School's Out Forever (afterblight chronicles)

by Scott K. Andrews

  I just shook my head and let my captor push me down on the floor, where I sat cross-legged.

  “So they call you Sir, do they, son?” said a tall Irishman who seemed to have taken command. “Fancy yourself a general, do you? Like it when children call you Sir? Make you feel important?” He was barely holding in his anger, leaning down, getting in my face, trying to provoke me.

  “No, I just find that it helps maintain classroom discipline.”

  He pulled back his arm to slap me around the face, but one of his fellows grabbed it and pulled him back. He shook the guy off, but composed himself.

  “Two of my friends are dead because of you.”

  “And one of mine, because of you. Plus, if that car horn is anything to go by, the rest may be in serious trouble.” I allowed some of my anger to surface. “We had everything under control here until you fucked it all up, charging in and trying to lay down the fucking law. Who made you judge, jury and executioner?”

  “I’m not the one who just gunned down an unarmed man.”

  “A kidnapper and a murderer. That lot have been stealing children from across the country for months now. They leave communities shattered, adults dead. And what for? Do you know? Do you know where they’re taking the kids, what they want them for?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I. But I doubt it’s anything good. So yeah, I shot them. It was the best way to ensure we had a clean getaway. If you hadn’t butted in, it wouldn’t have been necessary.”

  “So it’s our fault?”

  “Stop it!” shouted Wallis all of a sudden. We fell silent and stared at him, almost guiltily. “You’re a kind of police, right?” he said to the Ranger, who nodded. “Well so are we, kind of. This is all just stupid. We’re on the same side. The kidnappers are the bad guys.”

  There was a long silence, then the lead Ranger said, as calmly as he could manage, “Why the fuck did you shoot Grier?”

  “It was a mistake. The boy with the sniper rifle… it was his first time in the field. He panicked. Must have thought he was buying us a chance to escape.”

  The Ranger closed his eyes and wearily massaged his temples with his right hand. “So Phil shot him.”

  “And I shot Phil.”

  “And these kids?” He gestured to Wallis and the others. “Is this their first time, too?”

  I nodded.

  “So you’re what, an army of children?”

  “We’re a school, not an army. But we defend ourselves when we have to.”

  “You really think giving children guns is going to help?”

  “Has done so far. You’d be in a US concentration camp by now if it weren’t for us, mate.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Twelve-year-olds with sniper rifles. Such a fucking mess.”

  “Guria was thirteen,” said Wallis quietly.

  “You know what,” I said. “We can sort this out later. Right now I’m more concerned about my friends and the children they were trying to rescue. Can we work together?”

  He considerd me carefully for a moment. “What you did, shooting those people in the street. That was not right in the head.”

  “Then sign me up for psychoanalysis, but do it later, yeah?”

  He held my gaze, trying to decide what to do.

  “Ferguson, we’ve got movement in the street,” said another Ranger, poking his head into the room.

  My interrogator turned to leave, then glanced back at me and nodded, indicating that I should follow.

  “But this conversation is not over,” he said softly as we walked down the hall to the front room. “Just paused.”

  “Hang on,” I said. “I thought there were only five of you. Two are dead, that leaves you and the two in the kitchen. Where did this guy come from?”

  “Josh here was on sniper duty himself, upstairs. But he held his fire until he was sure what was going on. Discipline and experience, see?”

  We reached the window and peered through the tatty lace curtains. The children we had loaded into the minibus earlier were walking down the street in a tight huddle. It took a moment for me to work out what was happening, but then I looked closer and made out two men amongst the kids, scanning the houses on either side of the road carefully. They must have seen the bodies at the school gates and this new bunch of snatchers were using the kids as a human shield.

  But worse — leading the group were my dad and Tariq. Dad had a nasty gash across his forehead that had soaked his face and jacket with blood; Tariq had Jane slung over his shoulder, an unconscious dead weight.

  I heard footsteps in the hall and turned to see yet another Ranger enter.

  “The convoy’s in the next road,” the man reported. “The van drove straight into it. It’s a write off, and I think the first lorry is too. They’re disentangling them now.”

  “Thanks,” said Ferguson, then he turned to me.

  “Those people out front…”

  “My dad, my friend and Jane. She’s our boss.”

  He nodded and I could see that he was thinking hard.

  “Well, we have to rescue them,” I said.

  Ferguson regarded me coolly. “Do we? Do we now?”

  “For God’s sake,” I said, but then I took a deep breath and stopped for a moment before continuing as calmly as I could manage. “I’ve got to assume you came here for the same reason we did — to find out who the snatchers are and where they’re taking the kids, right?”

  Ferguson nodded.

  “Okay, so we want the same thing. Track these guys, shut them down. Now you could try and take this lot, capture a survivor, interrogate them. But how many kids would die in the crossfire? Your only option is to infiltrate and collect intel.”

  “Go on.”

  “They’re going back to the school. I’ve been in there. I know the layout. We go in and we eavesdrop.”

  “And free your people at the same time?”

  “If the opportunity presents itself,” I said, although I was quite clear in my own mind that I’d rescue them no matter what.

