Hatred: Collapse, #1

By M J Dees

A terrorist attack on Parliament plunges the country on to a destructive path.

Jim just wants his discharge from the Army and return to his life in academia.

He returns from military service to find a country in chaos and a new regime bent on blaming everything on citizens with foreign heritage like him and his wife, Annabel.

She just wants to practise her music and live in a house in the country but with no-one lending to those with foreign heritage, the chance of building on the land they bought is impossible and it is confiscated by the new regime.

When they are evicted they find themselves and their daughter in a struggle for survival.

Can they survive long enough to witness the end of the regime or will they become victims of hatred?

Hatred is the first book in M J Dees' new dystopian series, Collapse.

 

"Excellent story, gritty & really gets you thinking." Sam Stokes, Beta reader.

"... vision of the brutality of the regime and its obvious flaws and failings and the desperate ever-increasing hardline initiatives to uphold it, are all very believable if chilling. I certainly won't forget it in a hurry, a thoroughly thought-provoking read which I have really enjoyed." Beta reader.   

"It felt as though the book was based on what is going on here in the states and what might be in store for us down the road." Peggy Coppolo, Beta reader.

"Was totally drawn into the plot/characters and love your descriptive narrative. As I have been reading, it has been playing as a film in my imagination. A testament to such good writing." Miss A D Morrey, Beta reader

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: M J Dees
• Release date: Jun 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393922605

M J Dees

M J Dees has published eleven novels and ranging from humour to dystopia to political to historical to space opera. He makes his online home at mjdees.com. You can connect with him on Twitter at @mjdeeswriter, on Facebook at mjdeeswriter and you should send him an email at [e-mail] if the mood strikes you.

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You can discover details at the end of Hatred

Part One – Edinburgh

History doesn’t repeat itself, but It often rhymes, – accredited to Mark Twain.

Chapter One – 23 years and 11 months before the collapse

Sergeant Smith?

Jim awoke and looked none too pleased at being disturbed.

Sergeant Smith, we’ve landed, said the automated voice.

He looked out the window. Through the darkness, he could see that it was still raining.

Jim disembarked. He shared an automated jeep with two military police officers all the way to the train station at Grateley, where he was just in time to get the 22:28, the last one of the day.

Civilians and soldiers packed the train, and everyone was talking about the mobilisation.

It wasn’t as peaceful as they’d have you believe, said one soldier. There’s only so much robots and drones can do, I always knew they’d end up resorting to conscription.

I still think the real trouble lies ahead, said another. There’s no way the rioters in London will give up without a fight. They can make protests as illegal as they want, but it hasn’t stopped them yet, has it?

They are just copying the protesters in Wall Street, said his friend.

No. It’s all about race, said another.

It’s not about race, said a third. It’s everyone against the police.

Jim found a table seat opposite two soldiers.

Where are you off to? one asked.

Edinburgh, said Jim. But I’m planning to stay in London tonight to visit my sister.

There’ll be trouble in London tomorrow, said the other soldier.

You’d be better off travelling straight through, said the first.

Who knows if you’ll get a train tomorrow, said the second.

Jim took their advice and sent a message to his sister, apologising and explaining the reason behind his change in plans.

When they alighted from the train at London Waterloo at five minutes to midnight, the soldiers pointed out the bullet holes in the station’s brickwork. Jim said goodbye to them and headed straight for the underground.

A man next to him on the tube shared his recent experiences of the turmoil that had troubled the capital. The unrest at home was one reason the war overseas had ended before the Government had achieved its objectives. It reminded Jim of the unrest in the US which had accompanied the end of the war in Vietnam that he had learned about in all those streaming documentaries that had obsessed him when he was little, and that his father had encouraged him to watch.

I was at the station when it happened, the man next to him said. We heard this noise, like a machine gun, so we ducked under the arches and shots started coming from the other side too and people were piling in under the arch. It was a real scramble. They got three of them and took them and threw them in the river, someone said.

Jim was glad when the train arrived at Kings Cross and he could take his leave of the old fellow.

He made his train with minutes to spare, and the only spare seat was next to another sergeant in uniform.

Are you going to Edinburgh? the sergeant asked him.

Jim nodded.

What are you going to do when you get there? 

I shall have to go home and wake my wife, said Jim.

No, I mean after that, what are you going to do?

Well, I expect I shall have to report to my company HQ.

I doubt they’ll expect to hear from you.

What do you mean?

Once a soldier is out of the grasp of their company or battery, they can go anywhere. As long as they don’t make demands for pay or plunder, they can consider themselves discharged because who wants to search for an individual in this chaos?

Jim nodded.

