School's Out Forever (afterblight chronicles)

by Scott K. Andrews

  “Dismissed,” he said.

  “Sorry. Dismissed.”

  As the boys got up I added: “Oh, and no more army kit, all right? You can wear your own clothes from now on. We’ll collect the uniforms tomorrow and they can go back in the stores.”

  The boys shuffled out in silence.

  When they’d gone I was left alone with Norton, Mrs Atkins and the remaining officers: Wolf-Barry, Pugh, Speight, Patel and Green.

  “Gather round everyone,” I said.

  They all came and took chairs at the front. I sat down too.

  “You all saw what happened to Wylie earlier, yes?”

  The officers nodded.

  “Good. You were meant to. Mac would have shot him, but I let him go. That’s the difference between me and Mac; I’m not so keen on killing. But I want to make it perfectly clear to you that I will see you dead and buried if you disobey a direct order from me. Understood?”

  The boys mumbled and nodded.

  “In which case I want you all to pile your guns in the corner and sit back down.”

  They did so.

  “Good. Rowles!”

  The door opened and Rowles entered, holding a rifle. The officers flashed me confused glances.

  “What’s going on?” asked Wolf-Barry, suddenly nervous.

  “You’re leaving,” I said. “All of you. Right now.”

  “You what?” said Patel.

  “I said you are leaving. Now. Out the gate and don’t look back. I don’t ever want to see any of your faces on these grounds again. Ever. ’Cause if I or any of the other boys see you inside these walls again we will shoot to kill without hesitation. Understand? And count yourselves lucky. I’ve fantasised about killing each and every one of you in all sorts of creative ways. But there’s been enough death for one day, I don’t think I could stomach any more.”

  “Now look here…” Speight rose to protest.

  There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being shouldered ready for firing. He turned and saw Rowles taking aim.

  “Permission to shoot, sir?” asked the junior boy.

  Speight froze as I made a play of considering the request.

  “Escort these men from the grounds, Rowles. If any of them resist you have permission to shoot.”

  Nobody moved. The officers looked confused and scared.

  “But where will we go?” said Pugh.

  “Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just not here,” I replied.

  “You’re not going to fire that gun are you, Rowles?” said Patel. He rose to his feet and started walking towards the boy, his hand outstretched. Rowles smiled one of the scariest smiles I’ve ever seen. I wondered what had happened to the quiet, scared little boy who’d hung on Bates’ every word.

  “Try me,” he said.

  Patel, wisely, thought again.

  “Enough,” I barked. “I want you all out of here immediately. You are expelled.”

  I was relieved when they made to leave. I hadn’t wanted any more violence today.

  “Green, stay behind a minute,” I said, as he reached the door. The other officers made their way outside. I gestured for Green to sit down. He looked petrified as he did so. I regarded him for a moment before asking: “Why do they call you Limpdick, Green?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” he mumbled.

  “Please don’t waste my time. I’m tired and I want to have a cup of tea and go to bed. The sooner I can finish here the sooner I can relax. So, I ask you again, why do they call you Limpdick?”

  He stared at his feet and mumbled a reply.

  “’Cause of Matron.”

  “You were there when she was attacked?”

  He nodded.

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to know the details, but I had to ask.

  “Did they all take a turn?”

  He nodded.

  “But you couldn’t, yes?”

  He nodded again.

  “Are you gay, Green, or just a fucking wimp?”

  That got a reaction.

  “Fuck you!” he shouted, suddenly defiant. “Just ’cause I don’t get off on raping somebody doesn’t make me gay, all right?! I liked Matron. What happened in that room wasn’t right. It just… wasn’t right. I told Mac I wouldn’t do it, I argued with him, but they teased me and… they had guns. They made me take off my trousers and lie on top of her. And she was just staring at the ceiling. I kept apologising to her but she wouldn’t look at me. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it.”

  Tears welled in his eyes.

  “And the man you killed?”

  He broke down.

  “Mac said he’d shoot me,” he sobbed.

