School's Out Forever (afterblight chronicles)

by Scott K. Andrews

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  I heard the sound of a gun hitting the floor behind me and I turned to see Jones standing stock still at the back door, his eyes wide as saucers. Pugh had a knife to his throat.

  “Drop the guns,” he said.

  Nobody moved.

  “I said, drop the guns!”

  Pugh pressed the knife into Jones’ throat and a small trickle of blood escaped.

  We dropped our guns.

  “Now on the floor,” he shouted. “Hands behind your heads.”

  We complied. The kitchen tiles were hard and cold.

  “All right, chief, we’ve got them,” he said.

  TEN MINUTES LATER I was tied to a chair in the dining room. The other prisoners were being kept next door. I’d caught a glimpse of them through the door when I was being trussed up; Green had a huge purple bruise on his forehead, and Neate had been shot and killed out front, but everyone else was okay. All ten of the farm family were there, as were the six kids from Green’s troupe, Norton, Jones and Rowles.

  I’d obviously been set aside for special treatment. I didn’t want to dwell on what Wylie was likely to do to me. My hands and feet were firmly bound, and there was no give in the ropes at all. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Wylie pulled over a chair, reversed it, and sat facing me, resting his arms on the seat back. He had removed his balaclava, no need for it now. He looked very pleased with himself. And so he should. I’d walked obediently into his trap like the amateur I was. I would’ve kicked myself if my feet hadn’t been tied. I figured that the best I could hope for was a bloody good kicking and I saw no reason to prolong the agony.

  “Patel and Wolf-Barry are dead,” I said. “That just leaves you, Pugh and Speight. So who are the other guys, Wylie?”

  “They’re old friends of yours, Lee,” he said. “Wanted a chance for a bit of payback. Actually I’m working for them, sort of sub-contracting. They wanted me to deliver you to them. Piece of piss, really.”

  “Wolf-Barry didn’t look like he thought much of your plan as I shoved a knife into his heart.”

  Wylie looked annoyed. “He shouldn’t have broken cover. He was supposed to stay in there ’til I gave the signal. Prick.”

  “No wonder you command such loyalty, you’re just so compassionate.”

  He smiled the smile of a man who knew he was in total control. “No point trying to piss me off, Lee. I’ve got my orders and I’m going to stick to them. You’re not going to annoy me into making mistakes. I’m supposed to deliver you in one piece and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  He stood up and walked over to me, leaning down so we were face to face.

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you just a little bit first, though, does it?”

  He leaned back, raised his right leg and stamped on my balls.

  There’s no point describing the pain. If you’re a woman you’ve got no idea, and if you’re a guy you know only too well. Suffice to say I screamed for a bit, whimpered for a while, and then passed out.

  Unconsciousness passed into sleep. Wylie woke me in the morning by kicking me in both shins. The first thing I heard, apart from my own curses, was a chorus of screams from outside the house. He untied my feet and led me out the front door, where a familiar canvas-top truck was parked. The engine was running and the rest of the captives were already in the back. All except Mr Woodhams, who was lying on the grass, sliced open from pubis to throat, with a group of young men stood around him, dabbling their hands in the gore and wiping it all over themselves.

  Blood Hunters.

  Pugh and Speight were standing at the back of the truck, machine guns slung across their chests. They were trying not to watch the gruesome ritual occurring right in front of them. Pugh looked sick.

  Wylie forced me into the truck, and then the six Blood Hunters climbed in and sat at the back. They sat silently, staring into space. Each carried a machete and a gun. They stank like an abattoir. Pugh closed the tailgate, the three sixth-formers went to sit in the cab, and we pulled out of the driveway onto the road.

  The nine remaining residents of the Woodhams farm were cowering in the far end of the truck, in various states of hysteria. The eleven St Mark’s boys were all there too, hands bound, all looking to me for ideas or hope as we were bounced about by potholed roads. I shrugged helplessly. But Norton found my gaze and winked. Good to know somebody had a plan.

