School's Out Forever

by Scott K. Andrews

“Have you been in contact with Britain since The Cull? By radio perhaps? Can you tell us anything about what is happening on the other side of that tunnel? My friends and I, you see, are thinking of relocating.”

  I caught a glint, just for an instant, in a window behind us. I thumbed the zoom button and sure enough there was a man in position there; tripod, sniper rifle, telescopic sight. I didn’t think he could do us any damage, but there might be more.

  “Sniper, three o’clock, in the hotel,” I whispered.

  Dad covered his mic again. “Get ready, Lee,” he whispered back. “When I give the word, fire a warning shot. Just a warning shot, mind. I don’t want to start a war.”

  “’Kay.”

  Dad took his hand away and spoke again. “No contact. It all went dead long ago.”

  I couldn’t see De Falaise’s reaction to this, but I imagined it was either disappointment or disbelief.

  “That is what I thought,” he said. “Then perhaps we could trade something else. I think, perhaps, I would like your armoured car. I think I would like it very much.”

  “Fire,” said Dad.

  I gently squeezed the trigger and the gun mounted on the roof burst into life, spraying heavy rounds around the window where the sniper was poised. I saw him leap backwards, arms raised to protect himself from the chips of stone that were flying into his face. Once he was out of sight I squeezed again, destroying the rifle and taking him out of the game. Then I swivelled my periscope to see how our Frenchman would react. He hadn’t moved an inch. Cool customer.

  The sound of gunfire reverberated around the empty space, fading away gradually. Only when silence reigned once more did De Falaise speak.

  “That is a disappointment,” he said. “I was planning on letting you go.”

  Dad didn’t wait to hear what he said next, choosing to slam his foot on to the accelerator and drive straight at De Falaise. But the Frenchman was too fast, diving out of the way to reveal the smoke trail of an approaching rocket-propelled grenade.

  “Shit!” yelled Dad, and he yanked the wheel hard right, flinging Tariq and I to the floor. We skidded to a halt sideways and before we could get underway again the grenade hit us broadsides.

  To this day, that explosion is the last thing I ever heard in stereo.

  It’s impossible to describe a noise so loud that it blows out your eardrums. It was like a physical blow; like someone jamming a sharpened pencil in my ear and then wiggling it for a bit as the aftershocks bounced around. I screamed and wrapped my hands around my ears, feeling blood pouring from them. Then all I could hear was a deep throbbing tone, like a dead TV. My sense of balance was gone too. I rolled about on the floor of the vehicle trying to stop everything spinning. I vomited all over myself and I didn’t become aware of anything else until Dad sat me up and jabbed a needle in my arm. Then I passed out.

  I WAS DEAF. I knew that before I even opened my eyes. I could feel the bandages around my head. I opened my eyes and there was Dad, leaning over me. I was on the couch in the back of the Stryker. Tariq lay on the couch across from me. He also had dried blood on his ears, but wasn’t bandaged. Dad, I realised, had been wearing the driver’s helmet, which would have protected him from the worst effects of the sound, and Tariq had obviously been hurt, just not as badly as me. So it was just me that got unlucky. Great.

  Dad stroked my hair tenderly. I could see his lips moving but all I could hear was that dead TV tone in my right ear. My left ear registered nothing at all.

  “I’m deaf,” I said. Or at least I think I said it. I may have shouted it, or said “I’m cleft” for all I know. It was weird, knowing I was making sounds but being unable to hear them.

  Dad nodded and turned away. I think perhaps he was trying to hide his emotions. After a moment he turned back, and mouthed some words slowly. It took a moment for me to work out what he was saying but eventually I got it.

  He was saying: “We came through the tunnel. We’re home. England. We made it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JANE

  IT SOUNDS STRANGE to say it, but I was lucky that I was so badly hurt.

  General Blythe was convinced that I was some sort of post-apocalyptic spymistress running covert ops at home and abroad, using specially recruited and trained kids like Lee.

