What Quiet Sounds Like When it Breaks
By Thomas X Veil
When bombers force rival factions into a fragile alliance, Rosehaven’s quiet conflicts erupt into open catastrophe. As authority falters, Mary discovers how easily protection becomes tyranny, and how quickly small-town intrigue turns lethal.
Genre: Ideological Conflict Fiction
Home > Thomas Veil > Rosewar
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Gradually, a noise, a constant drone, became apparent. Shoppers stopped, hands weighed down with carrier bags full of that morning’s purchases, heads tilted up, mouths agape. Shopkeepers stepped outside; hawkers fell quiet, all staring upwards. A few of the older adults might have recognised the sound from their nightmares; most, only from old films or TV.
Bombers!
The sound was unmistakable, but only the underside of the grey weary clouds was visible. Whose were they? What was happening? Where were they going? Why? … were the questions many were asking.
No one seemed to know. The thought of the vast planes above contrasted with the quaint but continually conflicted seaside town of Rosehaven.
But the bombers changed everything.
It was a typical summer, changeable and unpredictable. On this particular day, rain had been threatening all morning.
Mary stood at the bakery door, staring up. Her shift had started early; that day’s bread and cakes were almost sold out now. Taking a deep breath, she smiled as she took in the fading aroma of baked bread. She had been thinking of getting ready to close up, but she forced herself back inside and pressed the hidden button behind the counter.
This activated the surveillance around the building for the Gremlin saboteurs in the lower basement of the antique shop, who made tech to oppose the factions. She was proud of ‘W’, her brother, who was a key player down there. Sometimes, though, she would love him to be proud of her in the same way.
As the sound faded into the usual background noise, speculation sprang to life in the street.
“We’re all going to die!”
“They aren’t bombers; they’re just these new cargo planes full of imports.”
It went on and on and was all Mary heard people talking about for the rest of the day. Later, a little grey van began to pass again and again, a tape loop playing from a loudhailer strapped to its roof.
‘All factions have formed the Unity Accord in response to this morning’s events.’
‘The Unity Accord will have a meeting tonight at 7pm in the old community centre.’
‘Only volunteers are welcome.’
Comments varied.
“It must be serious if the factions are working together, don’t you think?”
“I don’t have the time; I need to get my Ken’s dinner ready.”
Mary thought she should go. Her brother, the cheeky little bugger, had worked really hard to get things back to some kind of stability rather than the constant argy bargy between the factions and the weak attempts by The Return to ease the situation.
Yes, she thought, she would go to the meeting and volunteer. If that meant missing a few shifts at the bakery, then so be it. Better to be involved than just sitting around worrying. She liked that. A frisson of excitement ran through her body.
So, she went.
She arrived at five to seven, and as she expected, the turnout wasn’t great. Only about half the seats in the hall were taken. The stale smell mixed with floor polish took Mary back to teenage dances she hadn’t thought about in years. Where had the time gone?
Unbelievably, the meeting started on time.
It must be important.
A long table was on the stage, and the seats behind it filled quickly with well-known faces from the two main factions, The Heritage Front and New Tomorrow.
A speaker introduced himself. “I’m Colin Reamer, the chairman of the cross-faction alliance, the Unity Accord.”
“Citizens, there is an unprecedented national emergency, and with the lack of reliable communications with the rest of the country, we must take clear and decisive action.”
“That’s why the Heritage Front and New Tomorrow have agreed to suspend their conflict and form the Unity Accord. To inform our decisions, we are calling for volunteers to go to the nearby towns and villages to gather information and secure alliances.”
“Can I see a show of hands, please?”
Only seven.
Mary thought of all the times she’d wished she’d taken part more, and of the heroes in films who went into the unknown to save those left behind.
I don’t want to miss another opportunity.
Fuck it, she thought, I’m doing it.
I can’t.
Can I?
I’ll make a difference.
No, I won’t.
Yes, I will.
She raised her hand.
“Thank you; we have eight people. Going in pairs will be much safer and flexible.”
Mary hadn’t thought about a partner.
Looking around at the others’ startled faces, she realized she wasn’t the only one.
Mary had never met him before, but didn’t like his eyes; they wouldn’t meet hers, and his hand felt like a dead fish when she shook it.
He was called Martin. Martin Shivers.
Yes, he gives me the shivers; she thought to herself. He said he was a data analyst, but what does that mean? Could they not have paired me with that other guy? At least he’s good-looking, tall and doesn’t look as if he’s just smelt his own fart. I guess beggars can’t be choosers, though. I’m no looker, and thanks to Delia’s danish pastries, I’m not as trim as I should be. Not bad considering how many I eat, though.