  “If this fucker tries to stop you,” says Mac, “you’ll just have to kill him. His men would never know that it wasn’t the snatchers.”

  The group in the street drew level with our house and paraded past silently. We watched them go, seeing the fear on the children’s faces as they were marched down a shooting alley.

  “Okay,” said Ferguson eventually. “But just you and me. If we don’t make it back, my guys will make sure your kids get home.”

  “Done.” I held out my hand. He ignored it and walked past me, checking his weapon and barking orders.

  BY THE TIME we’d got to the end of the alley, the snatchers and their hostages had made their way into the school. They made the kids carry in the bodies of the men I’d killed.

  The wall that ran across the front of the school compound stretched down the sides too, but I’d glimpsed a wire mesh fence at the rear of the building. Ferguson and I broke cover, scurrying out of the alley and down the side of the school, staying in the shelter of the wall.

  When we reached the corner I took out the wire cutters and within moments we had slipped into a playground. We darted from slide to roundabout to climbing frame until we reached the outbuildings.

  There was no sign of movement at the rear of the school; everything would be happening in the front playground and the main hall, I guessed. We quietly tried all the doors and windows we could find. They were all locked, but time and neglect were on our side. I pushed one window gently and the whole frame came free and fell into the school. I gasped, waiting for a crash, but there was none. I peered inside and saw that it had landed on a mouldy blue crash mat. Ferguson and I climbed inside and found ourselves in a room full of soft foam wedges, mats and seats.

  I clambered over the wet, squishy foam and cracked the door open. There was nobody in the corridor, so I headed into the school proper, with Ferguson close behind me. This part of the building had been left to rot, unlike
the area around the main hall, which had obviously been inhabited since The Cull. We moved through the eerie, mildewed corridors, stepping carefully to avoid the lino tiles which had curled upwards and made loud cracking noises if we trod on them. We came to a pair of swing doors and I peered through a frosted glass panel and saw movement very close. It took a moment to work out that there were two men standing just on the other side of the door. It looked like they were guarding a room.

  I turned to Ferguson and indicated that he should look. He took my place just as there were sounds of movement in the corridor beyond. I could hear muffled shouts and then a gunshot. In sudden panic I lurched forward, gun at the ready, but he spun and put his hand on my chest and shook his head firmly.

  We stood there for a moment, me desperate to see what was going on, he resolutely holding me back. He didn’t see my hand slowly move towards the knife in my belt.

  He held up his hand, releasing me and whispered: “We go around, through the window.”

  I considered for a moment, then nodded. So we went back the way we had come, back across the foam and out into the playground. Then we skirted the buildings until we were outside the room that was being guarded. I was surprised how calm I was when we reached it. Someone had been shooting in there, so there was every chance that Dad, Jane or Tariq was lying dead. I felt nothing but a fixed certainty that, even if one of them was dead, my gun and my knife would help me make it better.

  I peeked over the window ledge and saw Dad and Tariq sitting on a camp bed, looking grim. I tapped on the glass lightly. Tariq jumped in surprise, but Dad just turned and smiled. They came to the window.

  “Brace the frame,” I whispered, miming how they should hold the window steady.

  They looked confused, but nodded. Then Ferguson and I took up positions at either side of the window and pushed. We were in luck. The frame slowly slid forward and oozed out of the brickwork, entire. Dad and Tariq took the weight, carried it inside and laid it on the bed.

  “Where’s Jane?” I asked when they returned to the window.

  “Just took her to the hall,” replied Dad.

  I reached into my pack, took out two Brownings and handed them to Dad and Tariq.

  “Then let’s go get her.”

  Dad shook his head. “No. There are too many of them.” I made to protest, but he waved me quiet. “And there are children in there.”

  “We can’t just let them drive off with her, for fuck’s sake.”

  “We have to,” replied Dad firmly.

  “You could shoot them all and rescue her yourself,” said the voice in my head. I actually considered it for a moment.

  “How many men in total?” asked Ferguson.

  “Fifteen at least. It’s some kind of armed convoy, collecting kids from staging posts like this across the country and shipping them into London.”

  Ferguson nodded. “They’re more organised than we’d thought.”

  “Then let’s kill them all, release the kids and go home.”

  Dad gave me an exasperated look. “Lee…” but he broke off when we heard voices at the door. Without a word, he and Tariq scuttled to the door and took up positions either side. Ferguson and I ducked down below the window ledge.

  I heard the door open then a brief scuffle and a groan, then the door closed again. I looked up to see Tariq holding his gun barrel in the mouth of a spotty little man in a dark green hoodie.

  “Sod this,” I muttered, and climbed into the room. Ferguson followed me.

  I pulled my knife out as soon as my feet hit lino, stepped forward and laid the blade across the captive’s throat. Tariq removed the gun.

  “You’re here to kill us, right?” said Dad.

  The terrified man nodded.

  Instantly, Dad aimed his gun at the wall and let off two rounds.

  “Now strip,” he said. The terrified man undid the zip on his hoodie. “Quickly!”

  “Good idea,” I said, as I began unbuttoning my own coat. “I’ll take his place and follow them back.”