  “One boy, about eleven years old, we think, single-handedly killed seven of my men during the attack on Salisbury,” drawled Blythe in his broad American accent.

  “Is he alive?” I said, dreading the answer.

  “Oh, yeah. We captured him. He’s a tough little nut – the only person I’ve ever had in my custody who lasted more than fifteen minutes of waterboarding. And of course you know how effective that method is at extracting information.”

  “No, I don’t, you sick fuck. Because I’m not a spy!” I shouted.

  “When he did break, he told us a pack of lies that had us chasing our tails for a week. Someone trained him, Miss Crowther. You don’t expect me to believe that an eleven-year-old gets that kind of resilience out of nowhere, do you?”

  “Believe what you like.”

  “Thank you, I will. And I believe that you are a player. My first instinct was to kill you. But I need to know the details of all your current ops. Do you have people in Russia, the US?”

  “Go to hell,” I spat.

  “Undoubtedly, Miss Crowther, but hopefully not for a while yet. Having instructed my surgeons to save your life, I find that you are too weak to endure our interrogation techniques. They tell me that a single session on the waterboard would kill you, that you need at least a month of bed rest before undergoing any kind of strenuous activity. I’m not willing to sit around waiting for you to get better, but neither do I want to kill you until I’m absolutely certain you’ve told us everything you know. What to do, what to do?” He was smiling as he said this, toying with me like the sick sadist he was.

  “Ah-ha!” he snapped his fingers and smiled. “Got it! I’ll torture your friend. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “What friend?” I tried to make it sound mocking, but my fear was too strong to conceal. Had he got Jack? I hardly knew the boy, but I wouldn’t sit back and let him be tortured. And what if the others from the school had got tired of waiting for me to come back? Were all the children and staff being held captive somewhere in the house, the guards taking their time choosing which of them would be first for the rack?

  The general nodded to the soldier on the door and he left, returning a moment later pushing a woman. She was chained with one of those American prison chain things that loops from feet to hands to neck, so she could only shuffle, and she had a hessian sack over her head. But I knew instantly who it was. The soldier pulled the bag off to reveal Mrs Atkins, our beloved dinner lady. She had a black eye and a bruised mouth, but she stood defiant, her eyes blazing with fury. Then she noticed me, and her reaction told me everything I needed to know about what kind of shape I was in.

  “Dear Lord, Jane, what have they done to you?” she whispered.

  “We saved her life,” said the general. “You’d better hope she’s going to save yours.” Then he nodded again, the sack was replaced and Mrs Atkins was led away. As she shuffled away she shouted: “You be strong, love. Don’t tell them a thing!” Bless her, but that was the worst thing she could have said, merely confirming in the general’s mind that I was hiding big secrets.

  “I have a few things I gotta get done back at Salisbury,” he said. “So I’m going to fly back there now and give you a night to sleep on it. But midday tomorrow, my men are going to go to work on your friend there, and you’re gonna have a front row seat. So you think carefully, Miss Crowther. You think very carefully. Indeed.” He rose to leave.

  “Where’s Rowles?” I asked desperately.

  “Who?” he asked as he reached the door.

  “The eleven-year-old boy you captured in Salisbury. What, you couldn’t even get him to tell you his name?” I laughed. “You need better torturers, General
.”

  He flashed me a look of warning. I didn’t want to push this man too far.

  “He’s fine. We got him locked up. Collateral.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Girl?”

  I bit my lip. Stupid.

  “I’ll get my men to look for a girl. Thank you for the tip.”

  “And the others? The soldiers who were based there?”

  But he just shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and walked out.

  It took me a second to believe it, but I knew deep down that he’d killed them. All of them. The British Army had been routed.

  The guard left the room with the general, and I was left alone in the wheelchair. I’d lost Sanders; Rowles and Mrs Atkins were captured; Caroline was missing, and all that faced us was torture and death.