  We rumbled along for about five minutes until I felt a nudge from Jones, who was sitting next to me. I felt something cold touch my fingers. A knife! Where the hell had he got a bloody knife? I glanced up and saw Norton grinning at me. He nodded subtly downwards and wiggled his right foot. He’d had a knife in his boot. I could have kissed him. I scanned the faces of all the other boys. All of them still had their hands behind their backs as if still tied up, but they all looked at me, excited and nervous. Christ. They were all free!

  I grabbed the knife and set about cutting the rope that bound me. It didn’t take long; it was razor sharp. I felt my hands come free and I squeezed the knife handle firmly in my right hand. I looked up. All eleven boys were looking at me.

  I mouthed silently: “One, two, three.”

  As one, we leapt up from our seats and shoved towards the six Blood Hunters. One of them went over the tailgate and smacked onto the road before he even knew what was happening. I buried the knife in the eye socket of another, and grabbed his machete as he tumbled backwards towards the tarmac. The other four were no match for the combined shoving weight of twelve boys, but the tailgate was still closed, and they braced themselves against it. One of them tried to grab his gun, but the crush of bodies was so tight that he couldn’t bring it to bear, and his hands got stuck down on his chest so he couldn’t defend himself. Rowles hit him repeatedly, over and over again, both hands working the man’s face like a punchbag. Jones wrestled for control of another man’s machete, which was suspended over his head. But he was too weak to prevent it coming down and splitting him open. As the Blood Hunter tried to wrench the blade free, Haycox, who had somehow got hold of a machete in the struggle, returned the favour, striking his head from his shoulders with one powerful swipe. Norton grabbed the decapitated man’s feet and tipped him over the tailgate onto the road.

  The Blood Hunter being hit by Rowles was unconscious by this point, and only remaining upright because of the mêlée surrounding him. Rowles kept punching him anyway. The other two Blood Hunters were backed right up against the tailgate now. One was hacking and slashing wildly, and as I watched he sliced open the throat of a young boy called Russell, who sang comic songs in Green’s revue. The boy tumbled backwards with a terrible screech. The other Blood Hunter was struggling with Norton for possession of his gun until his mate’s wild swinging blade smacked into the side of his head with a soft crunch. Norton shoved him back over the tailgate and onto the road, the machete still embedded in his head.

  The one remaining Blood Hunter, bladeless, tried to reach for this gun. But suddenly he jerked and wretched as his eyes went wide and a torrent of blood gushed from his mouth. Haycox pulled his dripping machete free of the man’s ribcage and pushed him back over the tailgate.

  Job done.

  I reached down past Rowles, who was still punching, and grabbed the machine gun from the unconscious Blood Hunter beneath him. I pushed my way through the crowd to the front of the truck.

  “Everyone brace yourselves,” I shouted.

  “Lee, hang on, do you think…” said Norton.

  But I didn’t let him finish. I popped the catch and emptied the entire clip through the canvas in front of me, riddling the driver’s cab with bullets and killing Wylie, Pugh and Speight instantly.

  “Should have done that in the first place,” I said, as the lorry swerved violently off the road. I was flung off my feet in a tumbled tangle of limbs as the lorry hit a ditch and rolled over onto its side. There was a monstrous crash, a chorus of cries and then stillness and silence.

  I’d come to
rest under a pile of bodies, my nose buried in somebody’s armpit. It took a few minutes for everyone to untangle themselves and climb out of the lorry onto the road. We took stock.

  Russell and Jones were dead, and a young girl from the Woodhams farm had broken her neck in the crash. Otherwise it was all just scrapes and strains. I pulled the clip out of the machine gun. It was taped to another, which was still full, so I reversed it and slammed it home.

  Norton was incandescent.

  “What the fuck was that, Lee?” he yelled. “Why the fuck did you shoot them up? That was the most insane thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

  I grasped the gun tightly, my finger itching at the trigger.

  Calm down. Things to do.

  “Look at where we are,” I said patiently.

  Norton glanced down the road.

  “So?” he said, confused.

