School's Out Forever

by Scott K. Andrews

  I’m still kneeling there with my eyes closed, trying to quell the stomach spasms, when I hear his voice in my ear, speaking softly.

  “Finished?”

  I look up at him, and am surprised to see how handsome he is. I spit a potent mix of vomit and blood into his matinee idol blue eyes. He just laughs and backhands me, sending me sprawling.

  As I lie there, waiting for a bullet to end me, I hear Bookworm say “I reckon Spider will want to talk to her,” and my vision blurs, my blood feels like ice in my veins, my head swims and I begin to tremble.

  He’s alive.

  “What did you say?” I rasp, eventually.

  “I said our boss will want to talk to you.”

  “His name. You said his name.”

  “Yeah.” Bookworm sounds confused.

  “What was his fucking name?” I yell.

  “Spider,” says Movie Idol, curious in spite of himself. If his reaction is anything to go by, I must have gone as white as a sheet.

  “Spider,” I say. “Spider.” And then I can’t stop saying his name, it pours out of me in a hysterical flood of jumbled syllables. “Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider...”

  He slaps me again and I fall silent. I barely even know where I am. All I can see is that face. All I can hear is that voice. All I can feel is the sick ache in my stomach as my brother looks down in surprise at...

  “Yes,” I say quietly, rising to my feet. “Yes, I think he will want to talk to me. I certainly want to talk to him.”

  Movie Idol narrows his eyes and smiles. “You got history with the big man?”

  I nod.

  “Fine, you just bought yourself a ticket to London.” He turns to address the gaggle of gunmen. “Put her and the kids in the lorry.”

  Two guys step forward and herd us towards the fire escape. As I step outside I hear Movie Idol giving a final order.

  “Oh, and kill those other two fuckers.”

  I try to turn and protest, but the tide of children sweeps me out into the playground.

  There’s nothing I can do.

  We’re herded through the playground and out the front gate into the street. Two big container lorries are waiting. Both have their rear doors open, revealing hordes of terrified children huddled together for warmth. There are six men with guns standing around the trucks, both preventing the children from running and keeping an eye out for attack. Every one of them is a plum target for a good sniper, but for some reason Lee isn’t taking the shot. Suddenly I feel guilty – the only thought I’ve spared for Lee since the Rangers attacked has been to worry about his mental state; it hasn’t occurred to me that he might be lying dead in one of these houses.

  I turn to look back at the school, where John and Tariq are being executed, and I curse myself for being such a fool. Who the hell did we think we were to come charging in here and take these guys on? We’re... Christ I don’t know what we are but we certainly aren’t soldiers, or even police. It’s ironic that we managed to take out the entire US Army two years ago, but now we’ve been undone by a bunch of child snatchers in lorries.

  Our escorts chivvy us into the back of the foremost lorry. As I step up to the ramp I slip in a pile of what smells like human shit. There are no seats in here, and a couple of buckets sit by the doors, empty but reeking of effluent. This must be the kids’ toilets, and they’ve just emptied them in the street. The smell of unwashed bodies, open toilets and fear is overwhelming.

  “Sorry it’s a bit cramped,” says the snatcher next to me, sarcastically. “But your man wrote off the third lorry, so we’ve had to shove its cargo into these two.”

  THE MASS OF kids shuffle up to make room for us new arrivals. Just as I sit down I hear two muffled shots from inside the school.

  I sit in that lorry, surrounded by despairing children who I am powerless to help, leaving behind two dead friends and a missing lover, on my way to be reunited with the cruellest sadist I’ve ever met, and I begin, to my shame, to cry.

  As the lorry doors swing shut I catch a glimpse of Bookworm leaving the school, scurrying to the rearmost lorry, waving to his boss at the front to tell him the job is done. Then the doors close with a heavy bang and we’re plunged into darkness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I’M NOT YOUR enemy.”

  The Ranger didn’t waver for an instant. “I said drop it.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, as I considered my options and he got ready to skewer me. I dropped the gun and kicked it over to him.

  “Useless at close range anyway,” I said.

  He looked down at Guria’s body and I saw the shock on his face.

  “But he’s...”

  “Just a kid. Yeah. Shot him anyway, though, didn’t you?”

  “Never. Not to kill, anyway. Did he move just before he was hit?”

  I nodded.

  He flashed me a look I couldn’t quite interpret then backed onto the landing and gestured me downstairs.

  Five minutes later we were in the kitchen of another house, further down the street, where the Rangers had regrouped. The other four kids were there too, rounded up like I was.

  As I entered the house, one of the kids – I think his name was Wallis – said: “Hey, Sir, where’s Guria?”

  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.