The Corpalism series - something to read whilst in lockdown

The Barn
History is written by the victors.
Winston Churchill

“We might as well relax,” said Don, “we can’t do anything ‘til they get here.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” asked Terry.

“Could be,” said Don.

“Will the truck still be there?” asked Terry. Don narrowed his eyes; he’d thought Terry had been kept out of the loop on that one. “Oh, I’m not meant to know about a truck, am I?”

“I’m interested to hear how you do know,” said Don.

“Donald told me.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” said Don.

“Well, Sand persuaded him.”

Don thought about it for a second, “What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

Don shrugged, still not convinced “We just need to bed down and sleep the day out.”

“Okay to knock up a quick brew?”

“Sure,” said Don, “they’re not Apaches you know.”

Terry laughed, “‘course not.”

∞

Working in Relocations had given Terry a healthy respect for Galaxy’s ability to link RR 2 RA, i.e. ‘Resource Requirements’ to ‘Resources Available’ across continents; it had not given him knowledge of other aspects of Galaxy’s achievements.

For example, he knew nothing about a recent insidious software update to Signus and its connection to the newly introduced SpyGrid, a network fed by the satellite permanently stationed above the UK. This satellite homed in on the chip located in the forearm of every UK citizen.

The ubiquitous, innocent chip; introduced two decades previously as a useful aide to the responsible citizen to enable quick access to funds and buildings, implanted on a voluntary and trial basis, now a mandatory tool of the state and as such, introduced in a simple operation at birth.

With the upgrade to Signus, and permission for its use embedded as a paragraph in the recent 400 page amendment to the Enabling Act and other anti-terrorist legislation, amendments required ostensibly to combat the recent spate of terrorist activities of groups like the Black Hands and the Red Freedoms, the chip could be used to inform the whereabouts of any UK citizen at any given time.

The data received from SpyGrid was filtered through the Signus databank; holding GPS information on the controlled location of each citizen and programmed to activate on receipt of location anomalies in the form of a warning notice to the security forces.

On the 24th June Don, Terry and Dale were flagged as location anomalies and, given their status as ghetto inhabitants, within seconds Signus was issuing the relevant alerts to the relevant security forces.

∞

Dale lit a small fire and started to brew up. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine what had happened, where the others were but he knew that somehow it would be his fault.

“Fuckin’ Jimmy,” he muttered, “he’s fuckin’ useless, he’s too fuckin’ slow.”

Dale sat back and pulled his coat tight, it was heavily overcast and he was cold. He looked up through the trees and saw the helicopter far off in the distance, moving back and forth along the same line. He watched it for several minutes before it started to bother him. The water started to boil in his cup so he removed it from the fire and added the tea bag. He wandered to the edge of the wood, saw 3 police vans parked down the bottom of the hill. Then he saw the line of coppers spread out along the hedge at the foot of the hill, “Shit!” Dale tossed his tea and ran off into the woods.

He kept a good pace for the five minutes it took him to get from one end of the small wood to the other where he stopped in his tracks; more police. This time they spotted him and as they started to run up the hill Dale darted off to his left. As he neared the edge of the wood he found more coppers, this time in the tree line. He ran back into the woods and threw himself into a bush but the helicopter had moved in closer and was now hovering above him; the pilot knew exactly where Dale was hiding from the beeping on his console.

He was surrounded. He burst from his hiding place and tried to break through the growing crowd but he was Tasered without warning and fell to the ground, writhing and twitching.

“Taser, Taser, Taser,” shouted another copper as he tasered Dale again.

“Hit him again,” shouted someone and Dale was tasered a third time. Then a fourth and a fifth. Then he stopped moving.

“Cuff him,” ordered a sergeant.

“Won’t need to Sarge,” said one, his finger on the pulse point on Dale’s neck. “ He’s a gonna.”

“It’s one of those O’Connell brothers - fuckin’ stupid mick,” said the sergeant.

∞

Terry was on first watch. He’d made another brew and sat watching the road; he saw the police vans arrive. He lay down and watched as the coppers piled out. Then he saw the helicopter far off in the distance. He wriggled backwards until he felt safe enough to rise to a crouch and scurry back to camp, “Don, Don.”

“What?” said Don shaking himself awake, “what is it?”

“Cops, an’ there’s a bear in the air.”

“What? A bear?” He was on his feet in a second.

“Chopper,” said Terry, pointing.

“But how?” queried Don.

“We should move,” said Terry. Don nodded but stayed where he was. “Which way?”