  “The school is about a mile down the road. We’d have been there in two minutes. They were taking us to the school.”

  “Oh.” He realised what I was getting at. “Oh shit.”

  I turned to address the other boys, who were sitting in the road, catching their breath. “Listen everyone. Wylie was taking orders from the Blood Hunters. His job was to lure me away from the school and then deliver me to them. But they were taking us back to the school.”

  “So?” said Rowles. “They were going to let us go?”

  “Don’t you see? While we’ve been gone the Blood Hunters have attacked St Mark’s.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I GAVE A machine gun to the Woodhams party, so they had some means of defence on their journey home, and they carried away the dead girl. One of them, a young man, had to be restrained from attacking me. He was still shouting after me as he was pulled away: “Murderer! Psychopath!” I couldn’t blame him. I’d caused the crash that killed her. But what choice did I have? I could have shot above the officers’ heads and told them to pull over, but in moments we’d have been within earshot of the school. If I’d had to fire again then the Blood Hunters would probably have heard the shots and come running. Assuming I was right, and they were at St Mark’s.

  It was one more death on my conscience, but I could worry about it later. Things to do.

  I walked around to the front of the crashed truck and peered into the shattered cab. I could see that there were three bodies inside, but I didn’t look too closely. They weren’t moving, so I was satisfied they were dead. (When had I started taking satisfaction in killing?)

  I was starting to appreciate Mac’s point of view; perhaps I wasn’t ruthless enough to be a leader. My decision to let the officers go had led directly to four deaths. Wouldn’t executing them have been better?

  Three months ago I was unable to contemplate such a thing, but now I found that I could. Perhaps it was because of what we’d achieved in the last three months. When I was planning to topple Mac and take control it was in the hope of building something good, but my aims had been intangible and distant. Now it was a reality. We’d achieved so much, built something so valuable. I felt as if I was willing to go to any lengths to protect it.

  I DISPATCHED HAYCOX and Rowles back down the road to collect the guns from the bodies of the dead Blood Hunters. When they returned we had five machine guns and six machetes, and enough ammunition to pick a fight. Green, Norton, Haycox and Rowles each took a gun; we shared the big knives out amongst the remaining members of Green’s troupe.

  “We have to assume they’ve taken control of the school,” I said. “And they probably have lookouts and sentries posted. We need to know what’s going on inside, and we can’t approach mob-handed. So Norton, you’re with me. We’ll cut across country and come at the school from the river. Haycox and Green, I want you to get behind these hedgerows and follow the road, out of sight, until you can see the school gates. Only approach if you’re absolutely certain there’s nothing wrong. This is just a recce, right? We don’t get involved, we don’t show our faces. Rowles, take the rest of the boys to Hildenborough and wait for us. We’ll rendezvous back there when we’re done. Everyone clear?”

  Nods all round.

  “Good luck everyone.”

  It took thirty minutes to reach the edge of the school grounds, but the sight that greeted us was not what we expected at all. We crawled through the undergrowth until we could just make out the first pillbox. We could see the muzzle of the GPMG poking out, but it was trained towards the school. I couldn’t work out why that would be. We needed a closer look.

  Leaving Norton to cover the pillbox, I crawled back out of sight and stripped to my boxers. I discarded my gun but kept the machete, then I ran to the river’s edge and slipped into the water. I let the current take me slowly downstream, along the edge of the school grounds. As I drifted past the first pillbox I could see the body of a boy lying against one wall. He’d had his throat slit. I was right, the Blood Hunters had attacked, and they’d taken this pillbox. But why train the gun on the school… unless they hadn’t succeeded in capturing it!

  I drifted further. I couldn’t see anything at the second pillbox, but two Blood Hunters were sitting outside the third, looking towards the school, smoking. There was no sign of a corpse anywhere, but their hair shone slick with fresh blood. I grabbed the bank of the river and hung there for a moment, considering my options: sneaky or direct? I could return to Norton, head to Hildenborough with what I’d learned; or I could choose to kill without mercy. Three months ago I wouldn’t even have had to think about it. But I thought again about where my reluctance to kill had brought us and my resolve hardened. There was no longer any point pretending that I wasn’t a stone cold killer.