Which regiment are you with anyway? the sergeant asked.

51st MI Company.

Oh, intelligence, I see.

The man was silent for the rest of the journey, which suited Jim. He watched the rain track across the window.

Jim wanted a discharge, but he wanted to do it properly and receive the proper papers. He didn’t want any complications later.

He arrived at Edinburgh Waverley at 8 am. Crowds of men in khaki gathered around the command post where rows of machines were refusing requests, being ranted at and refusing requests.

What’s happening? Jim asked one man who had broken from the crowd for some air.

They just keep booking us return tickets to our units and denying us home leave, the man said.

Jim decided it was a dead loss and turned to leave, but on the way out, he encountered a man in civilian clothes who must have also been part of the independence organisation because he was wearing a blue armband. 

There’s nothing doing over there, said Jim to the man. They’re just following procedures. Can you help me? I want to get my military papers in order for my discharge.

I can help you, the man said. Follow me to my office.

He led Jim up the stairs and into a sparsely decorated office with a single desk on which sat a laptop. He scanned Jim’s NFC tag, checked his ID app, charged his food app, and told him he was free to go.

Jim left. He could now go home and see his wife, Annabel.

He had not told her he was on his way and could enter the building with his fingerprint so she would not see him until he knocked on the door.

Did you look after the philodendron plant? he asked when she opened it.

What do you think? she said, throwing her arms around him.

Thank you, darling.

For a few weeks they lived the life they had enjoyed before conscription, only it felt better because he was now out of the Army and free to pursue the lectureship the university had offered before the troubles began.

Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, Annabel warned. Remember what happened before.

Jim remembered only too well what had happened before. The university had offered a professorship, but the Army had refused to release him from military duty.

The troubles had annoyed Jim. They had impeded what he wanted to do with his life. 

You won’t believe what happened at the barber’s this morning, said Jim.

Annabel’s silence suggested that not only did she not know, but she wasn’t about to guess. 

He started telling me how many guns he had bought from soldiers, reckons he can sell them for twice the price.

Annabel shook her head in disappointment at the direction the country was heading. 

Oh, I almost forgot, Jim remembered. Sam Patel invited me to an event tonight at the university. Do you want to come?

No. You go, you know how I hate those things.

I’ll wear my uniform. Spare my civvies.

Come on Jim, things aren’t that bad.

No? When was the last time you saw a banana? There’re blackouts every night.

Probably just as well, we can barely afford the electricity.

We could join a payment strike.

Don’t think I’m not tempted. But then, look what happened in Leeds and Bristol.

Yes, at least we’re not the ones having to house bomb victims. Those poor souls.

They built a camp for the homeless while you were away. I’ve heard rumours they’re rife with disease.

Not paying the water bill for two weeks is hardly a capital offence.

Yes, but you need to wait until the Shorters get in touch, otherwise it doesn’t work.

Why not?

They have to identify who owns the debt first.

What about the late payment fees?

They pay it through crowdfunding.

Does it work?

Well, the utilities are going bust and so are the banks and this time it looks like the Government won’t bail them out.

Really?

Yes, the Government is talking about re-nationalising the utilities.

But what about the banks?

We are all going to get a Government bank account, apparently. And it’s not just the banks, the companies with the worst zero hour contracts, environmental performance are being targeted too.

Is it working?

Well, the pension funds are divesting from equity funds containing these companies.

*

Jim wore his uniform and as he entered the university, a student came running up to him asking if he was from the Independence Council.

No, why?

They banned the event an hour ago, explained the student. They thought it was a counter independence gathering. The Army was preventing people from entering the building.

Jim looked around; he couldn’t see evidence of any military.

Twenty minutes ago they lifted the order after we phoned and told them they had made a mistake, the student explained.

This made sense to Jim. Sam Patel had explained to him that the university chancellor had to step down after a dispute with the Independence Council about flying the independence flag on the university building. This was the Council’s way of making a point.

Jim took his place in the lecture theatre, enjoying the comfy seat while he waited for proceedings to begin.

Sam Patel gave a talk on the poetry of Danny O’Toole which seemed apt given the independence mood surrounding everything. There were only a handful of students and teachers there.

Welcome back, said Patel, as he greeted Jim after the lecture. Don’t worry about numbers. Most watch online these days.

Good to see you, said Jim. How are things?

Tensions are very high, Jim. It feels like the entire country could erupt in civil war at any moment.

It already has, hasn’t it? It couldn’t get much worse, could it?

Depends who you speak to. These Shorters are causing chaos on the stock exchange. They’re blackmailing the pension funds. How’s Annabel?

Practicing the piano, she has exams coming.