“I don’t really know,” said Don, “it’s never happened before.”

“Wha…?” asked Terry.

“We’ve never needed an escape route before,” said Don, “so we’ve never planned one.”

“Well we fuckin’ need one now,” hissed Terry, “I tell you I don’t fancy being caught by these fuckers.”

“Me neither,” said Don, “Let’s try this way.”

“Why that way?” asked Terry.

“Don’t ask me,” said Don “seems as good as any. You got a better idea?”

They ran through the wood for five heart-thumping minutes before pausing to catch their breath.

“What do you think?” asked Don. “Do you think they’re following?”

“Well, they’re here for something,” said Terry, “and I have a nasty feeling it’s us so yeah, I think they’re following.”

“Shit,” said Don.

“Hang on,” said Terry, “the chopper’s almost overhead.”

“Where?” asked Don.

“Get down,” said Terry, “let it pass over.”

It held position, hovering directly above them, a whirring arrow pointing to their exact location.

“What’s it doing?” asked Don.

“I don’t know,” said Terry.

“They can’t have seen us,” said Don.

“No,” agreed Terry, “so how do they know where we are?”

“We should move,” said Don.

“No, wait a bit; I need to think. How do they know we’re here? They can’t possibly know.”

“Terry,” hissed Don, “we gotta move.”

“I know that,” said Terry, “but how did they know where to find us?”

“Someone must’ve blabbed,” said Don. “Perhaps Jimmy and the others got caught and talked.”

“I don’t see Jimmy talking,” said Terry, “I don’t know about the others.”

“Sean would crack under pressure,” said Don.

“I guess he would at that,” said Terry, “but that still doesn’t explain how that chopper is hovering right above us”

“Coppers,” hissed Don pointing.

They ran into the trees, hoping to lose their pursuers in the density of the woods, leaping fallen trees and branches, tearing through bushes and stumbling over brambles for what felt like mile after mile, all the time hearing the shouts of police on their heels. Terry and Don were fit and highly motivated and gradually the distance between them and those in pursuit was lengthening; but somehow the helicopter stayed with them. They burst from the woods and ran down the hillside towards the road.

“There,” Terry shouted, pointing.

Don nodded and they headed for the lay by and the nearest car.

Terry ran to the driver’s side and wrenched open the door, “Get out!” he shouted, “NOW!”

The driver, startled out of any form of resistance, complied with alacrity. Besides him the car was empty. Terry threw it into gear and they sped off down the road; behind them the police huffed and puffed.

“How the fuck did they find us?” asked Terry.

“Don’t know,” said Don, “it’s never happened before.”

“But that was a lot of fucking police as well, what the hell kinda shit do you guys nick?”

“Nothin’ of any value” said Don, “not really.”

“Well they seem to think it is.”

“Where’re we going, anyway?”

“Fuck knows,” said Terry, looking at the dash, “not far by the looks of it. Bastard was out of gas…Where’s that chopper now?”

Don stuck his head out the window, “right above us,”

“They’ll have road blokes ahead then,” said Terry, “we need to get off the road, into the woods.”

“Here, quick, here,” said Don.

Terry swung the wheel and they bounced down a dirt track that lead directly to a rundown farm but no woods, no cover beyond a ramshackle barn.

“Good call,” said Terry sarcastically as they got out of the car; above them hovered the sentinel helicopter. “Check the farm house, I’ll check the barn.”

After a few minutes Don reappeared holding an unbroken shotgun. “Whoa, is that thing loaded?”

“No,” said Don, “I couldn’t find any cartridges.”

“Then what good is it?” asked Terry.

“Well it might prove useful,” said Don, “especially if we find some ammo.”

“Yeah,” said Terry, “don’t want to spoil your party but an old thing like that will only get us killed, besides a shot gun isn’t the best of weapons in this situation.”

“Why not?” asked Don.

“Short range and the spread of pellets – we’d need to be close,” said Terry, “what we need is a proper hunting rifle.”

“Yeah, well this is all we’ve got, how’d you know so much about guns, anyway?”

Terry looked up at the helicopter, “Well, it might be useful in a bluff,” he said, “Come on, we’d better move before they get here.”

Don and Terry jogged across the fields, cursing the invention of barbed wire, until they reached a derelict shed; the helicopter kept pace.

“What’s the point in running?” said Don, “We’re never gonna shake that thing off.”

“I know,” said Terry. “That’s why I wanted the rifle.”

