The Hit

  The police re-formed a line and tried to push their way back to the town hall, but it was no good. The doors were giving way and people were already crawling in through smashed windows. The banks and the headquarters of the big companies around the square were under attack as well. Bottles and bricks were in the air. There were no peacemakers. Anyone who wanted out had already left; it was just the hard core now. In the shopping streets and malls around them, the looters were still busy at work, but here in the square, people weren’t interested in wide-screen TVs and crates of beer. They wanted more. They were trying to tear the whole city apart with their bare hands and start again.

  And they were organized. From where Lizzie and Adam stood, they could see people wearing rat masks. Adam hissed in excitement. Zealots! Half madcap protest group, half armed rebels — right here in Manchester, fighting to take over the seat of the city government.

  “It’s not just looting,” yelled Lizzie. “It’s a revolution, Adam!”

  Across the front of the town hall, there was a ripple of movement. They looked up as a huge banner, a hundred feet wide, unraveled like a wave of water down the height of the building. It showed a gigantic rat clutching a can of red paint, staring angrily into the crowd, with the Zealot slogan painted red behind it: OUR TIME WILL COME!

  The crowd in the square roared their approval. Above the noise, an amplified voice boomed out: “The town hall is ours. Free cheese for everyone!”

  Around them, people screamed in delight. High up on the roof, they could see Zealots in rat masks looking down at the crowd. One of them shook a machine gun in the air. Was it real? Adam wondered. The Zealots were everywhere — pushing back the police and hauling them off as if they were under arrest. One group had taken a jackhammer to Barclays Bank on the corner; someone else was squirting glue into the locks of the NatWest. Loud music started blaring out a Jimmy Earle number, “The Rats Are Taking Over.” The crowd around them jostled and surged. A man banged into them and thrust a handful of pills into their faces.

  “What is it?” Adam asked, reaching out. Free drugs! Ecstasy, maybe?

  “Sweeties,” said the man, grinning at them. “Courtesy of Jimmy Earle. Last point on his bucket list.”

  Adam handed one to Lizzie and they looked closely at them. On each pill, neatly printed in black, was a tiny skull.

  “It’s Death!”

  “It can’t be …”

  But it was. Everyone knew what the pills looked like. Adam could see the man moving on, passing out handful after handful of the deadly little pills. It must have cost a fortune.

  And people were taking them. He could see them tipping back their heads and flinging the pill down their necks. “Live fast, die young!” yelled the man. He laughed and threw a handful of the pills into the air. Around him, people scrabbled to pick them up.

  “We could have taken it without realizing,” exclaimed Lizzie.

  Adam stared at the black-and-white pill in the palm of his hand. What would it be like to know — to feel like Jimmy Earle for one brief, sweet week … ?

  He flung his hand to his mouth, then grinned madly at Lizzie. He swallowed. She started back, shocked — but then he showed her the pill in his hand.

  “You bastard,” she yelled, and laughed. She stared at the small capsule of craziness in her palm. All those people, just swallowing it! “Do you think it’s the real thing?” she said.

  “Could be, if Jimmy Earle paid for it. He has the money.”

  They looked at each other, shocked by how tempting it was. They’d been there with Jimmy. They’d seen it, they were part of it! If they took Death tonight, they’d be living it, too.

  “It’s not worth it,” said Lizzie. She flung her pill into the crowd. Adam did the same. Death, on a night like this? He wanted to live.

  Only, some people said, that was exactly what Death made you do …

  From some way off, they could hear sirens. Reinforcements were on the way. The city was a dangerous place tonight. There was the sudden rat-tat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire. Instinctively, Adam and Lizzie ducked. Up on the roof of the town hall, rat-masked Zealots waved weapons in the air. On another part of the roof, there was a small blaze of fire moving about. It stumbled a few yards, then fell; it looked like slow motion from that height and distance. The crowd gasped as the fire rolled down the steep ledge of the roof, over the edge, and down to the ground.

  It was a person. Self-immolation. There were the jokes about cheese and the rat masks, but the Zealots were prepared to die for their beliefs. Every few weeks someone died, killing themselves with fire, or going up as a suicide bomb. It was crazy — but you couldn’t help respecting them for their commitment to their cause: freedom and food for all!

  Above their heads, the loudspeakers began to spit out slogans: “Equality! Freedom! Power to the people! Down with corporate profits and greed! The government is in the pockets of the corporations — fight for the right to govern yourselves.”

  Firearms spat out again from somewhere. People were running to get away. Adam and Lizzie dropped to the ground and followed the crowd out of the square and into Crown Street. Behind them, gunfire started up in earnest. There would be deaths tonight. This was no place for tourists.

  * * *

  Outside of Albert Square, there were hardly any police at all and the looting went on unopposed. The Arndale shopping center was in pieces; you could walk in and just help yourself. People had brought in cars and vans to carry stuff away wholesale. Adam and Lizzie wandered about the blazing streets, diving in and out of the broken shops, following the crowds. They picked up some scarves from a looted department store, and the anonymity it gave them made them feel untouchable, as if they could spend the rest of their lives living off stolen food like beasts running feral in the transformed city.