  I tried to rise from my wheelchair, to push myself up, walk to the door, but I was too weak. I couldn’t even muster enough strength to turn the wheels and push myself to the bed. And so there I sat, defeated, broken and scared, watching the general’s ugly military helicopter rise from the field where the children used to play football.

  AS NIGHT FELL there was a knock on the door. I didn’t bother replying, after all I was the prisoner. After a moment, the door was pushed open and I was confronted by a young woman in military fatigues.

  She stood in the doorway holding a tray on which rested a steaming plate and a glass of water. The woman seemed unsure about whether to enter or not.

  “Miss Crowther, may I come in please?” she asked. Her soft accent, Deep South, made her seem polite and diffident.

  “Suit yourself,” I muttered.

  The woman came in, placed the tray on the small bedside cabinet and switched on the main lights. The soldiers must have refuelled the generator. The woman then pushed my chair to the bed and lifted me out off it with surprising ease.

  “You’re strong,” I said as she wrestled me on to the bed.

  “I spend most of my time lifting bodies of one kind or another,” she said flatly.

  When I was settled and tucked in, she stood over me and offered her hand. “I’m Susan, Sue.” I looked at her hand and snorted contemptuously. She withdrew it then sat beside me and lifted the bowl of soup from the tray. “It’s beef. You need to keep your strength up. It’s going to be a long recovery.”

  I considered spitting it in her face, but what would have been the point? I opened my mouth and gulped down the broth. We sat there not speaking as I ate the food and drank the water. I studied her. By almost anyone’s standards she was unattractive. Her figure was short and square, her hair was muddy brown, and she had a flat nose, receding chin and piggy little eyes. She was flat-out ugly, but her brown eyes were kind and her voice was gentle.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked.

  “A gun,” I joked.

  “Small or large?”

  I sniffed. But she just sat there, waiting for my response.

  “Small, please.”

  “Ammunition?”

  I laughed. “Oh, loads.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, Miss.” Then she stood, collected the tray, and left.

  What an odd little encounter that was, I thought, as I closed my eyes and drifted into a haunted sleep.

  IT WAS STILL dark when I jolted awake, my heart hammering urgently in my breast. Something had disturbed me. I listened and heard the creak of floorboards outside the door. Someone was creeping about outside. I tried to lift myself, but it was futile; pain ripped through every part of me as I tried to move. All I could do was lie there, waiting to see who it was and what they wanted.

  The door cracked open quietly and a shadowy figure stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind them as softly as they could. Then they walked to the bed and stood over me.

  It seems odd looking back, and I don’t know what I planned to achieve by it, but I pretended to be asleep, squinting up at the person, hoping they’d go away. But they leant down and put their hand on my shoulder and gently shook me. No point pretending now, so I opened my eyes.

  “Who...?” I began.

  “It’s me, Miss. Sue. Please don’t make any noise, there isn’t a guard outside your door, but they do patrol and I don’t want to take the risk. I have a message for you from someone called Lee. He told me to give you his love and to tell you not to worry.”

  I know it’s a cliché, but there’s no other way of saying it – my heart leapt. I can’t remember what I said, it was probably just a mumble of vowels, I was so amazed.

  Sue sat on the edge of my bed and whispered softly. “I was in the courtyard this evening, when I heard someone hissing at me from the bushes. It was a man called Tariq. I knew him when I was stationed in Iraq. It’s a long story, but I used to pass messages for him sometimes, to soldiers who weren’t happy with the way the general was doing things. My, you could have knocked me down with a feather to see him here!”

  She talked with her hands, like a big camp drama queen, her eyes flashed with mimed shock and her mouth formed an O of surprise. “He told me that he’s here with Lee and Lee’s daddy. Now, they caused quite a rumpus back in Basra before we left, and it seems they stowed away on a plane or in a tank or something. To be honest that bit confused me. But either way, they’re here now and they’re coming to rescue you!”

  She flapped her hands and gave a little bounce of excitement as she said that, almost squealing. I had to smile. Her over the top Southern Belle act was so at odds with the way she looked.