And how are you?

I’m eager to get back to teaching.

Good, that’s what I like to hear. Jim, do you want to know what’s going on?

Of course.

There’s a meeting tonight in a pub near the river. Let’s go, we can catch the end.

When they entered the pub, the first thing Jim saw was an enormous portrait of the King on one wall. The next thing he saw was that at least 200 people packed the pub. 

A large middle-aged man got up on a stage which occupied a whole end of the room. When he called the room to order, everyone fell silent at once. Jim was amazed at how polite the gathering was. 

We are the small people, the poor, the bottom of the heap, the abandoned, the man spoke with calm, deliberately formed sentences. We don’t have an Oxbridge education like those who caused this so-called independence. Independence does not help us. It helps the rich, the politicians, the bankers, the arms manufacturers.

He paused and looked at the enormous portrait of the King.

They stole our data and turned us against each other, getting us to follow fake causes, made up marches, put-up protests. They say if you want to remould society, break it. Well, they broke our society and are trying to remould it how they want. We must stop them. The payment strikes are good, but they are not enough.

Jim observed the room. The gathering was attentive and passive.

This poor excuse for a government has betrayed us, the man carried on. They are just as hostile to us and have demonised us for decades. The media are owned by a few in-league with the rich and their puppets. They say we have freedom of speech, they say we have a free press but we are not free. They feed us lies, making us believe things that are not true. The rich will make up the majority in the planned Assembly. We will be in the minority there and have just as little influence there as we do in the media. There is no declaration of human rights that can help us, at least not for the time being. We must stop the creation of the Assembly, take the media into our own hands and only our hands. We must hold the power so we can get what they have denied us.

The man paused and surveyed the room, satisfying himself that his message was being absorbed. The audience was nodding and applauding with conviction.

We can only achieve this by force, he continued. Why shouldn’t we use force? The rich have spilt so much blood, why shouldn’t a little flow for our cause?

Shouting now accompanied the nodding and clapping. A second man got onto the platform and delivered an almost identical speech to the first. 

Waste of time, Jim commented to Sam Patel as they left. 

Do you not sympathise with them?

Not at all, he’s just bitter at being banned from social media. I hope the government can keep them in check without bloodshed. But if they cannot avoid violence, I hope they still follow through on the election of the Assembly.

You don’t think it’s worrying that the DMU can turn off anyone’s account whenever they want? Sam asked. Independence has come at an unfortunate time, in the wake of the strikes and all the troubles.

It’s selective, don’t you think? They haven’t suspended Robert’s account.

He’s not a politician.

No, but his tweets incite abusive messages aimed towards those he doesn’t like and all this talk about ‘reclamation of British value’. said Jim. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts his own party.

He’s a TV host, and he’d never form a government. Besides, he’s still young.

I hope not, but he is a very popular TV host, and he treats anyone with a different opinion like an enemy.

Most of the politicians do that now anyway, and did you know, there have been rumours of people going missing.

Really? Jim was surprised and yet, at the same time, not surprised. He ground his favourite axe. I still think the freedom and democracy these people are speaking of can only reach everyone if we abolish the monarchy. This country has never had a written constitution, and it should have one. I don’t see why parliament shouldn’t be accountable to an elected upper house rather than a monarch.

You think they can’t achieve what they want?

I sympathise with these people’s love of their monarchy, Jim said. But they will not dig us out of this mess that they got us into in the first place when they left Europe, and all so they could keep their dirty tax avoidance schemes. GDP down 5%, car production down a third. Aerospace, automotive, chemicals, food and drink and pharmaceutical industries ceased to be competitive, and the Government permitted foreign companies to buy out the ailing companies and most have now moved production elsewhere.

Someone’s been doing some research.

They call themselves patriots, Sam, but they’re not even nationalists.

What’s the difference?

John le Carré once said that for nationalism, you need enemies. That’s what Roberts would give them if he could.

You don’t think he’s just a reaction to the tyranny of the cancel culture?

Neither side listens to the other, there’s too much hatred, I think that’s the problem. And since the BBC lost its charter, there’s no impartiality in the media either.

Was there before? Ah, here’s your stop.

At the tram stop, Jim said goodbye to Sam Patel, who went on his way. When the tram arrived it was already full but two soldiers helped pull Jim up and he felt like a sardine as the tram rattled away.

We are suffering this independence because of our sins, an old man continued an argument that had begun long before the tram arrived at Jim’s stop. The country is  overpopulated. Someone should arrange a proper scheme of assisted emigration like they had in the 60s. It would do good to get rid of some people.

