gradual incline. A few helicopters fly overhead. We get close to the top of the hill, then stop. Sirens sound, and black vans dash past on the hard shoulder.
The phone rings; Mum answers.
‘I see… All right…. Fine. Bye.’
She hangs up. ‘There are some road checks up ahead. Nothing to worry us I should think.’
The traffic starts moving again, slowly. We reach the top of the hill. On the other side of the M25 the traffic is stationary. We inch along, and stop again. There is a swarm of men dressed in black like hospital guards, stopping and searching cars on both sides. We get waved on.
‘Who are they?’
‘Lorders,’ Amy says.
I snap around to look again: they are not in grey suits, but black trousers and long black shirts, with some sort of vest on top. They are dressed just like the hospital guards: does this mean they are Lorders, too?
I feel ill, and finally ask the question I have been avoiding.
‘What are Lorders?’
Mum turns, eyebrows raised. ‘You know, Law and Order Agents: they track gangs and terrorists. They’re looking for someone.’
They must really want to find them to be stopping and searching every car on a motorway.
‘But are they the same as the ones in grey suits at the show, and at school?’ I ask.
‘Yes, they were at the show; I can’t imagine why. They usually wear grey suits, but dress in black when they are in operations: counter-terrorism mostly, these days. Used to be gangs. But are there Lorders at school?’ Mum says, frowning a little. ‘Amy, is that so?’
Amy nods. ‘Sometimes they come to Assemblies. They’re not always there; just now and then. More so lately.’
There are fields sloping up to our left, trees above. I catch a movement: a slight flash, as if the sun caught something glass or metal.
‘There’s someone up there,’ I say.
‘Where?’ Mum asks.
‘In those woods,’ I say, and point. ‘I saw a flash.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
She takes out her phone again, but then a helicopter appears where I’d pointed, and men run from below up to the trees. She puts it down.
Rat-a-tat-tat sounds loud in the air.
‘What are they doing?’ My eyes open wide. ‘Are they shooting at someone?’
‘Flashing Fodders,’ Amy says, and sniffs. ‘Freedom or die they want? Die it is.’
The traffic soon starts moving again, and Mum calls the hospital to tell them we’ll be late.
We approach New London Hospital the same way we left it, almost two weeks ago; it unwinds in reverse before my eyes. Outlying areas are again bustling with people and traffic; offices and flats teem with activity. Closer to our destination there are more guards on corners, dressed in black: Lorders. The crowds seem to open around them, as if they are surrounded by an invisible bubble that must not be crossed.
Just as the guard towers of the hospital come into view, there is a roadblock: more Lorders. We sit in the queue to get through, between a truck and a bus, and I can’t stop thinking of my dream: a whistle, a flash, an explosion. My eyes hunt side to side but find nothing suspicious. They are searching vehicles; we inch forward. But then just like on the motorway, they wave us through without stopping. This time I notice the Lorders focus on Mum, then touch their left shoulder with their right hand, then hold their palms forward.
‘Why don’t they stop us like everybody else?’ I ask.
‘Sometimes being my father’s daughter comes in handy,’ Mum says, and I remember Wam the Man , who crushed the gangs that terrorised the country nearly thirty years ago. ‘Sometimes, it doesn’t,’ she adds, so quietly I almost don’t hear.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Must you ask so many questions?’ she snaps. Then sighs. ‘Sorry, Kyla. We can talk about this another time, all right?’
‘Why do you play hide and seek in your dreams?’ Dr Lysander leans back, hands crossed in front. Observes and waits.
I’d worked out early on with Dr Lysander that I had to give her something real.
The phone rings; Mum answers.
‘I see… All right…. Fine. Bye.’
She hangs up. ‘There are some road checks up ahead. Nothing to worry us I should think.’
The traffic starts moving again, slowly. We reach the top of the hill. On the other side of the M25 the traffic is stationary. We inch along, and stop again. There is a swarm of men dressed in black like hospital guards, stopping and searching cars on both sides. We get waved on.
‘Who are they?’
‘Lorders,’ Amy says.
I snap around to look again: they are not in grey suits, but black trousers and long black shirts, with some sort of vest on top. They are dressed just like the hospital guards: does this mean they are Lorders, too?
I feel ill, and finally ask the question I have been avoiding.
‘What are Lorders?’
Mum turns, eyebrows raised. ‘You know, Law and Order Agents: they track gangs and terrorists. They’re looking for someone.’
They must really want to find them to be stopping and searching every car on a motorway.
‘But are they the same as the ones in grey suits at the show, and at school?’ I ask.
‘Yes, they were at the show; I can’t imagine why. They usually wear grey suits, but dress in black when they are in operations: counter-terrorism mostly, these days. Used to be gangs. But are there Lorders at school?’ Mum says, frowning a little. ‘Amy, is that so?’
Amy nods. ‘Sometimes they come to Assemblies. They’re not always there; just now and then. More so lately.’
There are fields sloping up to our left, trees above. I catch a movement: a slight flash, as if the sun caught something glass or metal.
‘There’s someone up there,’ I say.
‘Where?’ Mum asks.
‘In those woods,’ I say, and point. ‘I saw a flash.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
She takes out her phone again, but then a helicopter appears where I’d pointed, and men run from below up to the trees. She puts it down.
Rat-a-tat-tat sounds loud in the air.
‘What are they doing?’ My eyes open wide. ‘Are they shooting at someone?’
‘Flashing Fodders,’ Amy says, and sniffs. ‘Freedom or die they want? Die it is.’
The traffic soon starts moving again, and Mum calls the hospital to tell them we’ll be late.
We approach New London Hospital the same way we left it, almost two weeks ago; it unwinds in reverse before my eyes. Outlying areas are again bustling with people and traffic; offices and flats teem with activity. Closer to our destination there are more guards on corners, dressed in black: Lorders. The crowds seem to open around them, as if they are surrounded by an invisible bubble that must not be crossed.
Just as the guard towers of the hospital come into view, there is a roadblock: more Lorders. We sit in the queue to get through, between a truck and a bus, and I can’t stop thinking of my dream: a whistle, a flash, an explosion. My eyes hunt side to side but find nothing suspicious. They are searching vehicles; we inch forward. But then just like on the motorway, they wave us through without stopping. This time I notice the Lorders focus on Mum, then touch their left shoulder with their right hand, then hold their palms forward.
‘Why don’t they stop us like everybody else?’ I ask.
‘Sometimes being my father’s daughter comes in handy,’ Mum says, and I remember Wam the Man , who crushed the gangs that terrorised the country nearly thirty years ago. ‘Sometimes, it doesn’t,’ she adds, so quietly I almost don’t hear.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Must you ask so many questions?’ she snaps. Then sighs. ‘Sorry, Kyla. We can talk about this another time, all right?’
‘Why do you play hide and seek in your dreams?’ Dr Lysander leans back, hands crossed in front. Observes and waits.
I’d worked out early on with Dr Lysander that I had to give her something real.
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