Scott Andrews - School_s Out

"Just… be careful everyone, all right?" said Norton. "I don't like this at all. Something doesn't feel right to me."

I smirked. "Corny line!"

"I'm serious."

We left the horses a safe distance away and approached on foot, knives drawn. There were candles burning in the kitchen but there was no-one inside. The door wasn't locked and it didn't creak. So far so good. The room still smelt of roast beef. I looked greedily at the pile of dirty plates as I tiptoed around the large wooden table. The interior door was open a crack. It led into a corridor that ran to the front door. A number of rooms opened out of it to the left and right, and at the far end there was a staircase on the left.

I couldn't hear any voices and I couldn't see anyone. Gesturing for the others to stay in the kitchen I pushed the door gently and got lucky again: no creak. The hallway was carpeted so I took a chance and walked to the living room door, which was ajar. I leaned in and listened. Total silence. I was just about to try the other doors when I heard a small cough from inside and then someone shushing the cougher.

They were in a remote farmhouse, after dark, no-one expected or likely to arrive. Why would they be trying to keep so quiet?

I heard a small creak behind me and to the left. There was someone on the stairs. Suddenly I felt the world shift around me and I realised that I wasn't the hunter at all. I was the prey.

This was a trap.

There was a slim chance whoever was waiting on the stairs hadn't seen me. Without looking up at them I backed away towards the kitchen as slowly and quietly as I could.

And then another noise, this time behind me. Someone opened a door between me and the kitchen and stepped out into the hallway. I spun to see a black-clad man looking straight at me. He was wearing a balaclava and carrying a sawn-off shotgun.

He opened his mouth to shout a warning as I lunged forward. Normally I would have drawn my gun, told him to freeze. But something odd was going on here and I felt cornered and threatened. I wasn't inclined to take any chances. I led with my knife. I slapped my left hand over his mouth and shoved the blade up between his ribs as hard as I could, lifting him onto his toes with the force of the thrust.

I felt hot blood spurt out across my hand as I stared into the eyes of the man I was in the process of killing.

It wasn't a man, it was a boy. I recognised him. It was Wolf-Barry.

There was no wall behind him and he toppled backwards. I tried to follow him down, to maintain the silence, but I was overbalanced. We fell backwards together and as we hit the floor his shotgun went off, blowing two big holes in the plaster ceiling.

Dammit, this always looked so easy in the movies. I felt reassured that I wasn't a practised and professional killer – I didn't ever want to be that – but fucking hell, it would have been nice not to screw it up just this once.

I saw the eyes of the boy I had just killed begin to glaze over. I had a sudden memory of the first time I'd met him, in IT lab three years earlier. I remembered he'd made some joke about the headmaster, but I couldn't recall what it was. It was funny, though. I thought he was funny. And now I'd stabbed him through the heart without a second's hesitation.

I felt everything I'd achieved in the last three months evaporate in an instant. Who had I been kidding? This was my life now. Not cricket and plays and lessons, but killing and bleeding and dying. I was a fool to ever hope otherwise.

With both barrels fired and a knife in his chest, Wolf-Barry was no longer a threat, and since our cover was well and truly blown there was no longer any need for stealth. I rolled off him, trying to draw my gun as I did so, but I was tangled up and couldn't pull it free. A man came down the stairs swearing loudly, and as he turned the corner into the hallway someone behind me fired twice. Both bullets found their mark and he jerked backwards, two holes in his chest.

There were shouts from the living room; Green shouting "In here!" and a woman screaming. But no-one came out of the door.

Without rising to my feet I crabbed backwards towards the kitchen door and safety. The door was wide open and Norton and Rowles were stood there, smoking guns aimed down the corridor over my head, covering my retreat.

"You were right, it's a trap!" I shouted.

I reached the door and sprang upright. As I did so there was gunfire from outside, at the front of the house. Someone was attacking Haycox and Neate, someone who'd been waiting for us to get inside the house before revealing their presence.

I pointed to the boy on the floor in front of me, the one with the pink froth bubbling out of his mouth.

"That's Wolf-Barry," I said.

"I fucking knew it," replied Norton.

"And I think that's Patel," I said, indicating the corpse at the foot of the stairs.

"Green," I shouted. "Are you alone in there?"

"What do you fucking think?" came the reply. It was Wylie.

This was not good. Not good at all.

"I've got a gun to Limpdick's head, Keegan. If any of your men offer the slightest resistance I'll splash his brains all over the walls, got me?"

"What do you want, Wylie?"

"Want? I've got what I want: you. You're surrounded. My men were waiting outside in the dark. There's ten of us, how many of you?"

Fuck fuck fuck.

I heard the sound of a gun hitting the floor behind me and I turned to see Jones standing stock still at the back door, his eyes wide as saucers. Pugh had a knife to his throat.

"Drop the guns," he said.

Nobody moved.

"I said, drop the guns!"

Pugh pressed the knife into Jones' throat and a small trickle of blood escaped.

We dropped our guns.

"Now on the floor," he shouted. "Hands behind your heads."

We complied. The kitchen tiles were hard and cold.

"All right, chief, we've got them," he said.

Ten minutes later I was tied to a chair in the dining room. The other prisoners were being kept next door. I'd caught a glimpse of them through the door when I was being trussed up; Green had a huge purple bruise on his forehead, and Neate had been shot and killed out front, but everyone else was okay. All ten of the farm family were there, as were the six kids from Green's troupe, Norton, Jones and Rowles.

I'd obviously been set aside for special treatment. I didn't want to dwell on what Wylie was likely to do to me. My hands and feet were firmly bound, and there was no give in the ropes at all. I wasn't going anywhere.

Wylie pulled over a chair, reversed it, and sat facing me, resting his arms on the seat back. He had removed his balaclava, no need for it now. He looked very pleased with himself. And so he should. I'd walked obediently into his trap like the amateur I was. I would've kicked myself if my feet hadn't been tied. I figured that the best I could hope for was a bloody good kicking and I saw no reason to prolong the agony.

"Patel and Wolf-Barry are dead," I said. "That just leaves you, Pugh and Speight. So who are the other guys, Wylie?"

"They're old friends of yours, Lee," he said. "Wanted a chance for a bit of payback. Actually I'm working for them, sort of sub-contracting. They wanted me to deliver you to them. Piece of piss, really."

"Wolf-Barry didn't look like he thought much of your plan as I shoved a knife into his heart."

Wylie looked annoyed. "He shouldn't have broken cover. He was supposed to stay in there 'til I gave the signal. Prick."

"No wonder you command such loyalty, you're just so compassionate."

He smiled the smile of a man who knew he was in total control. "No point trying to piss me off, Lee. I've got my orders and I'm going to stick to them. You're not going to annoy me into making mistakes. I'm supposed to deliver you in one piece and that's what I'm going to do."