ransacked entrance hall to the Palace of Justice. Most of the dead had been cleared away and no more fires burned. Just three months ago everything had been normal in this small, insignificant country. Then all had gone to hell. Most of what we knew was just rumour. As I scraped my boot against the edge of a marble step, I was called from across the hall,
“Lieutenant! What do I do with these?”
It was Sergeant Miller, a squat, rugged, career soldier from the farming communities of the West Lands. He was a good man to have on your team; he never baulked at a job and did not mind taking orders from me; a national service college boy from the East. I walked over to see what he was waving. He stood over a body. Dead maybe two days. Around his wrist he wore a grubby white bandage. I’d seen this on a few bodies.
“Personal effects, sir?”
He held a watch and a wallet.
“Bag them up and send them off for identification.”
“Sure?”
Miller knew that some of his men would just pocket what they found. Most were poor and resented having to do a messy clean up job, in this country of all places, across the ocean and far from home.
“I’m sure.”
He smiled, “I found this too, sir. Thought you may like it, seeing as you like reading and such stuff.”
Miller handed me a small, battered book. I flicked through the pages. It was obviously a diary belonging to the dead man. I pocketed it and slapped the Sergeant on the shoulder,
“Thanks Miller.” Then as an afterthought, “Tell the men to take a break. One hour.”
I found an old, relatively clean office off the entrance hall, and sat in the only chair that had its full quota of legs. I didn’t feel like eating, so after a quick pull of water, I inspected the diary. I turned to the back first. The final entry was the thirtieth June. Two months before we’d arrived to do the dirty work. I turned to some months prior to June and skimmed over the earliest entries…
22nd March – Glad I had today off. Got absolutely hammered last night at the gig. Excellent forward planning, Bri. Think The Beast’s chip is playing up. Stupid cat probably scratched at it again.
26th March - Thinking of changing jobs. The council sucks.
28th March – The National Independent Party seem to be ahead in the polls. Roll on June when this is all over. Took The Beast to the vet. His chip is fine. Had mine checked out too, free of charge. I was due my yearly check-up in a month so killed two birds with one stone. Marta came along too.
1st April – Yeah, very funny Dave. What a tool! How can he think he can pull off a joke phone-call when he’s the only person other than my mum to call me Brian. And aren’t April Fool’s jokes void after midday? Tool.
A cough at the door of the office attracted my attention. Littbarski stood at the door looking embarrassed. He was a Lieutenant like me, another officer in for his national service. From the lands to the south, he had a very dark complexion and almost jet-black hair.
“Hey there, Pete. What’s the problem?” I asked.
“Got any pills? I..er..don’t really want to ask the men.”
“Not again. Do you ever learn? Drink only from your canister.”
“Please?” he implored.
I reached into my pack and tossed him a small bottle from my medical kit.
“Thanks Sam. What’re you reading?”
“Some dead guys diary. When were the elections here? May? June?”
“June, I think. First week.”
“Thanks Pete.”
Returning to the diary I scanned through to June. Bri wrote a lot about his cat, The Beast, and had an unrequited devotion to a young woman named Marta. She was from abroad, the North Land, and was a manager where he worked. I found the diary entry for Election Day.
June 3rd – At last, all the infighting, bitching and bigotry is over. Election Day is here and not a moment too soon. I went and cast my vote. Marta is coming over tonight to watch with me.
June 4th – Woke up for work and feel rough as hell. I was up until three this morning watching the results. I’m shocked and can’t really believe that the idiots in this country could vote for the NIP and their “Clean up the Nation” drivel. Most people at work felt the same. But someone must have voted for them. Bad day all-round. Marta had left before I woke up, but didn’t make it to work. Probably sulking like me. Corner shop was closed so had to spend a bomb on food from a supermarket for lunch. Off to bed. The Beast has been weird all day.
June 5th – Saturday and what a strange one. It felt like a Sunday. Shop still closed, so trawled around for a newspaper. Hope they haven’t had a family bereavement. Pub later.
June 6th – Ouch! Bad, bad, hangover. Stupid boy Bri. Went on a pub crawl with Dave. Different staff in our local. The two barmaids that knew Marta from way back home were off work. Feel crap so going to watch DVDs all day. The Beast is enjoying the early summer sun.
June 7th – Definitely have to find a new job. Phoned in sick, but I can tell they don’t believe me. Ache all over. Bed.
