Swarm

One

Some secret.

Inky looked around the room. He counted eighteen of them now. It didn’t look like many in this large function room above The Lamb, sat with their backs to one wall. A line of cheap tables pushed together formed a trestle. The drab wall behind them was meant to resemble oak panelling. But the veneer was as thin as some of the members’ commitment to what they were trying to achieve. When did this group become a social club for bored keyboard warriors?

He cleared his throat. The conversation died down. From here on the parquet dance floor he could see them all. To a person, they had a drink in hand. He wondered how many they’d had, how many would be driving home tonight, how many would stay quiet if the pigs pulled them over. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his soles sticking to the floor. At the end of the table, to his left, Spider tapped his watch.

"Okay. A few more points to make before we all leave. Our email campaign, coordinated by Davvo, is going well. We saw more people than we expected turn up to the fracking protest outside the town hall last Thursday. Speaking to some of the groups there, they reckon we’d have more engagement if we can get our social media stuff up and running. I’ll be honest, I haven’t a fucking clue. It’s what I’ve been told. Who wants to take the lead on it? We’ll need a Facebook page and a Twitter one. Anyone? Cheers Davvo.

Right, what else... Oh yeah, the Friends of the Forest group wanted to thank you all for attending the badger cull protest last month. The authority’s not changing position on that one, reckon it’s out of their hands, but we got some good coverage in the local press. That’s about it. Before we go I wanna thank you all for your attendance, especially our newest members Erin and Aadesh. Next meeting’s here on the fourteenth. You can all finish your drinks and piss off now, the pub needs the room back."

There were a few dutiful laughs, and the sound of conversation rose again. Ten minutes later only two of them were left in the room.

Inky, got a minute?

Always, Spider, always. The vowels were a little more arch without the audience to play to, the accent a little less coarse.

I’ve had a bit of time to do a bit of digging on the new guys. The bird’s got links to one of the groups in East Anglia. Her brother’s been arrested a few times. Hunt sabotages mainly. Seems to like the sound of a toff hitting the floor. Who doesn’t? The other fella I’m not so sure about. Nothing on the web I can see, no social media accounts, nothing. A bit suss, really. Probably best if he doesn’t show up at the next meeting, not ‘til we can get to know a bit more about him.

Agreed. And, thanks.

That other off-the-agenda thing... I made contact with a sympathetic employee there. It won’t be as straightforward as we thought. Security is tighter than Huntingdon. Much tighter. But they’re definitely experimenting in there. Small animals, some primates. There’s other animals there too, but she don’t have access to the whole building. Almost nobody does, ‘cept for those at the top. We’d have no chance of getting in there without help.

Could you ask her to take action?

Yep. All planned out already. She’s waiting for our go-ahead.

Okay. Meet me tomorrow at Well’s cafe, about ten. I’ll look over the plans then, see what you’ve come up with. We’ll see how soon we can kick this into action.

’kay, no probs. See you then.

Inky watched Spider step into the dark hall beyond the wooden double doors. He picked up those few glasses left on the tables and cradled them. He stared through the porthole windows of the doors. All planned out already, indeed.

He took the glasses down the back stairs, into the hubbub of the bar area. He placed them on the bar and thanked the barman for the use of the function room. Too many sounds assaulted his ears. Music from the jukebox. Chatter, shouts and raucous laughter. The clack of pool balls. He was glad of the quiet when he stepped out into the muggy August evening.

Two

Spider sauntered into Wells Cafe. He pulled the door open and glanced at the clock behind the Formica counter. Twenty past ten. Inky was already at the table in the far corner, an expectant waiting puppy. Spider walked to the counter.

Hey, Al.

Morning. Al lowered his voice and leant in as if sharing a secret. He’s already there. Been there a while. I think you’re late. He grinned, not knowing how accurate his joke was. He stood, and his voice was back to normal. What’ll it be?

Veggie breakfast, large coffee, and something sweet. A brownie, or something.

No worries. Sit you down, I’ll bring it over.

Want anything, Inky?