  I sighed heavily. Good.

  “Okay. That’s what I thought. I just needed to be sure.”

  I got up and went to sit next to him. I put my hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off resentfully and stared back down at his shoes.

  “Will you stay here, with us?” I asked.

  He looked up at me, confused, and wiped away the tears.

  “But I thought…”

  “We’re going to get Matron tomorrow. If she corroborates your story, and I’m sure she will, then we’d be glad to have you. We need people like you here. Petts is dead, so you’ll have to recast, but God knows we could use some entertainment to take our minds off everything. So stay, put on your play. Yeah?”

  I held out my hand. He took it and we shook.

  When he was gone Mrs Atkins smiled at me.

  “Not a bad start,” said Norton. “Not bad at all. Now can I please go and sort out this fucking bullet wound before my arm falls off.”

  WHILE NORTON GOT himself patched up I went to my room and changed out of my wet clothes. Peeling off the muddy, half-dried uniform was like uncovering a map of my recent escapades.

  I had a scar on my left calf where Jonah had bitten me; a puckered red hole in my right thigh where I’d been shot; a bandage around my waist where I’d stabbed myself; a deep purple welt across my throat where the rope had cut into me; my torso and arms were covered in bruises; my right eye was blackened, my left cheekbone was blue and I had long scab on my cheek from Baker’s signet ring, which would probably scar as well.

  I was a complete mess.

  I collapsed onto my bed. I was so tired I felt like I could sleep for a week, but my mind was racing. I had done it. Mac was gone, our enemies were defeated. Before Cheshire (his name, it turned out, was Bob) had gone back to Hildenborough he’d assured me that the two communities would be allies from now on. My job now was to find a way to mend the school. Tomorrow I’d go to the farm where Matron and the girls had sought refuge and see about bringing them back to Castle. Mrs Atkins had told me that there were twenty girls there now, under Matron’s protection. We could use the fresh blood; this place was altogether too male.

  Not that I wanted to do away with everything Mac had achieved. The school had withstood an attack from a force that had been well prepared for our defences, and in all the time he’d been in charge there’d been very little dissent or division. I had to try and use community building and reconstruction to maintain the unity that he had achieved through fear and force.

  I would need my own officers, but I wasn’t going to keep the military structure. There would have to be guard patrols and so forth, and they’d have to wear combats and carry guns, but for everyone else we’d go back to normal clothes and activities. We’d start lessons again, organise some round robin sports tournaments, foster a sense of structure and order that didn’t come from a strict military outlook. St Mark’s should start to feel like a school again, not an army camp.

  Norton would be my right hand man, and Rowles would be the spokesman for the junior boys. I’d divvy up jobs to those boys that wanted them, delegate responsibilities. The deaths of Petts and Williams had left the garden and livestock with only Heathcote to tend them; he would need help. Riding was going to be our main form of transport now, so we needed to try and round up some more horse
s for Haycox to look after. We should try and find some glass to re-glaze the windows broken in the attack, too. Couldn’t have the rain getting into the building.

  And there was the Blood Hunter we’d taken prisoner. By the time I’d finished washing him he was gibbering and hysterical. He was still locked in a store cupboard, raving about the Second Coming.

  There was so much to do.

  Maybe, if I kept myself busy enough, I could prevent myself dwelling on the things I’d seen and done. Maybe I’d go to bed so tired each night that I’d be able to sleep without nightmares.

  Maybe.

  THE NEXT MORNING I put on a pair of old Levis and a t-shirt. It felt odd to be back in normal clothes. Comforting, though. I ignored my tough leather boots and put on a battered old pair of trainers. Luxury.

  I went downstairs to the refectory and helped myself to some water and a slice of fresh bread. We hadn’t got any yeast, so it was flat bread, but it was still warm and delicious. I walked across the courtyard to the old kitchen, where Mrs Atkins was already baking the second batch of the day.

  “Mrs Atkins, that smells wonderful and you are a marvel,” I said. I cleared away a pile of cookbooks and perched on the work surface.