  Time to start acting like one.

  I climbed out of the water as quietly as I could, and crept towards them, knife in hand. The secret to stealth in woodland is to tread straight down, not to roll your feet with each step as you do normally. That way you avoid snapping any twigs you stand on. Barefoot, I stalked my prey.

  As I approached I could hear them gossiping. They were trying to decide whether a girl called Carol fancied the one on the right. He thought she didn’t, but his mate was sure she did, and was urging him to ‘get in there’. Murderous religious fanatics, coated in human blood, wittering about dating. They were so engrossed in their debate that they didn’t become aware of me until I pressed my cold wet blade against the throat of the one on the right.

  “Hi,” I whispered in his ear, as he stiffened in fear.

  His mate exclaimed loudly and jumped up. He brought his gun to bear on both of us.

  “Now, now,” I said conversationally. “Don’t be hasty. Pull that trigger and your friend dies.” Plus, every Blood Hunter in the area comes running. “So put it down, eh?”

  He hesitated, unsure what to do. I pressed the knife harder into the throat of the man in front of me, and he moaned. His mate cocked his gun, chambering a round. “So?” he said, trying to sound more confident than he was. “He gets his eternal reward a little early. He’ll thank me when I see him again.”

  “Um, Rob,” said the man in front of me. “He’s gonna slit my throat, man.”

  “He’s right, you know,” I said. “I am. So if you don’t want to break poor Carol’s heart, best drop the weapon.”

  Rob stared at me, trying to maintain his cool. But eventually he bent down and placed the gun on the ground.

  “Thanks,” I said, and smiled at him. “Now kick it away.” He did so.

  A minute later I had them both on the ground, face down, hands behind their heads. It didn’t take much to persuade them to talk, but it took me a lot longer to believe what they were telling me. When I’d learned all I could, I had a choice to make. I’d been quite prepared to kill one of them to make the other one tell me what I needed to know, but to kill them now would be murder, plain and simple.

  Nonetheless, the best course of action was clear. Kill them, bleed them, cover myself in their blood, dump the bodies in the river, then saunter up to the next pillbox and kil
l the occupants before they realise I’m not really a Blood Hunter. Repeat for all remaining pillboxes. Even the odds while I had the chance. It was the safest thing to do.

  I tightened my grip on the knife, gritted my teeth and prepared to strike, but I had a sudden flash of the confusion and fear in Wolf-Barry’s eyes as I’d plunged my knife into his chest. I choked. I couldn’t do it. Even now, after everything I’d done, I couldn’t conceive of embarking on that kind of killing spree, no matter how necessary it was.

  I felt like I’d failed some kind of test.

  I made them undress, cut their clothes into strips, and bound them tight. Then I swam upstream and rejoined Norton.

  I had a lot to tell him.

  I COULDN’T SLEEP at all that night. In the pub at Hildenborough we’d talked ourselves hoarse trying to come up with a plan of action that didn’t leave us all hanging upside down with our throats slit. By the time we finally agreed on a plan of attack it was dark and everyone was exhausted. Norton accepted his role without complaint and walked out into the night to do his part. Bob had prepared beds for us in the big house where three months ago I’d fought for my life. Strange to be sleeping there as a guest of honour.

  But of course I couldn’t sleep. I ran the day over and over again in my mind. Killing Wolf-Barry, shooting the others, the head of the dead woman hanging limp as she was carried away, the stench of the Blood Hunters, the sense that I should have killed them there and then, the nagging feeling that I still wasn’t as ruthless as I needed to be. The knowledge that, had Mac been in charge of us, things would have been a lot simpler. Not to mention my anxieties about the coming day, the probability of battle, the anticipation of more killing, the possibility of my own imminent death and those of my friends. I was afraid of the nightmares sleep would bring.

  Plus, it felt wrong to be sleeping safe and sound while Norton was risking his life out there in the darkness.