“Eskom guarantees each household three hours of electricity every night.”
“Data cables under the Indian and Atlantic oceans remain down.”
“The government blames anti-establishment rebels.”
Connor knew the headlines by heart.
“Anti-establishment rebel gatherings intent on spreading Covid-19 suppressed by the heroic action of Johannesburg’s finest military police.”
The metro police had long since been amalgamated into the country’s defence force for a more efficient use of scarce resources.
“More efficient way of suppressing civil liberty,” Connor mumbled as he leaped up and over what was once his car. Now it was just metal and glass poking through the weeds, and a handy obstacle to keep him fit.
That was the sort of talk that would get a person taken away. Criticism of any form would instantly categorise you as anti-establishment. In the beginning of the lockdown, however long ago it was, anti-establishment talk was rife. It was a proper movement back then. Goals, aims, members and a leadership structure.
The attacks were swift and ruthless. The leaders disappeared. No one knew whether they were in hiding or taken away to God knows where. It was certainly nowhere designed for pleasure.
Rumours spread. Forced human vaccine testing. Labour camps. Hangings. Back when rumours could be started. Before the data cables were severed.
Cellphone towers were blamed for Eskom’s power failure, and removed. Everyone remembered where they were the day the internet stopped.
Businesses failed. Food stocks dwindled. Money became pointless. There was nothing to buy.
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