May Day (The Erelong Trilogy Book II)

A Shocking Realization

"That sounds like gunfire," Alistair said to Kelly.

Tilford appeared breathless from out of the crowd. "Is that what I think it is?" She asked, and she was horrified to see the other two nod their heads in confirmation.

"What the hell's going on?" Gerber asked as he hurried over to join them.

"Alistair thinks it was gunfire," Kelly said.

"I didn't think it was bloody fireworks," Gerber retorted. "I meant who is doing the shooting?"

"It's coming from inside the base," Kelly told him. "And it's bloody noisy for a training exercise."

Cameron shook his head. "They don't do firing practice in a base in a city. That would be stupid."

"You're saying they're shooting at someone for real?" Storm asked in astonishment.

"It has to be for real!" Cameron confirmed.

"It sounded like an exchange between different types of guns," Gerber said. He didn't need an answer when he saw Cameron's face.

Panicked people were breaking from the milling crowd and running down the road toward the city, but their way was blocked by the FSF trucks. As the crowd looked on, they saw the lines of dark uniforms open to allow ambulances through and quickly close again.

Above the protestors circled drones the size of motorbikes and almost as noisy. The dull-black machines loaded with cameras, sensors, and weaponry remained almost stationary over their heads while their operators on the ground waited for instructions. Then, the troops armed with assault rifles began dropping from the backs of FSF trucks. The security curtain encircling the protest was closing like two iron gloves.

"They're kettling us!" Cameron yelled over the noise. The largest pulse of the protest and the first to reach the perimeter was allowed to pass, but the ranks of FSF closed once more after them. Those remaining inside the cordon now faced a wall of black shiny visors and the dark uniforms were continuing to advance.

Tilford knew the situation was about as bad as any she had ever faced. Maybe it was worse. There seemed to be no escape. She was about to say as much when she felt a tug on her arm. In front of her stood a robust looking elderly woman with determination written large across her face. The matron pulled on her arm again once more, with greater vigor this time. "You and your comrades come with me," she said.

As she led them through the crowd, the old woman kept up a constant stream of chatter. As if guiding Party members through a security force cordon was something she did every day. "I know who you are," she called back. "I like what the Party says in those newspapers you hand out. Come on. It's that way." She pointed to an ornate cream-colored stone building covered in a heavy shroud of green ivy.

"What is this place?" Tilford asked the woman when they reached an iron gate in a high metal trellis fence.

"A restaurant," the woman told her. "I work here. We didn't have a single customer this morning. The manager went home and left us to close up. There wasn't any point in staying open, you see, not with all of this going on."

Cameron glanced across his shoulder at the entrance to the naval base about five hundred yards from where they were standing. He could clearly see the guards on the gate.

"We can smuggle you lot out in our van once the police have gone," she told them as she pressed a button on an ivy-covered post.

A middle-aged man hurried toward them. He watched them approach from inside, horrified that Lorna was leading them right up to the gate. "Aren't they the ones who hand out the socialist newspaper?" He asked the matron. He stared over her shoulder at the others with a look of suspicion.