I love independence, laughed a boyish man whom Jim noticed was wearing the independence armband. I am touring the country to see where it is progressing best, and I get a free ride wherever I go. There is always an independence council willing to charge my food app or give me a place to stay.

As he alighted from the tram in the centre, Jim noticed they had decorated every building with blue and white flags of Alba with a smattering of union jacks, and there were one or two Edinburgh flags with their three towered castles. Jim had marvelled at the idea that Alba had not even completed its independence from the Union, and Bernican separatists were already suggesting another regional assembly.

The only flag missing was the European flag. He wondered whether the flags were a sign of joy for independence or for something else. Despite the previous year’s revolution, Spain was still threatening to block a devolved Alba’s entry into the EU.

He noticed posters pasted on the walls declaring that security forces would use firearms without leniency against anyone disturbing the peace ‘regardless of political persuasion’. Other posters warned the population to use petrol in moderation.

The square was full of people reading posters and gathered around flip phones. There were groups of people debating, the people in the centre listening, those on the outside craning to listen.

Jim wondered whether the crowd signalled the imminent arrival of another strike, or worse, a riot. For the moment, the people just seemed excited and amused. It was almost as if they had created a political carnival for their amusement.

The streets were also full of soldiers, but Jim perceived they were also there for the show rather than an attempt at preserving law and order. No-one asked to see his ID app, and it didn’t look like they wanted to enforce the ban on protests.

Jim realised there were Europeans in the square that were being treated with respect. The struggle with Europe was over and the Scottish people held no animosity against their people, only against their governments who had thrust their country into such an unreasonable divorce settlement, and their own government that had let it happen.

Chapter Two -  23 years and 10 months before the collapse

Jim remembered his to-do list and pulled out his flip. He had promised Annabel he would call Evans to ask whether she could continue her piano studies. Evans was very polite and even promised to cut some red tape.

Next on his list was a new flat. The cheapest one bed flats were in Leith. There were some outside of the fenced off crime pacification zones and the transport to the university was fine. He knew they couldn’t afford more and so far inquiries with estate agents had been fruitless, each recommending another. Any of the flats Jim had liked, they had ‘just’ let to someone else.

Their furniture had been in storage for four years, but the housing shortage was getting worse since the collapse of the country’s largest house-builders.

Jim had still not received a reply from the Army regarding his petition for discharge, and he visited the company headquarters site online.

He scanned his NFC tag in his flip. The screen flickered, and a lieutenant appeared.

We will discharge you, Sergeant Smith, said the lieutenant. Report to the infirmary for your medical.

Jim thanked the lieutenant and clicked the link for the infirmary.

He waited in an online queue for a while. Jim had heard stories of soldiers faking symptoms, attempting to achieve either leave or a medical discharge, but they did not easily fool the online doctors and just made it take longer for genuine visitors.

When the site connected Jim, the doctor dealt with him with courtesy and efficiency, and soon Jim was free to click back to the main site to end his business.

Back in the main site, Jim was told he would receive back pay and four weeks leave prior to the discharge coming into force. They also added more credits to his food ration app and told him his discharge certificate would arrive via his message app.

Jim felt the experience had gone very well and clicked five stars on the post-service survey. At that moment, although independence made little sense to him, he was pleased that at least the military still seemed to function as it should.

*

Dr Green had invited Jim to the faculty meeting at the university, but no-one seemed to be there. They held it in the same auditorium in which Jim had watched lectures years earlier, but most of the lecturers were being shown on big screens as they connected from home.

As soon as Jim entered, Green beckoned him over, along with Dr Joe Wood and the chubby Dr Turner.

As the meeting progressed, Jim developed the impression that they had taken all the important decisions already. The full professors guided the discussion and there was no room for dissent or debate. It went on for hours and only drew to a close because of the academics growing hungry.

The chancellor, Professor Cooper, declared that the discussion had been gratifying and an important point of contact for the university staff at a ‘difficult time’.

Jim noticed that the chancellor said nothing about the fact that they would pay the staff less than they paid them before independence.

However, the meeting did not end at that point but disintegrated into a series of questions about who would pay the staff, who would pay the university, and what the policy on student fees would be under this new regime.

As the arguments continued, Joe Wood pointed out various members of staff to Jim. There was Hill, who hated Green because he had wanted the head of faculty position for himself, and Ward, Morris and King whom Wood introduced once the questions had ceased. 

An old man cornered Jim for a brief chat, and it was only when he limped away that Joe Wood explained he was Baker.

The poet? Jim asked. I didn’t know I was talking to such an illustrious figure.

He’s old hat, Wood explained. Turned to drink, he’s already had a minor stroke.

