Scott and Nathan climbed back into the old, navy coloured van, which seemed to be held together by duct tape and rust.

"Four down, two to go," Nathan said as he turned the key. The aged engine groaned and then stuttered into life.

"Wait. Turn the engine off. Now!" Scott scanned his side mirror as Nathan did as he was told. "Get down."

The two men ducked as several vehicles drove slowly passed them.

"What is it?" Nathan asked.

"Armoured patrol. Just wait."

A line of vehicles continued to pass them by. The dash board vibrated and a faded, now scentless, air-freshener suspended on elastic, swung about beneath the rear view mirror. As the sound of their engines disappeared into the distance, Scott put his head up, followed by Nathan.

"There must have been ten of them."

"Twelve," Scott corrected, "the last three were troop carriers. Here come some more."

The men ducked down again.

"One, two, three, four..." Nathan stopped counting and still more vehicles passed by. "What the hell is going on?"

"I would hazard a guess Briggs knows that Hannah is missing. We'd better go on foot."

"Why?"

"Because that's the biggest deployment I've seen in a while. They are about to lock the area down and we aren't going to get anywhere in this. Come on, let's go."

As the sun began to slowly dip in the sky, Scott and Nathan moved cautiously along the streets, sometimes walking together, sometimes apart. On a number of occasions they came across road blocks and saw two others in the process of being set up. By cutting through passage ways and across back yards they'd avoided being seen.

As the two men rounded a bend, they heard a woman's scream, the piercing sound bounced off the walls around them. Scott pulled Nathan into the dark doorway of a disused store and peered round the corner. Pairs of armed soldiers were moving door to door. A large van with side widows obscured by metal bars drove slowly along the centre of the road. Scott saw a woman kneeling on the edge of the pavement, hugged by two small children, her right hand stretched out towards the van. Further up, a front door opened and a soldier dragged a man out of the house. The van stopped and the rear door was opened. Out of sight, they boarded the van and then the soldier disembarked without his prisoner. A second soldier stood at the door, fending off an elderly woman, who cursed and hit out at him. He responded by shoving her back into the house and slamming the door behind him.

"What can you see?" Nathan asked.

"Nothing good, we've got to move now. Try the handle."

Nathan tried twisting the handle but found it wouldn't budge.

"It's locked."

The sound of the engine was getting closer. They could hear the soldiers a couple of doors down.

"Move out of the way, I'll force it," Scott instructed.

"Not with those ribs you won't."

Scott reluctantly moved to the left. Nathan braced himself and then charged at the door with his shoulder. The door flew inwards as the frame splintered a little. Luckily the window pane remained intact.

Scott followed Nathan into the room and they scanned the area, as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The shop was virtually empty, except for a few boxes. Nathan picked one up and used to it to hold the front door closed. It would be very easy to open, but as a temporary way of avoiding immediate attention it would suffice.

They hurried through to the rear of the shop and found the back door had been boarded up. Scott and Nathan had neither the time nor equipment to remove the planking.

"Window," they said in unison.

A small square window was positioned above the sink on the end wall. Nathan tried the handle and the window moved slowly outward. With a final push, it opened wide. Nathan climbed up onto the sink and carefully backed out of the window, using the external windowsill as a step. Scott copied Nathans manoeuvres, but with less ease. As he doubled over and moved his leg out, the pain from his broken ribs left him breathless. Panting, he carefully he lowered himself to the ground and pushed the window closed.

"You okay, man?"

"I will be," Scott replied. "Now let's get out of here, before we get collected too."

The two men stopped at the back gate and Scott put his head out. The alley was clear.

"How far now?"

"About two miles if we stick to the streets."

"Is there an alternative route?

"We could go via the canal, but it's quite exposed, just a few bridges for cover."

"Better that, than stay on the streets."

"Okay then."

Nathan lead the way, Scott trying to keep up behind. They passed a handful of people, all of whom advised them to go home to avoid the collections."

"What do they mean by 'collections'?" asked Nathan as he slid down the bank to the footpath that ran alongside the canal, Scott followed, but stumbled on a rock.

"Oomph!" He uttered as he landed in a heap at the bottom. Slowly he picked himself up, not bothering to dust down his clothes. If his ribs were only just broken before, they sure as hell were now.

"The 'collections' are Briggs way of ensuring he gets the information he wants." Scott replied breathlessly, as they made their way down the path. "They basically pick up suspected insurgents, or those related to them and take them all into custody for interrogation. More often than not, they deliberately arrest perfectly innocent citizens. After all, there's nothing like a bit of terror to loosen up tongues. Most people know something, after all."

The canal stank; a combination of slow moving water, rotting vegetation and a nasty chemical whiff, that seemed to suspend over the footpath in gaseous pockets. It was impossible to see what lived, if anything below the murky surface, the water itself, so thick with detritus; it almost had a spoon -able quality to it.

"Canals like this, used to be the life blood of this country many years ago," said Nathan. "Cecily told me that my grandfather worked on them. He used to ferry goods, up and down here: cotton, grain, coal, you name it, they moved it. He made a good living too, well that was until they closed them down and decided to that all of the goods would then come by road or train, all of it under their control. They said it would stop people stealing and getting wealthy off the backs of others. They promised everything would be shared out equally. Have you ever shared out pieces of candy between squabbling toddlers?"

Scott shook his head.

"That sharing thing, well it doesn't really work very well, especially if you have more kids in front of you than candy in your pocket."

"Stop right there!"