  Later on, the police came back to try to chase the crowds off and make arrests; maybe the war in Albert Square was over. Adam and Lizzie got caught in a camera shop and had to run for it with the uniforms on their tails. But the police got sidetracked by some kids smashing a car. There were so many crimes being committed tonight, the authorities didn’t know where to turn.

  The night came to an end abruptly. They were tagging along with a crowd running down one of the narrow streets, pursued by a couple of riot police, when another policeman dashed out on them from the side. Adam slipped sideways and got away, but the man grabbed Lizzie by the arm and held on to her.

  Adam stopped. He wanted to help, but he didn’t dare go near.

  “We were just watching,” he yelled.

  The policeman pulled the scarf from Lizzie’s face. To Adam, it looked like a film — the burly policeman, covered in body armor and riot gear; and slight Lizzie, hanging off his arm like a rabbit.

  The policeman stared at her for a moment. “For fuck’s sake,” he snarled. “You want to end up in the nick, you silly bitch?”

  He flung her down into the road and stalked off back to the main road. Adam ran to help her up and dust her down.

  “Time to go,” said Lizzie shakily. Adam nodded. Beyond the fires, the sky was growing pale. It was getting light. They were both really shocked by their narrow escape. The last time there had been riots, people had been locked up for months just for being there. Lizzie suddenly dived into her pocket for her phone. It had been on silent ever since the gig. She looked up. “Mum and Dad are going crazy,” she said. “It’s three A.M. They haven’t got a clue what’s been going on …”

  Adam got out his phone, too. Same thing.

  “We’re in the shit now,” he said.

  They both grinned sheepishly at each other.

  “But that was great, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “It was the best night of my life,” said Lizzie fervently.

  They kissed. Adam felt a thrill when their lips touched. Wouldn’t it be great if they could go somewhere and make love now, while the fires still burned! But there was no chance …

  “It’s all changing,” Lizzi
e said. “Not just here. The whole world. People have had enough.”

  Only a few hours ago the future had seemed so fixed. All the money was owned by the banks and the big corporations, the economy was falling apart, there were no jobs, social services were a joke. For decades everyone had complained but nothing had changed. Now, suddenly, it was all up for grabs. The Zealots had shown the nation how to seize the future by setting fire to the present. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

  “When will I see you?” asked Adam. All he wanted was to stay with Lizzie. It was unbearable to think that everything was going to go back to normal as soon as they went home.

  They wandered a hundred yards up the road, but they knew it was over — for tonight, anyway.

  “I better ring Dad, get a lift back,” said Lizzie at last. She paused with her phone in her hand. “Shall I ask him to give you a lift, too?”

  “No way!” Her parents hated Adam. “They’ll kill me.”

  She nodded and rang her dad, arranging to meet him on Oxford Road, by the university, away from the trouble. Adam walked her there and waited with her. Her dad glared furiously at him when he turned up in his Jag. Lizzie kissed Adam passionately on the mouth, then ran to the car and drove off. Adam began the long walk home.

  He felt jubilant. He was falling in love, and the future was his.

  ADAM COULD FEEL HIS PHONE BUZZING AWAY IN HIS POCKET as he walked. It was his dad.

  “Where are you? What happened?”

  “The police locked the town up. I’ve just got out now.”

  “Have you seen Jess?”

  “No.” Adam was taken aback. His brother was as straight as a stick of rock, working as a research chemist for Pak-Hilliard, one of the giant corporations that owned half the world. He was always there, always working, always earning. Their dad was an invalid, their mum worked nights at telesales. If it wasn’t for Jess, they wouldn’t be able to pay the bills.

  “He’s not come back from work. I can’t get in touch,” complained his dad.

  “Must be doing overtime.”

  “Not at this time of night.”

  “Something to do with the riots, then.”

  Adam was surprised, but not worried. Dull old Jess. What was he doing out so late, while the shops were burning, and rioters and policemen were dying on the street? Hiding in a basement, probably, working on some formula to make plastic gaskets last longer.

  * * *

  His dad was still up when he got home, standing by the kettle with a blanket over his shoulders, drinking tea. It was cold. He always turned the heating off when Jess was out. The Great God Jess. As soon as he walked out the door, the shivering started.

  There was still no news.

  “You haven’t rung Mum, have you?” Adam asked.

  “Of course I have. She wants to know what’s happened to her son.”

  Adam groaned. His dad was always ringing her up at work with his stupid worries.

  “You have to stop worrying about everything,” Adam said.

  His dad shuffled from the counter to the table, with a cup of tea in his good left hand, supporting himself with the other on the back of a chair. “You should be doing the worrying for me. I have nothing to do but worry,” he said, and smiled grimly.

  It was a typically bitter little joke. Adam sighed. The old man was going to be up all night now, but there was nothing he could do about it. Jess was bound to be safe. He’d run a mile at the slightest sign of trouble.

  Adam went to bed thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t Jess. His life was going to be different. He’d glimpsed the future and the future belonged to him.

  * * *

  Adam was brought round the next morning by his phone alarm at ten A.M. Saturday morning: football. There was a text from Lizzie waiting for him.