  Dad shook his head. “No way, son. You’re coming with me.”

  “But I’m the right height and build,” I protested. “Neither of you are.”

  Dad looked past me, over my shoulder. “But I am,” I heard Ferguson say, in response to my father’s piercing gaze.

  “Oh come on, we’re going to trust this guy over me?”

  “Yes,” said Dad firmly. “I think your judgment is a little off.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I replied.

  “I think maybe he’s seen me,” whispered Mac.

  But Dad wasn’t going to get into this now, and our captive was down to his underpants.

  “If I get away with this, I’ll stick with them until they reach wherever their base is, then I’ll try and sneak away, head back to Nottingham,” said Ferguson as he hastily pulled on a crusty pair of smelly combats. “You should join my men in the road and head there yourselves.”

  “And if you don’t come back?” I asked peevishly. “If they rumble you the second you walk out of this room?”

  “Then there’ll be plenty of guys to take my place.”

  We heard a distant car horn.

  “They’re wondering where he is,” said Tariq.

  Ferguson pulled the hood over his head and headed for the door.

  “Head North via Hemel Hempstead,” says Dad as Ferguson makes to leave. “Look for us there.”

  “Will do,” he replies.

  “Good luck,” I said as he turned the handle. He didn’t acknowledge me at all.

  WE WAITED A minute, but we heard no shots and no commotion. Dad left the room and came back a moment later.

  “All clear.”

  I ran into the playground just in time to see the trucks turning the corner at the end of the road. The engines faded away and silence reigned. Jane was gone.

  I stood there for a moment, then I began walking purposefully to the gate. I would find my sniper rifle and go after her. Anyone who got in my way would die. Simple as that.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stopped but didn’t turn around, afraid of what I might do.

  “Lee.” It was Dad.

  “I’m going after her.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “Don’t try and stop me.”

  “There’s a pile of bodies back there with bloody great holes in them.”

  “So?”

  “Was that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what threat did they pose to you? You shot them when we’d already left. They were irrelevant.”

  “They were scumbags who had it coming.”

  “So you’re judge, jury and executioner now?”

  “When needs must.”

  There was a long silence. “You’re not going after her and that’s final.”

  I burst out laughing and turned to face him, bringing my gun up until it was pointing right between his eyes.

  “Really, Dad? You think you can ground me? What am I, twelve?”

  He looked at me with such sadness in his eyes that for a moment I felt a stirring of… panic? Conscience? I ignored it.

  “No, you’re eighteen. But you’re out of control. Your judgment is shot and you’re a danger to yourself and to the people around you. I am your commanding officer and you will do as I say.”

  “Like fuck I…”

  His eyes gave no warning, and he moved so fast and with such control that I was disarmed and lying face down on the concrete with his knee in my back before I knew what was happening.

  “If I let you run around with a gun, how many more people will die? How long ’til you decide that Tariq’s broken one of your rules and has to be taken out? Or me?”

  “Not that long, at this rate,” I said. It was supposed to be a joke, but nobody was laughing.

  “If she’s harmed in any way, because you stopped me going after her,” I said coldly, “I will kill you.”

  He considered me for a mo
ment and then turned away.

  “The awful thing is,” he said softly, “I believe you.”

  I got to my feet and held out my hand for my gun. He considered me for a moment then handed it back. I shoved it in my waistband and then walked back towards the school.

  “You’d better come up with one hell of a rescue plan, Dad,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT’S COLD OUTSIDE, and there’s no heating in the lorry, but the huddle of children produces a foul-smelling warmth that at least stops us getting hypothermia. There’s no light either. Or seats. Five winters without maintenance have reduced Britain’s roads to a long trail of endless potholes through which we splash and spring. So we bounce along in the dark, getting bruised and beaten as we crash into each other, or momentarily lift off then slam to the floor on our bony, undernourished arses.

  None of the snatchers got into the back with us, so we’re unguarded. But the heavy doors are securely locked from the outside, and even if we could get them open, we’re hardly going to jump from a moving vehicle, are we?

  I expected a flood of eager questions once the doors closed and we were momentarily unwatched, but these children have been broken. They sit silent and scared, clutching their blankets around their shoulders as if they were some kind of armour. One small boy keeps being shoved against me by the movement of the lorry. I try to talk to him, but he ignores me. Eventually I put my arm around his shoulder and cuddle him in close. At least that way, I reason, we won’t bang into each other so much. But his response to my attempt at comforting him is to bite my forearm, hard. I yell and snatch it back. Little beast.

  “Hello?” I hear a faint shout from deeper in the bowels of the lorry. “Hello, is that the woman who came to rescue us?” It’s a girl.

  “Yes,” I shout back. “My name’s Jane. What’s yours?”

  There’s no reply, but a few moments later I hear vague sounds of commotion and I realise someone is fighting their way through the crowd to get to me.

  “Hello? Where are you?” she says again.

  “Here,” I reply, and I steer her towards me in the darkness until I feel small hands grabbing at my coat. I grasp her hands tightly. I fight down my fears and put on an upbeat façade.