June 15th – Can’t believe I’ve been a week in bed with a virus. Mum came over midweek to bring me food and stuff. She said the shop is still shut. Not good, must be someone close who has died. Mum said it only took her fifteen minutes to get here when usually the drive can be over half an hour. I was too tired to listen. Dave came over too, one day. He was joking and everything, but like with Mum’s visit, I was too tired to care. Marta didn’t come over or call all week. Why? The girl’s from the pub have been sacked for not turning up for work. Must have found something better. Don’t blame them. Back to work tomorrow.
June 16th – Marta has gone! Not at home and not at work! Nobody has seen her since the fourth of June. She would have said something to someone. I just can’t believe she would up and go without telling me. It’s not like we were seeing each other or anything, but all the same. Even The Beast falling in the bath didn’t make me laugh today. And yes, there have been tears. I’ll probably read this in a month and think, you sad git Bri, and rip the page out because it’s too embarrassing.
June 17th – Sacked! It didn’t matter that I’m feeling depressed about Marta and that I was defending her honour. They said hitting someone was no excuse. I was in the coffee room and a moron from the second floor, well known for his NIP leanings, was joking with some others. He was saying that Marta had done what they all do from the North; come over here, take our jobs then disappear home with enough money to buy four houses. But what got me was him saying she could have earned it quicker on the streets as her type were supposed to be good in bed. So I hit him. Pub.
For the next day or so most entries were blank or random ramblings of drunkenness until the twenty-first of June.
June 21st – Right then Bri. Sober head on. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being in work, maybe it’s because I’m not used to sitting in the pub all day staring out of the window, but something is terribly wrong. It has been staring me in the face from the start, but I’ve been so wrapped up in my own work and daydreams that I haven’t noticed it until now. And Dave has confirmed it. Dave was having a rant. Apparently Marta’s position has been filled by someone who hasn’t a clue, Sunetra in finance has been replaced by an idiot who can’t do the simplest maths and the head of the post-room is now someone who doesn’t know the alphabet. Then I asked Dave my question. We sat in silence for ages. Even The Beast looked scared.
June 22nd – Dave called from work. He doesn’t know whether it was him asking “the question” or it was some collective consciousness, but everyone at work is asking the same thing. Have you seen anyone not from the Central Nation? The answer is always the same. No. The Beast has gone missing. I have to give twenty-four hours before he can be tracked for free. That’s the way with cats. The uncollected garbage is piling up, so it’s an adventure playground for him and his mates.
June 23rd – It’s in the press now. Most newspapers are rejoicing that all the freeloading, job-stealing “outlanders” have gone. One or two papers not “owned” by the government, are asking how all those people can leave overnight. But it’s mostly ignored. Also ignored are the forecast tax rises.
June 24th – The Beast is back in his lair, as promised, in twenty-four hours. The papers are saying that an underground movement of “outlanders” planned a mass exodus in the event of an NIP election win. Rubbish. Marta would have said something.
June 25th – First signs of discontent. A march is planned on the Palace of Justice. To complain about the rubbish in the streets. Apparently it will be a coalition with commuters complaining of lack of service. Dave comes round fuming again. He’s doing this a lot lately. Everyone has had to sign a new contract. They have to be in work an hour earlier to clean the office. Pub.
June 26th – Dave stayed over and has jacked his job in. We’re feeling very sombre. Someone on the internet reckons the new government pressed a button and the chips in the “outlanders” vaporised them. We find this hard to believe – the action, not the technology. Not to Marta, not to the barmaids, not to the old South Land man who ran the shop with his family. Not to anybody. And they’re going to march because of rubbish strewn pavements. The same people who voted them in.
June 27th – The TV has been broadcasting the big news story all day. An air force officer, believing the internet rumour, has bombed and destroyed the government’s central tracking station. Early reports say he had had a breakdown because his “outland” wife had deserted him on Election Day. A backup transmitter will be ready in three months. I keep The Beast indoors, against his will.
June 28th – After many, many drinks, and ice applied to our forearms, Dave and I, amongst cries of pain and loads of blood, cut the chips out of our wrists.
June 29th – Pub. Here and there we saw others in the same bandaged state. When we caught each other’s eyes we nodded in recognition. Soon we were all sat at the same table.
“Lieutenant White?”
It was Corporal Miller.
“Yeah?”
“Time to get back to work?”
“No. Give the men another half hour.”
“You okay, sir?”
“I’m fine…and Miller? We find any fallen wearing a bandage round their wrist. We bury them decent.”
June 30th – Massive riot outside the Palace of Justice. The nice people of the Central Nation care about their clean streets and offices a little too much. Fifteen police killed. I doubt there will be much time to write anything more as it looks like a three-way fight coming. Trust me and Dave to pick the outside bet. I released The Beast to roam free, as nature intended.
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