josh's pushchair.

  'You all right?' he asks, appearing genuinely concerned.

  'We're fine, thanks,' I answer quickly, not interested in talking. I gently push Lizzie towards the flat. The two men leave.

  'Everything okay?' Harry asks as I open our front door. He's halfway down the hall as soon as he hears the key in the lock. 'I've been worried sick about you. You could have phoned me again.'

  'Sorry, Dad,' Lizzie says.

  'There was some trouble,' I explain.

  'What kind of trouble?'

  Liz takes off her coat and shakes her head. She wipes her eyes.

  'I don't know what's going on out there,' she sighs, her voice quiet and emotional. 'It feels like the whole world's going mad.'

  'So what happened?' he asks, looking from Lizzie to me and then back again for an answer. 'Are you both all right? Did you…?'

  'We're okay,' she says wearily as she gently pushes him back down the corridor towards the living room. Josh is still asleep. I carefully unbuckle his straps, take off his coat and pick him up out of the pushchair.

  'What happened?' Harry asks again as I follow him and Liz into the living room. I stop and quickly look into the children's bedrooms. Ed's lying on his bed reading. Ellis' room is empty.

  'We walked down to Pedmore Row to catch the bus,' I tell him. 'Group of blokes came out of nowhere and started kicking hell out of this guy. He was a Hater. Where's Ellis?'

  Harry nods towards the living room. I peer over the back of the sofa and I'm relieved to see her curled up in a ball asleep with her grandad's jumper draped over her shoulders. She looks peaceful and relaxed. The room is quiet and dark and the only light comes from the flickering TV in the corner.

  'She wouldn't go to bed,' he explains, standing and watching her with me. 'Kept asking where you two were. I let her stay with me for a while. I knew she'd fall asleep eventually.'