Keep your voice down. And no, I’ve already eaten.

Spider chuckled. You worry too much. There’s no-one else in here.

There’s me, chimed Al.

Yeah, but you don’t count. You’re practically one of us.

Spider watched Inky watch him make his way to the table. Inky hunched over a cup of tea, judging Spider’s every step. Spider dragged the aluminium chair away from the table and dropped into it, leaning back.  They were opposite each other. Spider tapped the edge of the table with his red Clipper.

’sup?

The plastic-topped table, one of six, was worn but clean. Al’s framed holiday photos dotted the small whitewashed walls: Greece, Spain, Italy. Al waddled out from behind his counter, a large mug of coffee in hand. He set it down and went back to the griddle.

You’re late.

I overslept.

Spider fished a packet of brown sugar from the little plastic pot, shook it, and tore it open. He stirred it into the coffee. Then he took another packet and did the same.

I need to know what’s going on, said Inky.

With what?

With you, and whatever it is you’re planning. You did bring the plans, yeah?

Spider tapped the side of his head. All up ‘ere. Don’t worry.

Jesus. I have to worry because you don’t seem to. We can’t afford to get reckless. We work best because so much of what we do is low profile. I need to know what you’re planning on.

So you can ‘approve’ it? Don’t think so, mate. Because while you’re fucking about on Facebook and having meetings at the pub, I’m getting on with the job at hand. Those bastards at Rutenger are up to all sorts. And while we’ve run them out of town twice, they think they can set up shop in the arse-end of nowhere and carry on as normal. They’re in Norwich, and in one of our National Parks. A National fucking Park. They think they can carry on by spreading their operations like a cancer. I wanna tell ‘em they can’t. Low profile be damned. People need to know what’s going on, people need to know what we’re doing and why. Otherwise, they get the safe, sanitised BBC version. Us as bad guys, corporate job creators as victims, no questions asked.

Okay, but you have to-

No. I don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t. Power, control, these are the things we’re fighting against. And as soon as you put any structure around what we do, as soon as you direct or limit our movement, as soon as you start dictating what we can say in meetings, how we can act, you become one of them. You might as well jack it all in now, become one of those silly twats who get angry about everything on Twitter but never lift a finger to do anything about it because they can’t be arsed with the inconvenience, are too worried about losing what little they’ve been allowed to gain. I’ll tell you what we’re about to do because we’re friends, because we’ve known each other such a long time. But don’t for a fucking second think I’m asking permission. You see, me and a bunch of mates, sympathisers, we’ve got ourselves some hardware. We’re going to go up there, shut those places down permanently.

Hardware? We don’t believe in weapons.

You don’t believe in weapons. I believe in using any means necessary to get the job done. And don’t give me the innocent people bullshit. Everyone up there, from the CEO to the fucking cleaner knows who they work for. That’s the choice they made and the risk they take. Don’t worry. We’re not going to slaughter everyone. The plan is to get everyone out, scare the shit out of ‘em, and burn the place down. It’ll be easy.

Al came over again, put a plate down in front of Spider.

Chucked you an extra hash brown on there, I cooked too many.

Thanks, Al.

Spider doused the plate in ketchup. He grinned at Inky as he attacked his breakfast.

So you’ve made up your mind.

Spider nodded. He shoved in another forkful of Quorn sausage.

You should have something.

Like I said, I already ate. Inky stood, and slid the chair back under the table.

Off so soon?

Yeah.

Spider watched him throw up the hood of his too-expensive hoodie and leave. As the door closed Spider took his mobile from his pocket. He tapped the number with his thumb. It’s on. After sending the message, he deleted it from his log. He called Al for more coffee and attacked the rest of his breakfast.

Three

Iain walked into the bedroom, list in hand.

Have you packed yet?

Emma answered without looking up from her magazine. Four pillows propped her up on the bed. Not yet, it’s not even midday. All my stuff’s sorted, though. I’m thinking I’ll put it in a case before we go to bed.

Okay. Been quiet, hasn’t it?

Hmm?

"Outside. With all the kids back in school, no cars in