  What a night! You and me, Ads! xxxx ps don’t txt dad’s taking my phone.

  Adam hugged himself and turned sideways in his bed to look at himself in the mirror on the side of his wardrobe. His blond hair was curling over his eyes. His skin glowed in the light coming in between the curtains. He smiled at himself. How could she resist? After he’d failed his trials for Man U and City, it had seemed that his life wasn’t going to be the golden dream he’d always hoped for. But the tide had turned. The death of a rock star had made him shine.

  But it wasn’t just about Jimmy Earle. It was about Lizzie. It felt so right, being with her. But it was not just a romantic dream. The fact was, if they fell in love it could change his life. “Money opens doors,” his dad always said. Adam closed his eyes and wished. He wanted so much to be in love with her and for her to love him, but he knew it was stupid. They were only seventeen. Anything could happen.

  He sighed. Life went on anyway. He slipped out of bed, took a shower, and went downstairs.

  * * *

  Jess was there, of course. So was his mum, sitting with his dad at the table eating toast. Jess looked pale. His mum was exhausted, as usual, with dark eyes. Adam came across to kiss her good morning — except it was good night for her. She always waited to see him in the mornings, even when she was desperate for sleep.

  “What happened to you?” Adam asked Jess, helping himself to cereal and sitting down.

  “I went into town for a drink and got stuck,” Jess said.

  Adam laughed. “You picked your night,” he said. Jess hardly ever went out — and then when he did, Manchester exploded!

  “You need to be careful,” his father scolded. “Anything could have happened to you.”

  Adam was exasperated. “What’s he supposed to do, never go out in case there’s a riot? Give us a break, Dad.”

  “Adam’s right,” his mum said. “Jess needs to get out more.”

  “Did you see it? The whole place was up in flames. Where were you?” Adam asked.

  “We holed up in a bar,” said Jess.

  “Didn’t you even go out to have a look?”

  “It was dangerous!” said Jess. It was typical. The world was changing — and he was holed up in a bar, keeping safe.

  “The Zealots were there. It was amazing! They occupied the town hall.”

  “Looting and destroying property,” insisted his father. “According to the TV, the Zealots were handing out Death. Irresponsible thugs.”

  “It was paid for by Jimmy Earle. I didn’t see any Zealots handing it out,” Adam said.

  “I wouldn’t put it past them,” said his mum.

  “They aren’t just looters,” said Jess. Despite the fact that he was scared of life, he was passionate about politics. It was just that he never did anything about it. “Everything the Zealots do is about trying to make people think — trying to wake them up.”

  “Yes — by looting and encouraging young people to kill themselves,” sneered his dad. “Very political.”

  Adam shook his head impatiently. “They were on top of the town hall. The police came in after them. There was gunfire.” He shook his head at the memory. What a night!

  “Nothing about that on the news,” said his dad.

  Jess scoffed. Everyone knew the news was owned by the government. You had to look on the Internet and on social media if you wanted to get to the truth.

  “Well, I want both of you to stay well away from it,” his mother announced. “Over twenty deaths in Manchester last night. And they think thousands of those pills were handed out.” She shook her head, appalled. “I wonder how those young people are going to feel about that this morning?” She stood up. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Keep the noise down, you two.”

  That was to Jess and Dad, who would have argued furiously about politics for hours if they could. She went around the table, bestowing kisses.

  Adam got up to go, too. “Footie,” he explained. He cadged some money off his mum for bus fares, under his father’s disapproving eyes.

  “Waste of time,” said his father as soon as she was out of the room. “Big fish in a small pond.” He looked up at the little TV rattling away o
n the shelf, and slurped his tea. Adam stood there, dumbfounded.

  “I love you, too,” said Adam. He turned and left.

  Jess ran out and caught him by the gate.

  “What is it?” Adam asked.

  “Nothing. Just — look after the old pair, won’t you? Dad loves you really.”

  “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  “Yeah.” Jess laughed self-consciously. He looked awkward. “Take care, mate,” he said. He nodded.

  Adam shook his head and shot off.

  * * *

  He seethed all the way to the playing fields. It had nearly broken his heart when he failed to get in to Man U or City. He was still hoping to get in elsewhere — Burnley, maybe. Blackburn even. But his dad treated him like a failure already.

  The crooked old bus jolted and crashed its way across the potholes on the edge of the road. As Adam looked out, the posh bus went past, long and high in the fast lane, the one that carted the rich kids to rich school, with rich lunches in their bags and a rich education at the other end. Six years ago, Adam used to catch that bus. Then his dad had had an accident at work and everything had changed.

  “We can’t afford to pay for two of you to go to uni, and Jess is the better bet educationally,” his dad had said.

  Adam hadn’t minded at the time. He’d thought sport was going to be his way out. He wanted to fly, not toil. But now …

  Big fish in a small pond.

  At least there was Lizzie. But how long would that last?

  At the playing fields, everyone was talking about Jimmy Earle and the riots. That was more like it. Man — he’d been there! The boys clustered around him while he gave the details of the concert and the events that followed.