  “You sound chipper,” she said.

  “I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling good about the day,” I replied. “But the sun’s shining, we’ve got fresh bread and eggs for breakfast, and as far as I can tell nobody’s trying to kill us. There’ll be no drill today, no weapons training or marching, no assault course ordeals, gun battles, executions or fights. I think tomorrow I may spend the whole day just sitting in the sun reading a book. Can you imagine? Actually sitting and reading a book in the sun. In jeans! Today is going to be a good day, mark my words, Mrs Atkins. It’s a new start. I warn you, I may even get down off this table and give you a hug.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she said, but she was laughing in spite of herself. “If you leave me alone to finish this batch of bread and get the breakfast done I’ll see you later and tell you where Matron and the girls are. Deal?”

  “Done!”

  I jumped down, ran over and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. She threw a wooden spoon at me so I left. I might have been whistling.

  The boys wandered down to breakfast in ones and twos over the course of the next hour. With everyone dressed in normal clothes again the refectory looked welcoming and normal. Mrs Atkins’ scrambled eggs, collected from our chicken enclosure, were delicious. With no drill scheduled or battles to fight, the boys were all at a loose end, and they hung around the refectory when they’d finished eating, waiting to see what would happen.

  I stood on the table at the top of the room and cleared my throat.

  “Morning everyone. Looks a lot nicer in here without all the camouflage gear! Now, I know we should have a timetable and stuff, and I’ll be sorting one out soon, but I think we should have a day off, yeah? I don’t want anyone leaving the school grounds, and Norton is going to organise a few of you into guard patrols, but for today let’s just relax and enjoy ourselves. Go play football, swim in the river, go fishing, read a book, whatever you want to do is fine. Dinner and supper will be at the usual time and I’d like everyone to gather here at six this evening. We should have Matron back by then and I’m sure she’ll want to say hello to you all. But until then bugger off and have some fun. You’ve earned it.”

  “You should have been a red coat,” muttered Norton when I sat down again. “Let’s go have tea and scones on the lawn and play croquet. And maybe we can have lashings of ginger beer and get into some scrapes.”

  “Piss off.”

  “Yes sir, three bags full sir.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Unbelievably painful, but I don’t think there’s any major damage. I’ve stitched and sterilised it. Not going to be playing rugby any time soon, though.”

  “Fancy coming with me to get Matron?”

  “Nah. Bouncing up and down on a horse doesn’t really appeal. I’ll be here, taking many, many painkillers and bestowing the gift of my withering sarcasm on the juniors.”

  “Just be careful Rowles doesn’t shoot you.”

  “I know! When did he get scary?”

  “I think he killed someone in the fight with Hildenborough. I have a horrible feeling he kind of enjoyed it.”

  That grim thought stopped our banter dead.

  As I walked out to the paddock there was a football match kicking off on the rear playing field; one boy was walking off to the river carrying a fishing rod; and the third formers had a beatbox on, using up precious battery power playing music as loud as they possibly could. It was just like an ordinary Saturday in term-time. But with fewer children, and no teachers to spoil the fun.

  Haycox was tending the horses. We had five now, all of which were happy to be ridden. He’d had converted one of the old stables back to its original use, and all the animals had warm quarters for when the weather changed. Each had its own saddle and bridle set, too, which Haycox polished and oiled. As long as he was left alone to look after the horses he was a very contented boy indeed. I’d been riding since I was ten, it was one of the extra activities the school offered on weekends, but with my wounded side and tender leg I found it hard going. The ride to Ightham and back for reconnaissance the day before yesterday had been agony; I’d been happier when we’d walked there en masse.

  Nonetheless, I asked Haycox to saddle three of the horses for a short trip. He gathered up their reins and led them back to the courtyard.

  There was one task I’d been putting off all morning, and I couldn’t delay it any longer. I walked across Castle to the headmaster’s old quarters. The door was locked. I suddenly saw an image of the keys, in Mac’s pocket, burnt into the dead flesh of his thigh in the smouldering ruins of Ightham Mote.

