The thinnest
branches at the very top of the tree moved slightly in the breeze. Wisps of
smoke rose from different gardens, and the smell of grilled meat and suntan
lotion filled the air. A duck quacked and a hidden thrush chirped repeated. Cardiff
didn’t do idyllic, but this was the closest it came. A woman’s voice cut
through the still air, the laughter echoing around the blocks, and then came
the rumble of diesel engines and the clip clop of marching boots on tarmac. A
flutter of duck wings and the ripple of water as the birds took to the
sanctuary of the canal.
A thousand doorbells chimed simultaneously.
“Yeah,” Debs
answered the door and looked at the uniformed man in front of her, hisr black
gun shining in the sunlight.
“Your house has
been requisitioned by the British Government, you’ve got one hour to leave.”
“Do what?”
“This explains
everything. Please be ready to go in one hour. We will take you to a local
processing centre.”
“A what?”
“Pack a bag and
get ready to go. Oh, by the way, just one bag per person.”
Debbie
could see her neighbours having similar conversations with other uniformed men.
One by one the soldiers turned their backs on the residents and marched back to
the trucks that were parked in the street. Some lit cigarettes, while others
removed their helmets and enjoyed the sun on their faces. Debs looked at the
paper the soldier had thrust into her hand.
Emergency
Requisition.
Emergency
Powers Act 2023
Due
to the increasing threat of armed conflict and the need to provide housing for
troops and government officials in places of strategic interest, your home is
being appropriated by the authorities.
“Bullshit,” Debs
said, she let the paper drop to the ground. A few of the soldiers looked over to her. “I’m
not going anywhere,” she yelled over to the troops and then slammed her front
door. She took her phone out and tried to make a call, but there was no
signal. Texts messages wouldn’t send,
and Facebook gave her an error message. She glanced at her router, there were
no lights blinking on it. She switched the kettle on and plonked a tea bag in a
mug.
Debs watched the
ripples in her tea as she blew on it. She looked up and saw her neighbours
filing out of their homes, suitcases in hand. They were escorted by the soldiers
who helped them into the lorries. Debs took a sip of tea. One black cloud
floated across the bright blue sky. Her neighbours continued to emerge. They
looked around as if answers to their questions were written on walls around the
block. Debs only had one question, why were people so compliant? Where was the
fight? She watched her soldier march over to her front door. Her doorbell rang
and then there was a regimented rat-a-tat-tat on the door. She ignored it. The
doorbell rang again. She watched the boy look around at his mates. The pimples
on his face going redder as his face flushed. Another formal knock and then he
turned and marched away.
Debs wasn’t daft.
She took this opportunity to throw some things into a bag and make sure she had
her bank card and phone in her pockets. The rookie came back with
reinforcements and again there was a perfect rat-a-tat-tat on the door. This
time Debs opened it.
“Yeah?”
“Your time is up.
Please come with us.”
“No. Who’s gonna
make me?”
“Please don’t
make us use force.”
Debs slammed the
door in the face of the four soldiers standing there.
She turned and
went back through to the kitchen, but before she could get there a loud
explosion sent her flying forwards, dust and door debris clattered down on top
of her. Rough hands grabbed her and hauled her to her feet dragging her out of
her house and across the tarmac of the car park.
“In,” the rookie
said, pointing to the back of the lorry. Debs could taste blood in her mouth
and could feel damp in her hair. She didn’t make any effort to climb into the
lorry so the soldiers manhandled her in and dropped her on the floor in front
of her neighbours. None of them looked at her, none of them came to her aid.
They just left her there as the lorry’s engine started and they moved off to
god knows where.
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