Scott Andrews - School_s Out

"True, true," said Baker. "Anyway, we have stability here and I believe we can export that. Help other communities organise and sort themselves out."

He took a long draught of ale.

"Obviously it won't be easy," he continued. "I dare say we'll have to knock a few heads together along the way, deal with a few thugs and nasties, line some of 'em up against a wall and put them out of our misery. But really, one doesn't have a choice, does one. Got to have rule of law otherwise it'll be back to the bad old days of muggers and rapists and, God help us, niggers with attitude."

Oh no, hang on, I was right to start with – just another racist law and order nut with a passion for execution. Not that I minded anyone stringing Mac up and watching him dangle. But I didn't particularly want to become a citizen of Daily Mailonia. I'd rather take my chances with Mac.

A little alarm bell at the back of my head said 'so who's choosing their strong leader now then? Who's putting faith in the hardest bastard around to protect them? Who's starting to think that maybe Mac is right?'

I ignored it.

I was just about to get up and leave when Baker said something that brought me up short. One of the others had asked something about local communities.

"The nearest thing to a community in the area is a school up the road," said Baker. "A proper school, mind; fee-paying, uniforms, teachers in gowns, army cadets, pupils from good families. There's a whole collection of boys there playing soldiers."

"So are you going to approach them? Bring them into your alliance?" asked another.

"Hard to say. We've been keeping them under surveillance for a while now…" Shit! "…and there have been some pretty unpleasant goings on there recently. About six weeks ago they actually crucified one of their teachers."

Various exclamations of disbelief.

"No, really. And they're very heavily armed. They raided the armoury of a Territorial Army HQ, so they've got machine guns and grenades. They've not threatened us at all but I have a suspicion that they may be behind my niece's disappearance. She left in pursuit of three looters a few months ago, and two of them were boys, so…"

As he momentarily lost the thread of his conversation in a choke of emotion I had a familiar sinking sensation. Here was the biggest player in the area and Mac had only gone and shot his bloody niece. A confrontation would be inevitable if this ever came to light.

"Anyway," he continued, "I've been considering our first move and I think we have to let them know who's boss. After all, they're only boys, they should fall into line if they're shown a firm enough hand. No need for a shooting war. I think a strong demonstration of authority should sort them out."

This was all starting to sound familiar. Mac's idea of a strong display of authority involved crucifixion. I imagined Baker's would involve some poor sod swinging at the end of a noose. Anxious that it shouldn't be me, I lustily knocked back the remains of my pint, forced myself not to gag, and rose to leave. But as I made for the exit Baker stepped into my path and said:

"My dear Lee, where do you think you're going?"

"I apologise, Lee – it is Lee isn't it?"

I nodded.

"I apologise, Lee, for misleading you back there. I am well aware that your glorious commander-in-chief executed my niece."

Baker was sat at a huge desk in what I took to be his office. I could see the business of market day proceeding normally through the huge arched window behind him. A tall woman had just taken the lead in the egg and spoon race.

I was tied to a chair, facing Baker across the desk and wondering how I'd ended up here.

"My source passed on that tidbit of information a few weeks ago," he said.

"Your source?"

"Steven Williams. I believe he helps run your little farm. He's out there now, trading vegetables. Nice young man. He thought rather highly of Mr Bates and didn't take his death well. He came to us one market day and asked for sanctuary, but we were able to persuade him to return to the school and draw us a few maps, detail your defences, provide us with profiles of the key players, that kind of thing. He's been most helpful."

I took a moment to digest this. Williams had betrayed us. I didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, I couldn't really blame him; but on the other he'd thrown in his lot with a bunch of tweed-clad fascists who probably thought The Cull was all the fault of immigrants.

"He told us about you, too, Lee. The loyal second-in-command, wounded in action, accessory to at least three murders that we know about."

There was no point explaining that I was planning to betray Mac too. I was going to have to stay in character; play the part I'd created for myself and hope I could find a way out of this.

How ironic if I ended up hanging for Mac's crimes before I had a chance to hang Mac for them myself.

"You killed two boys who were just scavenging for food. Don't you dare talk to me about murder," I spat.

Baker rose from his seat, walked around the desk and backhanded me hard across the face. A large signet ring cut a groove across my cheek and I felt blood begin to trickle down it.

"Don't answer me back, boy," he growled, his facade of civility momentarily stripped away. "I killed looters. Plain and simple. We need law and order, especially now. There can be no exceptions to the rule of law, not for sex or age. Wrongdoing must be punished. Justice must be seen to be done and it must be swift and merciless."

I lifted my head and stared at him.

"What about the right to a fair trial? What about mitigating circumstances?"

"A fair trial? Like the one you gave your teacher before you killed him? Don't be naive."

Dammit, why did all the nutters I found myself talking to always have to keep making such fair bloody points? Anyway we'd killed his niece. There was nothing at all that I could say that would change that. There was no talking myself out of this.

"Okay, I'm your hostage, you've got a plan to take the school and you're probably going to kill me. So let's get it over with. Why don't you tell me what you've got up your sleeve and then I can escape and foil your evil scheme. What do you say?"

Even as I said the words I cringed inwardly; I've seen too many bad movies. Perhaps it was because this was a scenario I'd seen played out so many times that I couldn't quite bring myself to feel I was really in jeopardy. The hero always ends up talking to somebody who's about to kill them, and they always manage a last-minute escape. It's a rule.

"My dear boy," replied Baker, his facade back in place. "I won't have time to explain my plans. Sorry."

Baker was working from the script of a different film.

"Why? Got an appointment to keep?"

"No. But you do."

Only a few months ago I had found it hard to conjure up any real concern when faced with imminent death. Reeling from the carnage of The Cull, emotionally shut down after burying my mother, I was barely interested in my own survival. Now, after being savaged and shot, I was keenly aware of how easy it was to die, and more determined than ever not to do so until I was old, feeble and surrounded by fat grandchildren.

But as I was marched up to the gallows I couldn't see any way to stay alive beyond the next five minutes. My nerve was only barely holding. By the time the rope was slipped around my neck I felt like shitting myself and I wanted to cry.

I stood on the raised wooden platform looking down at the assembled faces of the Hildenborough market crowd, eagerly awaiting the 'Main Event' – my death. Some looked excited, others looked bored. They munched on hot dogs or sipped their beers as if it were just another day. Williams avoided my gaze.

I tried to work out how a simple trip to market and a little light gossip had led so quickly and inescapably to my imminent death. This hadn't been the plan. I wasn't supposed to die here, not now. What about Mac? What about Matron? What about my dad? This was supposed to be an ordinary day, nothing too risky, nothing spectacular. This wasn't supposed to be the second date on my tombstone.