What have I done?
They were allocated the northeastern quadrant, which mostly included other coastal towns and villages. Mooredge, Cliffton, Blackton, and the villages of Havencastle, Seaton, and Littleton.
They had their work cut out for them, so they’d better get started.
*****
They agreed to go home and meet back at the hall in an hour, then they’d set off.
The long-awaited rain chose their moment of return to start absolutely chucking it down. They had decided to walk and cadge lifts rather than take one of their own cars. That way, they wouldn’t miss any valuable information or gossip.
It seemed like a stupid idea, even though they had come prepared.
Just a few hundred metres up the road was a checkpoint. A combined checkpoint, which was really weird after years of them belonging either to the Heritage Front or to New Tomorrow.
They saw for the first time this this alliance would be a fragile affair. Here were two sets of patrolmen from opposing factions standing nervously together, but really not together. The closer they got, the more obvious it became that the soldiers were watching each other rather than the people going through.
After showing their orders from the Unity Accord, they were let through without even a body search, which was a first for both of them. It was actually quite pleasant walking away from the checkpoint, even in the pouring rain. The release of the tension was palpable.
The rain eased off as they made their way along the road to Mooredge, their clothes sticking to them, shoes wet.
Enjoying these stories? Try the book.
As they approached its outskirts, they saw some obviously abandoned homes; belongings strewn across lawns, open front doors. They must have relatives or friends in safer districts, Mary thought. They couldn’t possibly leave the country. Could they? Anyway, where would they go? Impossible to know if you don’t know who the enemy is.
Martin, she was struggling to be nice and call him by his first name, was quite sarcastic about the runaways or ‘the escapees’ as he called them.
“They’re only running away from where they heard the news. They could be heading right into more serious trouble.”
Mary was kinder. “Maybe they have more to worry about than you do,” she was still trying to keep up with Martin’s long strides. “Look at these family photos, Martin. These people want to be with their families.”
Then Mary spotted some graffiti on a wall on the other side of the road. ”What’s that? That sign on the wall. I’ve seen that before somewhere, haven’t you?”
“What sign?”
“Over there, on the wall. It’s foreign.”
“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about that, doll. We should be worried about getting somewhere nice and warm so we can dry off, so we don’t catch our death out here. I’m starting to feel it.”
Martin Shivers shivers. Mary laughed to herself. “But we’ve got to think about who could want to attack us, don’t you think?”
“Well, they say there’re loads of immigrants here. It could be something to do with them. You never know.”
“I suppose so, but we should copy it.”
“OK, OK, you’ve got a point, I suppose,” said Martin taking his notebook out of his hip pocket, finding a dry page and making a sketch.
“You got any idea which countries would want to attack us, Mary?”
“Haven’t even thought about it, to be honest. They say a lot of them are unhappy with the things we did in the past. You?”
“Haven’t a clue. I think what we’re doing is a good idea ‘cos we should soon find out and be able to get an early heads up about which way the wind’s blowing.”
“I’m more worried there’ll be an invasion, and foreign soldiers will run riot all over the place. Pillaging n raping n stuff like that.”
“Rape and pillage? That’s the least of our worries. The real danger isn’t soldiers running riot. It’s efficient men in clean offices deciding who eats and who freezes. That’s what the factions have been practicing for years.”
“I suppose.”
“Oi, you boys. You got a minute?”
Trying not to slip on the wet leaves, Mary followed Martin across the road to the group of youngsters hanging around in a decrepit bus shelter.
Still shivering, Martin said, “We’re from Unity Accord. You guys seen anything strange happening since those planes flew over earlier?”
“I reckon nothing else really happened today, but we saw a bunch of foreign guys getting picked up by a van a day or two ago. We think that was kind of strange.”
“And there’s this fuckin’ sign been sprayed on walls around the town. That’s nothing to do with any of our lot. Bit odd, that’s all,” said another.
Just as they were turning away, another man walked up.
Mary put on her nicest voice and said, “We’re from Unity Accord, and we’re trying to find out any info or gossip there is about what’s going on. Any ideas?”
“No, not really, but I was in the pub earlier and kept hearing talk of young uni graduates disappearing.”
“What, into fresh air?” Martin quipped.
“No, the story was always the same. They told their families they were going out and haven’t been heard from again. That’s all. Weird, eh?”
“Thanks, mate, we should get moving. Any idea who we should ask around here?”
“Try down the Horsemaker’s Arms; it’s full of people wondering what’s going on. It’s about 150 yards down that way on the left. Come on, I’ll go with you.”
*****
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