Hater

my head as still as possible and just moving my eyes I search the heavens. And then I see it. A dark metal blur which races at a phenomenal velocity across the horizon from right to left. Even some of the soldiers have become distracted now.
    Now there's a second noise. A belly-rumbling roar which I can feel through the ground beneath my feet. This noise comes from a different direction. It seems to swirl and drift in the wind before becoming louder and more definite. It's coming from behind us. I look up and watch as a single flash of light sears through the darkness miles above our heads, racing towards the jet in the distance. Was it another jet? A missile?
    It can only last for a few seconds but the delay feels like forever. I watch the white light in the sky as it hurtles towards the jet and then crashes into it, taking it out with incredible, pin-point precision. For a second a huge ball of expanding orange flame hangs in the purple sky. It has all but disappeared by the time the thundering rumble of the explosion reaches us.
    We shuffle forward again.
    I'm another few meters closer to the building but, for once, what's waiting in there for me is not what I'm thinking about. Instead I'm trying to work out what I've just seen happen. Regardless of who was flying the plane and who launched the missile, that was a purposeful and very definite attack and it finally gives me a little glimmer of hope. Someone, somewhere is still fighting.

42

    The fear and panic in this part of the queue has reached an unbearable level. We're still moving. A relentless on-off shuffle down towards the building in the field. The nervousness of the soldiers around us seems to have increased too.
    Is this a slaughterhouse? Are we going to be neutered? Have they developed a 'cure' to make us like them again? Frightened thoughts rush through my mind at a thousand miles an hour as I get closer to the building. Whatever happens in there I know I've almost reached the inevitable end of my journey. The last day has been hell but I'd go through it all again to trade places with the person at the very back of this queue. I'd give anything to put off going through those dark doors in the near distance. Despite the fact that I'm surrounded by hundreds, probably thousands of people like me, I feel completely alone. Just a few days ago everything was relatively normal and all of this would have seemed impossible. A week ago today I was sitting in the pub with my family, oblivious to everything that was about to happen to us. I think about losing Liz and Harry and Ed and Josh and it's difficult to contain my emotions. I think about Ellis and I feel like I've been stabbed through the heart.
    We move along the road like we're on a chain gang. All we're missing is the shackles around our feet. Over the constant dragging sound of hundreds of exhausted footsteps I think I can hear something. There's a noise in the distance. It's quiet and indistinct but it's definitely there. A deep, far-off rumbling. Is that thunder I can hear or something else? The rain continues to lash down all around me and the low light makes it all but impossible to see what's happening away from the building.
    Progress is slow but I wish it were slower still. I'm already halfway down the track which runs from the front of the building to the road and now, for the first time, I'm close enough to see some of what's happening around the entrance. The track is packed solid with people who queue up behind some kind of heavily guarded canvas-covered checkpoint. It's hard to see any detail, but from here it looks like an immigration control desk or customs point at an airport. A steady stream of people are moving past the checkpoint and are being herded into the main part of the building. They look over their shoulders in desperation as more rifle-wielding soldiers push and shove them forward. I don't even want to think about what's in there. One thing is painfully obvious - there's no apparent way out. People are going in, but as far as I can see no-one's coming out.
    There's now just a few short meters between where I'm standing and the checkpoint. Up ahead there's more panic and confusion as someone breaks from the queue and attempts to run. This time they're on their own. No-one else is running with them. The lone figure which sprints away in the direction of the towering silos to my left is brought down by a hail of bullets, far more than are necessary. And bizarrely, as soon as