Don looked at him with a modicum of respect, dropping the shotgun to the floor. Then he mumbled something and started looking round for somewhere to sit down.

“We don’t have time for that,” said Terry.

“Oh, what, you gonna out run a fuckin’ helicopter, are you?” asked Don, “’cause unless you can I don’t see the point in keeping on going.”

Terry looked up at the chopper just hovering way up in the sky, “Bastards.”

“Why are you really here, Terry?” Terry turned and scoured the fields behind them. “I mean, ‘I got sacked’ is a bit thin, isn’t it?”

“Might well be, but it’s what happened.”

“Come on,” said Don, “you can tell me, cops are about to wrap us up, game over, nothing to hide and all that.”

“As I said,” said Terry, “I got sacked.”

“Really? Why? You had it made, why’d you be such an idiot?” Terry’s expression was not friendly but Don wanted answers. “Look, all I’ve even known is the sink; I’m fucked, always was and always will be, never had a hope, never had a chance but you? From the sounds of it you had everything, why fuck it up?”

Terry turned away, “Dunno.”

“That’s not good enough,” said Don angrily, “you had everything Terry. We got nothing. We struggle with poverty every day and no-one gives a fuck.”

“Cops,” said Terry as the first one crested the hill. He was a way off and seemed in no hurry to proceed; he’d out stripped his mates and appeared to be waiting for back-up. Besides the helicopter place marker was still in situ.

“So, what was so bad with your life that you had to go and fuck it up?” demanded Don.

“We better move,” said Terry.

“No!” said Don, “Not until you tell me why you fucked it all up?”

“Fuck off!” snapped Terry.

“I’m serious,” said Don, “Why’d ‘you fuck it up?”

“I just didn’t fit in, that’s all.”

“Oh! Come on,” yelled Don, “What kinda crap is that? I didn’t fit in. Bollocks.”

“Fuck you,” yelled Terry. Don grabbed Terry’s coat, as he did so Terry turned, breaking Don’s hold with the motion and threw him to the floor, “I said …I didn’t fit in.”

“An’ what?” said Don, rolling over into a seated position, “this suits you more does it? Living on the sink?”

“Actually it does,” said Terry. Don’s incredulous, sneering expression tipped Terry into abrupt fury. “What do you know about life out there? It’s not so fuckin’ great, ya know.”

“Well it’s gotta be a damn sight better than on the sink,” said Don.

“Really? Have you got tuition fee debts hanging around your fuckin’ neck? You got a mortgage you could never fuckin’ hope to pay off? Massive loans with inflated fuckin’ rates of interest bleeding you dry? Credit cards all max’d out to their fuckin’ limit sucking the life out of you?”

Don stared up at him, unimpressed.

“Not to mention the ever increasing rate of inflation, the cost of fuel, and food, exorbitant taxation, VAT. Oh yeah I had it cosy alright, working all hours … the minute we’re born we were saddled with debt. D’you realise that? D’you have any idea how much it costs to have a baby? £50 grand! …who do you think gets saddled with that debt? The parents? No, the baby. It’s marked on your fuckin’ chip,” Terry waved his forearm in Don’s general direction, “as soon as you start earning they start taking the money back. Can you believe that? Giving birth costs money. You have to pay a hospital. You have to pay tax on it. How the fuck did the human species ever get out of the jungle if you need hospitals to have a baby? How the fuck did we progress without taxation? Does any other creature on the planet have to pay to have a baby? Does it? Does it have to pay taxes? NO! But we do in spades and why?”

Don was now on his feet, dusting himself down, he didn’t answer.

“Because the state and the wealthy want us in debt from word go” Terry fairly frothed as he answered his own question, “so we’ll be willing to work and keep the wealthy living a life of luxury, but yeah, you’re right Don, I had it made, we all did.”

“We still have to pay for stuff in the sink, you know,” said Don.

“Oh yeah, what?” demanded Terry, “most of you are on benefits and those who are working are on bare minimum so don’t meet the income ceiling.”

“Babies cost the same for poor people as well, you know,” said Don.

“Yeah, but you’ll never be expected to pay, will you?” snapped Terry, “’cause you’ll never earn enough to activate your chip, but those of us working in the system just get shafted every which way.”

Don smirked, “so that’s why you got sacked – bein’ arsey.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” said Terry, a grudging smile in his eyes.

Don scanned the sky line; he counted about twenty coppers, moving in tight formation across the field, “We’d better get moving.”

Terry bent down and picked up the shotgun, “You don’t say.”

Cheers for reading

Arun


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