Scott Andrews - School_s Out

"You've got a gun, so why don't you just shoot the bastard?" asked Norton one day as he was wheeling me around the pitches for my morning constitutional.

"What, you mean just walk up and shoot him dead in cold blood?"

"Well, duh. Yeah, that's exactly what I mean. Why not? Seriously, why not?"

"Not exactly ethical, is it?"

He burst out laughing.

"Ethical? Are you fucking joking? This from the man who shot our history teacher, the man who's accepted a position as second-in-command to a psychopath, the man who, in any court of law, would be held an accessory in the murder of those TA men? Ethical? Don't make me laugh. Is it any more ethical to plot his downfall from your hospital bed? At least if you went up and shot him you'd be being honest and direct. There's some ethics there."

"I'm not a cold-blooded murderer," was the only answer I could give him.

"Sorry mate, but you are."

We moved past the assault course. It was a collection of netting, rope and wood constructions, and a little bit of barbed wire. There was climbing, crawling, jumping, swinging and all that sort of stuff. A group of the youngest juniors were racing through it under the supervision of Wylie, who was hounding poor Rowles, throwing clods of earth at him, firing his gun off close to the boy's head to simulate being under fire, screaming at him all the time. The poor boy looked utterly terrified.

"If I shot Mac there's no telling what the other officers would do," I said. "They certainly wouldn't take orders from me. I'm just a fifth-former, remember. I may be second-in-command but I've not given a single order yet and when I do it'll only be because of Mac that they obey it. I need to get to know them, earn their respect and trust before I make a move. Divide and conquer, that's what we have to do here. I'm just trying to get through this with the fewest possible deaths."

He didn't pursue the argument, but I could feel that he and I were on tricky ground. We were still friends and allies, but I'd need to be careful not to alienate him any further. Mac tolerated my friendship with Norton, and I needed him to be my eyes and ears amongst the regular boys.

He wheeled me back to Castle in silence, but despite his reservations the next day we sat down to compare notes.

"Wylie is our biggest problem," Norton explained. "It's like he's trying to out-Mac Mac. The others are mostly content with handing out laps, the occasional slap or chores. But Wylie likes to humiliate people. He made Thackaray do ten rounds of the assault course naked the other day. The kid was a mess of cuts and bruises by the end. And he's got Vaughan sleeping in the cow shed just 'cause he didn't finish his breakfast."

"Okay, so if Mac goes then Wylie is most likely to try and take his place, you think?"

"For sure. The rest of them are much of a muchness except Green, who sits at the other end of the spectrum. He's the whipping boy, the runt of the litter. They've started giving him nicknames."

"Like?"

"Gayboy. Bender. You know the kind of thing. Limpdick is a popular one."

He looked at me significantly until the penny dropped.

"Oh man," I whispered. "You think that…"

He nodded. "Couldn't get it up is my guess."

"And that makes him vulnerable. They'll resent the fact that he's not as guilty as they are and they'll hate him for it. Plus, you know, he is kind of a poof."

"You should see him directing Our Town. I think he wants to play Emily himself. He's got Petts doing it. Says if boys dressed as girls were good enough for Shakespeare then it's good enough for us."

I considered this intelligence.

"Right then, we attack on two fronts," I said. "I try and get Mac to see Wylie as a threat, and foster Green's resentment of the others until he's ready to turn."

"And while you're doing that what do I do?"

"You need to sound out the others, but do it subtly. We need to identify those boys who are coming off worst and use that to get them on side. We need officers of our own who can be ready to move when an opportunity presents itself."

Norton grinned. "Finally we have a scheme."

"And a plot."

We shook hands.

"Marvellous," said Norton. "I think we just increased our chances of being crucified by about four hundred per cent."

After three weeks of rest I finally took to my pins and started walking with a stick. I would always have a pronounced limp, but I began a programme of exercise designed to help build the leg back up to strength.

On the day I walked again Mac asked me to join him in his quarters. He had moved into the headmaster's old flat. As I knocked on the door and waited for him to let me in I noticed that he'd added a lot of locks to the door. Just like a leader – caution takes the place of ease and soon, inevitably, paranoia takes the place of caution. I hoped I'd be able to hurry that process along a little.

He opened the door and gestured me inside with a smile.

"Take a seat," he said. I looked around the living room where I'd fought Jonah and was relieved to see that Mac had replaced the furniture; I didn't fancy sitting on the stain of half-dissolved headmaster. I slumped into the plush upholstery gratefully. I couldn't remember when I'd last sat on a sofa; it felt like the height of luxury.

I was expecting to be offered a cup of tea or something, but instead he opened the drinks cabinet and poured a couple of large whiskies. He handed one to me and then sat opposite, regarding me thoughtfully.

"I don't think you like me very much, Lee," he said eventually.

Oh.

Fuck.

Play innocent? He'd never buy it.

Make a joke out of it? He'd see straight through that.

Okay. Play it straight. Be serious but not confrontational.

I met his gaze. "What makes you think that?"

He shrugged. "Instinct and observation."

He sipped his drink. I did the same. I felt like I was playing poker.

I don't know how to play poker.

"I think Bates was right, you see," he continued. "I think you think you're better than this. I catch you, sometimes, looking at me and I think I can see you changing your expression, trying to hide the look of contempt before I notice it."

"Don't be daft." I laughed, all matey. He didn't smile.

"I'm many things, right? But I'm not daft." There was an edge of warning in his voice, but he didn't seem like he was about to get angry. Not unless I said something really stupid. I held up my hands and mimed innocence.

Mac leaned forward. "Thing is, you're right not to like me. I'm a cunt. A total and utter bastard and I don't care who knows it. I'm a murderer and a rapist, and that's just for starters. I shoot first and ask questions later. I'll fucking slaughter anyone who gets between me and what I want, I don't care who they are. And I enjoy being in control of things. I like bossing people around, giving orders, laying down the law, playing the big man.

"But the thing is, Lee, it's the only thing I'm good at. I have a talent for it, see. Ask me to do maths or English, paint a picture or play the piano and I'm a fucking retard. But give me a situation that needs some muscle, a bit of ruthlessness, and I'm your man.

"And the one thing The Cull did, the one great, beautiful, brilliant thing that The Cull did, is it handed people like me the keys to the fucking world.

"There's no rozzer to haul me in for GBH, no magistrate to hand me an ASBO, no judge to send me to the Scrubs. There's only one law now, and it's not who's got the biggest gun – it's who's bastard enough to use it first. And I am.

"And so are you, I reckon."

All I could manage was "Eh?"

"Oh, don't embarrass yourself by playing innocent. You shot Batesy."

I tried to keep a stoney face, give nothing away. But there was no point.

"Yeah," he said, studying me, "I thought so."