As they left the university, Jim and Joe Wood walked alone.

Tell me about yourself, said Jim, trying to be as friendly as possible. Are you married?

Wood’s face fell, and Jim regretted his question.

I was married, he said, painful emotions resurfacing as he spoke. They arrested my wife as the ringleader of an illegal protest. She committed suicide in prison.

Oh, my God. I’m sorry, said Jim.

That’s okay. It was back in January. I’m afraid I’m not good company at the moment.

Don’t worry, it’s to be expected.

No, it’s not just that. I’m afraid that our future as lecturers at the bottom of the ladder is not rosy, in particular with Green in charge of our department. If I didn’t have any savings, it would worry me.

Jim had no savings, and he was worrying. He thought about how prices were rising daily and he felt ill. He visited his good friend, Carter Rodriquez.

Carter lived in a flat with his girlfriend, Mia, whom Jim struggled to find at first because of the quantity of boxes which seemed to fill every room.

I see you are still in the import, export business, said Jim.

Ah, yes, said Carter with a smile. But now I’m shifting stuff.

You’ve always had a scheme. Do you remember Kabab?

Ah, yes, the taxi delivered your kebab and took you home.

What happened to that?

The drivers got fed up cleaning up the vomit on the back seat. Do you remember Tu-bar?

Tu-bar? What was that?

A bar on London Underground Trains.

Oh, yeah. What happened to that one?

Transport for London wouldn’t go for it. But I got the Chroaster off the ground.

The Croaster?

It was a toaster that browned the bread in the shape of the face of Christ.

Did you sell many?

Not really, but the import, export thing has been doing well for a while.

This independence hasn’t affected you then?

Not at all. Walker will turn the fortunes of the country around. You’ll see. I know him personally, I know his cabinet personally. They take advice from me, they give me work.

Jim was sceptical about Carter’s role in the new government.

I’m what you call an active bystander, Carter continued.

Why don’t they give you a lucrative position, some high office?

They’ve offered frequently, but I always refuse.

Why?

I’m a smuggler, Jim. I always have been. My hands aren’t clean enough to join the government. Don’t get me wrong, Jim. I’m tempted to play the game.

Jim now understood why Carter had refused those posts. It wasn’t that he was too humble; he was too relaxed, disorganised and nice to be a politician. Also, despite his enthusiasm about the cause, he was too sceptical, and preferred to do just the odd job here and there.

Your radicalism will always be a game, said Jim.

And you will always be a harmless reactionary. Come with me to the meeting tonight.

Oh God, not another one. Patel dragged me to a pub full of bloodthirsty reactionaries last night.

If you humoured him, then I have a right that you should humour me. It’s a kind of political club for intellectuals called ‘blue matter’, you know it’s like a play on grey matter.

I get it.

Jim was astonished, not only by the size of the gathering but at how many of them Carter seemed to know. They took their seats, together with Carter’s girlfriend, Mia, near the front of the room in the expensive-looking hotel.

On the platform was the poet and novelist, Owen Stewart. He stood to address the audience.

Before independence, he began. Those who only had their own interests at heart governed us. They took us out of Europe and tied us into this disastrous deal to hide their own offshore tax avoidance. They manipulated us, but it was not only them, also those who control our media. We pride ourselves on our independence, but whose independence was it?

Stewart was reading from his papers as if reading an essay aloud. 

Those of us fortunate to live in comfort, he continued. Must prepare to forgo some of our luxuries for the benefit of the whole.

Stewart finished, and the debate began.

You were the poet laureate for the King and now you are supporting the independence movement that rejects him.

When I was the laureate, I believed in the Union, Stewart replied. But this entire business with Europe has changed the country.

More questions followed, and the whole debate descended further and further into chaos. An adolescent came to the microphone.

The population does not care about being educated, he began but could not finish because of the shouts of indignation.

Jim wondered whether the crowd was protesting so much because the adolescent had hit a nerve. People weren’t interested in fact or reason any more, they were only interested in statements which matched their own opinions.

When they had exhausted requests to speak, the chair brought the meeting to a close, and Jim thought it had all been embarrassing. The speakers had been writers and artists and musicians, all pretending to be politicians.

Don’t be too hard on them, said Carter. They feel more affinity for the working classes than the middle classes who buy their work. Even if they are not politicians, they have come together to politicise themselves.

Jim did not look convinced.

Look, said Carter. Meet me tomorrow. I’ll show you the real politicians. It’s a meeting of the independents who left the other parties. They’ll change your mind. Walker himself will be there.

The next day, Jim and Carter met up again and went to the meeting where, instead of hundreds from the middle classes,