  It’s surprising the different and creative ways your imagination can find to torment you when you’ve got a guilty conscience.

  I kicked the door open.

  Mac hadn’t tidied up before leaving, and the flat revealed details about his private life I didn’t really want to know. A half-finished whisky bottle sat on the coffee table, next to a tatty copy of Barely Legal and a box of mansize tissues. There was a CD player on the sideboard, and the bookcase had a huge pile of batteries on it. The kitchen was a stinking mess. There was a small calor gas ring with a saucepan on it and a collection of tinned food sitting next to it; baked beans and macaroni cheese, mostly. A huge pile of empty tins and Pot Noodles lay in a pile in the corner, a beacon for rats and ’roaches.

  In the bedroom the quilt lay half-off the bed, exposing crumpled, stained sheets. We hadn’t got the best laundry system worked out. I made a mental note to prioritise that.

  Above the bed was a collage of photographs, blu-tacked to the wall. There must have been a hundred pictures. Most were of his family, but some were of friends, and there was one corner reserved for pictures of a pretty blonde girl I didn’t recognise. It’d never occurred to me that he’d had a girlfriend.

  I didn’t want to linger here, to look at his pictures and see his crumpled bed sheets. I didn’t want these things making me think of him as an ordinary person, giving my imagination any more details to torture me with. But it was already too late for that. I knew that somewhere in my nightmares that blonde girl would appear, accusing me of murder, weeping over Mac’s chargrilled corpse.

  Angrily I flung open every drawer and cupboard I could find. I rummaged through underwear and socks, spot cream, CDs, books and t-shirts until I found what I was looking for: the spare set of keys to the cellar. I left that room as quickly as I could and slammed the door behind me. I didn’t look back.

  Rowles was already waiting for me when I got to the armoury. The small door that led down to the cellar was underneath the rear staircase in what had originally been the servants’ quarters. Mac had kept it padlocked and guarded at all times; I didn’t think we needed the guard.

  I opened the door
and switched on the light. The cellar smelt damp and musty. We went down the stone steps and found ourselves in a corridor with vaulted rooms lying off it to the left and right. There were six chambers down here; all but two were full of guns, ammunition and explosives.

  Without being asked, Rowles selected a rifle for himself, picked up a magazine, and snapped it into place. He seemed completely at ease, as if operating a semi-automatic machine gun was the most normal thing in the world. I reminded myself that he was only ten and wondered if I’d be able to restrict guns to older boys. Would that weaken our defences too much? One more thing to worry about.

  I was appalled by how comfortable I’d become with guns, how naturally the Browning nestled into my palm like an extension of my hand, as it was designed to. I didn’t want to be someone who always carried a weapon. I worried that I would come to rely on it to solve all my problems. After all, as Mac had pointed out, there was no-one to haul me off to prison for murder. The only thing stopping me ruling at the muzzle of a gun was my own determination not to let it happen.

  But we were riding out of the school into unknown territory. Who knew what we’d encounter? Reluctantly I picked up the cold metal pistol and checked that it was loaded.

  I promised myself that I’d return it to the cellar as soon as I got back.

  WE SAW THE smoke long before we saw the farm.

  Rowles, Haycox and I approached on horseback from the west, but we tethered the horses to a fence and made our final approach more stealthily. At first I thought it was probably a domestic fire, maybe someone burning rubbish or leaves, but as we got closer I could see that it was the dying embers of a much larger blaze.

  Panicking, I started to run. My reluctance to carry a gun was forgotten as I drew my weapon, but I knew before I arrived at the farmhouse that there was nobody to shoot or save. This place was abandoned.

  The main building was a shell. It could have been smouldering for days. There was a discarded petrol canister on the grass in front of the house. Someone had deliberately burnt this place down. Dispatching the others to check the outbuildings and oast houses, I peered in through the front door.