Lockdown Party

Peering out from my bedroom window, I watched the house party over the road. Some forty or so revellers were drinking and dancing in the garden. They were ignoring the lockdown restrictions which had confined people to their homes. Without social interaction, it was no wonder they’d gone stir crazy and needed to let off steam. They must have known they’d get caught but didn’t seem to care as music shamelessly boomed. Party like it’s 1999 had become an anthem for those who wanted to ignore the law. The desire to live an active life stronger than concern over the deadly virus.

They didn’t hear four matt black low loaders ease around the corner resting alongside the tall fenced garden. I’d seen some clips on social media before someone had removed them, but seeing them for real drove a chill right through me. I wanted to look away but mobile in hand I couldn’t stop myself from capturing the sight of the virus containment squad, a newly acquired droid police unit.

Filing out of the extended vans in perfect unison, ten, twenty and yet more made a wall of dark grey metal bodies along the fence. The platinum coloured leader stood away from them and surveyed his troops before he glanced in my direction. I dropped straight to the floor.

Recording of the containment division was illegal. I immediately deleted my recording as a cold sweat rang through me. The fear of a knock on my door stopped my breath.

Uncontrollably drawn, I lifted myself from the floor to peer out again. The revellers were still in full flow, unaware of their fate as they sang along to another party tune.

Menacing, yet perfectly still, six droids were spaced out a few metres from the squad in line with the fence. They waited patiently for the noose to snare its prey.

The leader approached the front door with a further ten spaced around the house. The music and jollity continued. The leader had a universal key and didn’t need to bash his way in. He let himself in, like a husband arriving home from work. Ten droids followed, wheeling in a large flight case. The music still played.

Men and Women danced without a care. Guys drank from bottles around a makeshift bar, whilst some couples were sharing intimate moments.

The music stopped.

Jeers of, “get the music back on!” were short-lived as silence returned as the lead droid entered the garden.

An eerie silence held. There was no announcement from the platinum figure of authority. No defiant proclamations. No screams. The leader stood firm, his hands of steel on his hips.

One brave, or rather inebriated guy spoke first. “We are sick of this shit. We don’t care about the virus.”

“If it kills us, it kills us. We want to live our lives,” another guy said.

A bottle of beer smashed as it hit the breastplate of the droid. A round of cheers followed with derisory remarks.

Unmoved and silent, the leader waited.

The remarks ceased, and the crowd hushed, awaiting a response.

Clear and true, he spoke, “You are all under arrest for breaking social gathering laws. The containment vans are ready to deliver you to the central holding area.”

“Not bloody likely.” Several more bottles broke on impact against the platinum droid as further shouts of annoyance rang out.

The leader was unmoved and silent.

The front door opened, and two members of the squad led four guys and two girls quietly out. Chained together, they’d accepted their fate as they stepped into the first van. The other eight droids filed into the garden to join the leader, and all hell broke loose.

Four of the bigger guys charged at one and took it down in typical rugger fashion. Their victory was short-lived as two other droids pinned them to the floor whilst the upended bot regained his ground to collect chains from the flight case. Another couple of guys charged an enforcer, but a solid swipe left them stunned on the ground.

Women screamed and huddled together as other revellers scrambled over the fence. Each assailant grabbed as they landed. One guy evaded capture and took flight, but a Taser jolt turned him into a twitching wreck on the tarmac. The remaining alcohol fuelled confident few tried to push past the leader to regain access to the house. He stood firm, calmly pushing each to the floor and delivering a quieter message.

One wiry, shaggy-haired character hid in the refuse bin at the bottom of the garden and three girls crouched behind the shed. I couldn’t help but smile at the guys around the bar. They were unaffected by the madness around them and continued swigging their beer. One guy grabbed another bottle and chinked it into the others before opening it. It was like they were wearing invisibility coats and were mere voyeurs of the scene.

The perimeter squad split as they bundled away the would-be assailants. A wider line now surrounded the house. The platinum droid moved back into the house and appeared at the doorway. He stepped outside and held out a guiding hand, pointing to the vans. The revellers left the house, some still singing and holding beers defiantly aloft. The squad ignored their chants as they filed into the vans. A blond in heels attempted to flee, but a sprightly enforcer easily apprehended her. The knee she shoved into its groin had no effect other than on herself. She hobbled, assisted to her fate.

Two vans pulled away, and the garden became empty. They led away the petrified girls from behind the shed. A single droid did a last check over the garden. One guy remained still in the bin, I found myself rooting for him. The remaining droid stood patiently in the garden as the third van and most of the unit left. Silence had returned.

I fixed my eyes on the bin and the remaining droid in the garden. I willed the guy to remain still. My eyes tired as time passed. The leader re-entered the garden and relieved the guard to join the rest of the crew in the final van.

The platinum leader strolled to the rear of the garden and planted himself in front of the refuse bin. Ten minutes later he hadn’t moved. The wiry guy held firm. It knew he was there. Why didn’t he open the lid? Why would a droid enjoy teasing its prey?

He must have received a message. He walked back through the house and into the street. My focus again returned to the garden as the lid moved. I wanted to scream out for him to hold steady for another five minutes, but a firm knock on my front door took my attention.

Every ounce of blood drained right out of me. I looked to see the platinum figure of strength knock again at my door. I was innocent. Why was he knocking on my door? I wanted to ask him, but my last glance saw the lid open and the shaggy-haired guy emerge. I looked down again to my front door and my eyes met the glare of the piercing blue eyes staring back at me.

I wanted to run but knew my chances of escape were slim. Attempting to flee would also be a clear sign of guilt. I began to descend the last flight of stairs which led to my door. It shook as another firm knock connected. I took two more anxious steps and another impatient knock rattled both me and the door. My nerves couldn’t take another knock, I blurted, “Coming.”

My body was cold and beaten with fear as I released the catch to open the door. He towered above me, much taller up close. I waited for his judgement, unable to breathe or speak myself. He studied me for what seemed like hours but must have been barely a minute.

He spoke with a clear yet soft tone, “I noticed you watching from the window. Has the person in the bin moved?”

“I-I- think he just m-moved when I c-came downstairs.” I had not stammered since school, but this would make my headmaster of stone turn to jelly.

He briefly touched his temple, and I heard figures drop from the van. He returned his gaze to me. “You are under arrest for recording the containment unit.”

“I didn’t record it. I deleted it.”

He paused, then spoke politely, “you cannot delete something you did not record.”

“I started to record it, then deleted it.”

“You therefore admit to recording the containment unit.”

“Yes. Sorry.” I bowed my head in surrender before a spark ignited my voice. My head rose hopefully as I pleaded, “I told you about the bin guy.”

“You did.” He replied. He glanced behind to see the wiry guy being led to the van. The guy’s narrowing eyes met mine as he spat on the floor. The leader returned his focus on me, “Where is your mobile?”

It was in my pocket; I tried to pull it out quickly, but the harder I tried the clumsier I became, it slipped from my grasp onto the floor. “Sorry.” I bent down and presented it to the droid.

His hand clenched and crushed the phone effortlessly in his hand. With controlled aggression he sounded out each word, “The law is not for breaking!”

He left me frozen to the spot as he turned and left. I would never break the law again.