Hater

unexpected swinging turn to the left. It's a sharp bend, too severe to be a normal motorway exit. The road we're travelling along becomes rough and uneven and continues to twist and turn for what feels like another mile or two further. Then, without any warning, the journey's over. We've stopped. My stomach churns with nerves again as the truck comes to a sudden halt and its engine is silenced. It's pouring with rain outside and the clattering noise on the roof above my head is deafening.
    'Where are we now?' someone asks nervously. I dutifully shove my head back out through the tear in the tarpaulin and quickly pull it in again when I see soldiers approaching on foot. I wait until they've passed before cautiously peering back out. The truck (and the ten or so other vehicles which have travelled in convoy with us) have stopped in a line along a narrow road which runs along the edge of what looks like a dense forest. I can't see where the track goes from here. I don't want to risk leaving myself exposed like this for any longer than necessary and I close up the gap in the heavy canvas cover. I'm sure we'll be seeing where we are soon enough.
    'There's not much to see,' I tell them all unhelpfully as I turn back round and crouch down again, 'just trees on that side.' The rain is torrential and I have to shout to make myself heard. The sound of the water hitting the tight cover above us is relentless. The noise combines with the lack of any strong light to increase my disorientation. I can't stand this. I wonder again whether I should just take my chances and make a run for it? What have I got to lose when I've already lost just about everything? I don't know what other options I have left. Things look increasingly bleak. Do I just sit here and wait for whatever they have planned for us to happen or do I take control of my destiny now and try to escape? The little of the forest I've been able to see so far looks pretty deep and uninviting. We're seem to be right out in the middle of nowhere and there's no way they'd be able to follow me into the trees in these trucks. They'll either shoot me in the back as I'm running or I'll manage to get away. It has to be worth taking a chance. My mind starts to fill with images of getting back home and finding Ellis again and the decision is made. First chance I get I'll go for it. Christ knows where I'll run to, but anywhere will be better than here. Do I tell any of the others what I'm planning? Do I stand more chance running with them or on my own? My instincts tell me to leave them and look after myself, but what about the rest of them? What about Karin and Nancy and Patrick? Surely the more people who run, the better our chances are of getting away…?
    My stupid plans come crashing down around me as the flap at the back of the vehicle is thrown open by two rain-soaked soldiers. One of them ties the tarpaulin up, the other points the rifle into the truck. The reality of what's happening suddenly hits home again now that I'm back looking down the barrel of another gun. The plans I'd been seriously considering seconds earlier now seem stupid. More than ever I want to fight but to run now would be suicidal.
    'Out!' the soldier with the rifle barks at us. 'Get out now!'
    Those nearest the back of the truck immediately begin to climb out. It's a drop of several feet down to the muddy track and more than one person loses their footing and falls. Poor bastards, they've only been outside for seconds and they're already cold and soaked. One of the men in here with me - a young, slim man with long, dark hair - rushes one of the soldiers as soon as he hits the ground. Three more troopers appear from nowhere and pull him away from their colleague. Two of them throw him down and push him face-first into the grass at the side of the road. The third soldier lifts a pistol and puts a bullet in the back of his head. The frenzied attack and clinical response is over in seconds and the corpse is dragged away. There are sobs and wails of fear and disbelief from the people already outside.
    I'm one of the last to leave the truck. I climb out backwards and slip but somehow manage to stay upright when I jump down. The others have been lined-up in single file on the verge between the trees and the trucks. One of the soldiers shoves me towards the line. I stand my ground for a second and stare at the trooper. His eyes are hidden and I can see my bruised face reflected in his opaque visor. I should kill