Scott and Nathan looked up to see a lone soldier, up on the higher path, his assault rifle trained on them.

"What do we do?" Nathan whispered.

"Relax, do exactly what he wants us to do. " Scott replied quietly.

"But..."

"But, nothing."

"Stay exactly where you are and put your hands in the air." The soldier looked for a route down as the two men raised their hands. He gingerly traversed the slope, keeping his eyes on Scott and Nathan all the time. His military-issue boots made light work of the uneven surface and he approached cautiously.

"Show me your papers. You first," he said to Nathan, "Slowly."

Nathan avoided eye contact with Scott and reached around to his back pocket, pulled out his documents and offered them to the soldier.

Close up, Scott could see the how nervous the young soldier was. His hands were clenched tight around the weapon, reluctant to release one of them to accept the papers. The soldier took a step back and scanned the identity papers.

"Where are you going?" he asked Nathan.

"To work."

"Why are you down here?"

"Look, I don't know what's going on up there, but I haven't got the time to keep getting stopped to show my ID. If I'm late, I'll lose my job and I can't afford that. I thought this would be a quicker route."

The young soldier, with the surname, Holden, embroidered on his lapel, stood looking at Nathan, weighing up his story. He handed the papers back.

"And you, where are your papers?"

Scott sighed. "Sorry, I don't have them."

The soldier's posture straightened and his voice lowered an octave.

"It is an offence to be in a public place without formal identification. I'm taking you in for questioning.

"Hey give me a break, man. I need to get to work too. I've got kids to feed." Scott held out his hands, palm side up and shrugged his shoulders.

Holden, the soldier, looked a little and Scott persisted hoped it wouldn't have to end like he thought it would.

"You can leave," he pointed with the rifle to Nathan, "but I have to take you ..."

As the butt moved in his direction, Scott grabbed the end of the rifle with his left hand and shoved it towards the ground. The soldier panicked and tried to pull the rifle away. Barely able to cope with the pain coming from his ribs, Scott rammed his right elbow in the soldiers face; his nose exploding in a mist of red as his grip on the rifle weakened. With a final heave Scott pulled the rifle from the soldier's hands and turned it back on him.

"Please, don't shoot. I've only been on the job a week."

"You so much as shout out or try to run off and I'll shoot you in the head, do you hear me?" Scott gasped, the breath knocked out of him, but his chest too sore and tight to take deep lungful's of air. "Now, where's your partner, you guys never go round by yourselves.

The soldier cupped his nose, trying to stem the blood that flowed through his fingers.

"Just... up there. He'll be here any minute."

Scott heard the hesitation in the soldier's voice.

Scott laughed. "You really are green aren't you? If you're an example of Briggs's new army, then god help him. Now walk!" Scott pointed the rifle into the small of the soldier's back.

"We need to get some cover and quickly." Nathan nodded in agreement.

They sped up and soon reached a road bridge spanning the canal. The stench seemed ten times stronger under the brick arch. Scott gave Nathan the rifle and then proceeded to pat the soldier down.

"Where's your radio?" Scott asked, standing back.

"I don't have one, honestly I don't. We were mobilized too quickly. I barely had enough time to put my boots on and grab a rifle."

"Why were you mobilized, what are you searching for?"

"Some top-five have gone missing and the General wants them back, by tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Here, we were given this." The soldier took a piece of paper from his top pocket and passed it to Scott."

"Why tomorrow?" Scott asked, studying the four black and white images with surprise.

"I don't really know, except that Briggs is giving an important speech" the soldier replied.

"What's your SPR?" Scott asked, walking around the soldier.

The soldier's face screwed up in confusion. "I am an eighty-three."

Scott walked around the soldier again. "That's a shame," he said and grabbed hold of the young man's neck and squeezed tightly. The soldier kicked out and his hands grabbed at Scott's arm, but the pressure was too great and exerted in exactly the right position. Scott eased the unconscious soldier to the ground.

"Let's go, but we need to get off this path." Scott kicked the rifle into the dark, syrupy canal and it slowly disappeared with a glug.

After a short while they left the canal path. They were on the north side of town now, in the industrial sector. Keeping off the main track, they stuck to the shadows. The sun had set and a cloud-heavy sky, giving them the cover they needed. Sirens rang out from all directions, interspersed with the sound of occasional gun fire.

"That's it." Nathan pointed to the abandoned engineering plant. The building, like all of those around them appeared empty.

"We'll scout the perimeter first. I think we should stay together."

Nathan followed Scott as they slunk past a surface fuel pipe. It led up to some roller doors. Once in the shadow of the building they circled the perimeter, stepping over old pallets and broken glass. The circuit took a good five minutes. The building Scott recognised as the once industrial goliath, Walker Agriculture. Initially set up to manufacture farming equipment, it was taken over at the height of the unrest to manufacture armed vehicles. When the fighting died down and Briggs's control became more of a strangle-hold, the plant was left empty. Walker Agriculture ceased production, and its owner, Johnathon Walker, fat off the riches of war retired.

"Okay, so there are fairly recent tire tracks leading up to the back entrance, but other than that, I've seen nothing," Scott assessed. "However, let's just check inside."

Nathan pointed to the roller doors.

Scott gripped the base of the door and lifted it gently to see if it would budge. It moved an inch or so in silence. More confident this time, he lifted it a little further and the door glided up out of his hands and folded in upon itself.

"Yet more uninvited guests to our little party," said a voice from deep inside the building.

Scott picked up on the sound of movement behind him too late and felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and then no more.