Hater

frightening than the sounds of fighting and death which preceded it.
    As the day has dragged on it has become impossible to see either end of the line. In the low light I can only see as far as about thirty people ahead of me and a similar number behind. I'm sure that the queue has grown hundreds of people longer. Twice in the last hour or so convoys of empty trucks have driven past us. Logic says they've brought more people here and they're now back out on the streets again looking for others.
    The girl in front of me is swaying on her feet again. I can't let her fall. I shuffle forward slightly and put my hand out to steady her.
    'Come on,' I hiss under my breath, 'not now. Try to hold on…' I don't even know if she can hear me over the driving rain.
    Something's happening up ahead. I can't see anything but I can definitely hear something. I peer into the gloom, desperate to try and see what's going on. Are people finally starting to move? For a few seconds longer I'm unsure but then an unexpected ripple of movement works its way along the line to a point where I can finally see what's happening. We're starting to shuffle forward. A sudden wave of awkward, stumbling movement reaches me and for the first time in hours I start to walk. My legs are agonisingly stiff and every step takes a massive amount of effort and coordination. For a moment I stupidly feel relieved when the pain in my aching legs begins to fade slightly, but then I start to think about what we might be walking towards and the panic returns. I know that making a run for it is out of the question for now. Just putting one foot in front of the other is difficult enough. I don't have the strength or the energy to be able to move any faster.
    The soldiers continue to march alongside us, keeping their distance most of the time but occasionally hitting and shoving those of us who move too slowly or who stumble out of line. Just ahead another one of the men who travelled in the same truck as me drops to the ground. He's old and tired and he lies on the gravel track sobbing. I keep walking - I have no choice - and I listen as one of the soldiers yells at him to get back to his feet and keep moving. I wish I could do something to help. I daren't look round. I hear a single gunshot close behind me and I know that his suffering is over. My fury now feels harder than ever to contain. Despite my exhaustion the urge to turn on these soldiers and fight them - to kill them - is growing stronger by the minute and is almost impossible to suppress. It's only the obvious fact that any reaction would inevitably be the last thing I do that keeps me in line.
    We've stopped again.
    Almost as quickly as the movement began it now ends. I have no idea how far we've moved. I don't know how much closer to it I now am but I assume the people at the front of the queue have finally been led down the track towards the entrance to the building.

41

    Christ it's cold.
    The cloud cover has lifted slightly and, for a while at least, the rain has finally eased. The building up ahead has been illuminated by a series of bright floodlights which shine up from the ground and make it look like some bloody gothic cathedral or fortress. Although I can see it more clearly now I still have no idea what the purpose of it is. Is it some kind of quarantine centre? None of this makes any sense. If they've brought us out here to kill us then why not just do it? Why waste all this time and manpower keeping us in line and collecting up bodies? For some of the poor bastards here in the line with me a bullet in the head would be a relief. But maybe that's what this is all about? Maybe they just want us to suffer?
    After hours of inactivity we've now made three sudden stop-start shifts forward. This time I counted the number of steps I took. I think we moved about a hundred paces forward. Logic says a similar number of people have just disappeared into the building up ahead of us.
    Another convoy of recently-emptied trucks thunders past. Another few hundred people added to the end of the queue.
    The noise of the trucks quickly fades into the distance but I can hear something else now. I can hear a plane, and the sound of its powerful engines many miles above us makes me realise just how quiet the rest of the world has become. The plane is moving with incredible speed. It must be a jet or something similar. I'm wary about making any sudden movements and looking to the sky but I can't help myself. Keeping