Day Zero

from where she was, buried under several members of her security detail. “Off – get off of me,” she snarled, trying to get to her feet.
“Stay down mum,” one of them snarled back, pushing her down. Or trying to.
“If they’d wanted to bloody hit me, they would’ve. Now get off!” She forced her way upright, over their protests and looked around. It was chaos – people scattering, her people trying to force their way towards the action.
“I think we – we need to get out of here,” Hannah said, grabbing at her arm. Her eyes were wide, her voice brittle with fear. “Someone’s shooting!”
Sarah shook her off. “But not at me. Call an ambulance.” She snatched the microphone and raised her hand. “Everyone, calm down – calm down!” No one was listening, but she wasn’t doing it for their benefit. And the news-drones circling overhead were capturing it all.
She heard the first sirens moments later. She kept her eyes on the body, on the man kneeling over him – going through his pockets? No. Trying to help. A concerned citizen. Her people were closing in on him, whoever he was.
It had been going so well, too. That was the annoying part. The speech was one of her best, she thought – simultaneously comforting, informative but lacking in any real substance. An anodyne quote was a safe quote, perfect for contextless soundbites.
Early in her career, she’d made the mistake of playing the firebrand. She’d been too young, too inexperienced, to think about the optics of a tall, second-generation Somali woman berating her peers. When she realized how it was being spun, she’d been forced to re-evaluate her idealism – to hone it into something more politically expedient. It hadn’t been difficult. She’d always been pragmatic.
Idealists got into power. Politicians stayed in power. And Sarah Lincoln had decided there and then that she’d rather be a politician. And as a politician, she knew an image was worth a thousand words. And the image of an MP, trying desperately to calm a panicked crowd – well… two thousand words at least.
Her people reached the body even as the first police car squealed to a stop, blue lights flashing. More arrived moments later. The concerned citizen was long gone. She wondered where, then dismissed the thought. Fewer people to share the spotlight with was a good thing. At least, that was what she told herself as one of her security detail knelt beside the body. Sarah started over, despite Hannah’s protests.
The security man had stripped off his jacket, folded it up and slid it beneath the victim’s head. Her father’s stories about the civil war came rushing back, even as she tried to recall the lessons of a long ago first aid course.
It was clear to her that the poor bastard was already dead. The hole was too big, there was too much blood. She felt a moment’s nausea, before pushing it down and walling it off. Had he lived here? She thought she’d seen him in the crowd. He didn’t look like the sort of man who got shot on the street. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was dead.
Several uniformed officers had gathered. One was speaking hurriedly into his radio, while another – a woman, part of the uniformed detail provided for her speech – joined her. “You okay, Ms Lincoln?” the officer asked, gently.
“Quite well, thank you. It’s just – I’ve never seen someone die before.” She took a deep breath. “I guess it wasn’t a heart attack, was it? I thought it was, at first, but…”
“The crime scene unit is on the way–”
“Officer, there’s a bloody great hole in his chest.”
The officer looked away. Sarah studied the body. A part of her wanted nothing more than to get away as quickly as possible, now that she’d done her bit for the cameras. But another part was curious. This wasn’t the sort of thing that happened here. Tower Hamlets – the East End – was no stranger to violence. But it was always a very specific sort of violence. This seemed appallingly random.
The police went about their business efficiently. A cordon was set up, witnesses questioned. Sarah watched and made sure she was seen to watch. Hannah brought her a cup of coffee and tried again to get her to leave.
“What if it was meant for you?” Hannah said. “You wouldn’t be the first MP to be attacked by some lunatic…”
Sarah took a sip of the coffee. It was terrible. Milk and sugar couldn’t hide the taste of burnt beans. She grimaced, but kept drinking. “If it had been meant for me, they would have hit me. Or you. We were on stage, after all.”
“Even so…”
“Even so, we’re perfectly safe now.” Sarah looked at her assistant. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Are you alright?”
Hannah looked at her, startled. “I think so. Just a bit shaken.”
Sarah patted her on the arm. “Good girl. Stiff upper lip, as the old white men are fond of saying. Now, come on. I want to know what’s going on.” She strode towards the largest knot of police officers, Hannah trailing diffidently in her wake.
They nodded respectfully, but were less than forthcoming. A Labour politician couldn’t be seen to be too chummy with the Met, else the usual suspects in her own party would start whispering. Law and order was for the Tories.
She turned to Hannah. “Go out and get coffees for everyone. Or tea, or whatever they’d prefer. And be quick.”
To her credit, Hannah didn’t argue. She simply started making the rounds, taking everyone’s order. Sarah looked back at the body, under its white sheet, surrounded by anonymous technicians in their clean suits. One of them was using a laser pointer to calculate trajectory. Others were looking for the bullet that had killed… she paused. “What was his name?” she asked, out loud.
The officer who’d talked to her before turned. “We don’t have a confirmed ID yet, but we think he was a local.”