  Finally I managed to speak. “Lee’s here?” I said in wonder. I’d been so certain I’d never see him again, but he was back. The insane boy had actually flown to Iraq, found his father, taken on the American Army, and made his way home. It beggared belief.

  “You betcha!” she said with a huge smile. “He’s a little beat up, poor kid, but he’s here. Now, if you’re still not willing to co-operate with the general by midday tomorrow, then that’s when they start torturing your poor friend.”

  “Is the general coming back to join the fun?” I asked.

  “No Miss, I’m told he’ll only be returning when you decide to talk. In the meantime, while you’re trying to make up your mind, I have the item you requested.”

  She reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a snubby little gun.

  “It’s a Beretta, Miss. I hope that’s to your liking?”

  “Does it go bang?” I asked, amazed.

  “It surely does.”

  “Then it’s fine with me.”

  “Tariq told me to say that the action will begin shortly before midday, for obvious reasons, and that you are to shoot anybody who comes through that door who doesn’t say the code phrase first.”

  “And the code phrase is...?”

  “Finally, someone with balls.”

  I laughed, remembering Mac’s final words. “Yes, it would be.” I hesitated, but I had to ask.

  “Sue. I must say, you’re quite a surprise. You are the last person I would have expected to find in uniform.”

  “I’m a nurse, Miss. I just help put people back together. And the army pays good. Well, it used to.”

  “But surely you’re taking a terrible risk defying the general like this?”

  Sue dipped her head, suddenly serious. “I had a fiancé. He was in supplies and, oh, he was so sweet to me. And so brave. When the general started giving orders to attack the population in Basra, my Josh stood up to him. Led a mutiny. But, well, he didn’t realise how far the general would go. Josh was ever so smart but he could be naïve.”

  “What happened?” I asked softly.

  Sue sighed and inclined her head towards the window. “Like the man on the lawn. Josh was the ringleader and so the general made an example of him. After that most people just fell into line. Some went native, joined the Iraqi resistance, but mostly people were too scared of the general, or they agreed with his methods, or they just couldn’t break the habit of obeying orders, ev
en when the orders were so wrong.”

  “And you?”

  “I bided my time, made contact with those few remaining soldiers I thought I could trust. Waited for an opportunity. We’re not all like the general, Miss. Some of us joined the army because we believed we were doing good, fighting for something right and true. I honestly believe that if we can just remove the general and those closest to him, then things will change for the better.”

  I gazed at her in wonder. “Sue,” I whispered, “you may just be one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

  She put her hand on mine, looked up at me and smiled sadly. “That’s sweet of you to say, Miss. I should go now. But you’ve got your gun and you know the code phrase, so just sit tight and we’ll have you free in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “Thank you, Sue,” I replied, squeezing her huge, strong hand. “See you when the dust settles.”

  “I hope so, Miss.”

  She rose and left. She was so softly spoken, so physically unprepossessing, but so brave and kind. I had a new ally and I had hope. But then I remembered what had happened to the last two people who’d helped me – Barker and Sanders. The people who got close to me kept dying.

  I just prayed that Sue wouldn’t suffer a similar fate.

  SOMEONE ELSE BROUGHT me my breakfast, a stony-faced guy who spooned porridge into my mouth without a word. I was strong enough to feed myself now, but I pretended I was still too weak. It might not be much of an advantage, but it was all I could manage.

  I watched the sun climb higher, feeling more and more nervous. At quarter to twelve I heard someone shouting outside and an engine revving, then there was an almighty crash, my bed shook, and someone opened fire.

  I held the Beretta tightly and took aim at the door. Moments later it was flung open and the soldier who’d brought me breakfast backed into the room. I squeezed the trigger and let him have it.

  The gun clicked and jammed, a useless chunk of metal. I tried to unjam it, but I wasn’t familiar enough with the mechanism to do anything but make an awful grinding noise.