Scott Andrews - School_s Out

"Why would I want to do that? There are young, innocent souls in there, in need of salvation. I can provide them with that. I'm only here to help."

"And if they don't want your salvation?"

"Then they can aid in the salvation of others."

"As bleeders."

"Or food. Or both. Their blood and flesh is a holy sacrament."

"Is that all they are to you, a resource?"

"If they will not accept the word of God then yes." He leaned back and shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?'

I decided to try a different tack.

"When we blew up that room you were outside the door," I said. "How did you survive?"

"I am watched over," he replied.

I thought: you ran down the stairs when you heard the window break, more like. "But if your little cult is so blessed, why were we able to burn your house to the ground?"

He laughed, as if indulging a child who's just asked a particularly stupid question. "You were merely the messenger of God's wrath. He wishes me to bring His word to the world. I was betraying my calling by situating myself in one location." He gestured around him, at the marquee. "Now, you see, we are mobile! And we save more souls every day of our never ending journey. All thanks to you."

"You're welcome. So why not move on. Why lay siege to a school when there are so many other places to save?"

"I may be a holy man, but I am not above a little vengeance. You killed my disciples, you oppose me and my followers. That cannot go unpunished."

"People are going to die here today. Lots of people. Yours and mine. Men, women, boys, girls. And there's no need for it all. You can just walk away."

"Shan't."

Strike One.

"All right then, let the people in the school leave and take the building as your new base. Rent free. All yours."

"Didn't you listen to what I said? We are mobile now. That is how it is meant to be."

Strike Two.

"Then take me."

"Excuse me?"

"Take me. Bleed me, eat me, do whatever you want. I won't resist. But leave the school alone."

"My dear young man, I have you already. Where's my incentive to make a deal?"

Strike Three.

Okay then. I'd given him every chance; done everything I could to avoid bloodshed. No choice now but to fight. Only problem was that my plan relied on my being outside. And I was stuck in this bloody great tent. I needed to be creative.

"How many men and guns have you got here anyway?" I asked.

He smiled. It was not pleasant. "Lots and lots."

I made a play of considering this.

"Can I, perhaps, join you, then?"

Finally, I'd managed to surprise him. "You wish to join the flock of the saved?"

"I don't want to die, so on balance, yeah. Please."

"Do you understand what joining the ranks of the saved entails?"

"I've heard about the ritual blood letting. Correct me if I make a mistake. A victim is selected from amongst the prisoners or, if the person joining is considered particularly valuable, from the ranks of the already saved. The victim is held down by two men, and the supplicant, who has been stripped naked, slits the victim's throat and collects the blood in a bowl. When the bowl is full they drink the blood. Then the body is turned over and sliced open. You then dab your hands in the gore and make the sign of the cross, in blood, on the supplicant's chest. The supplicant takes the knife, cuts their palm, and drips their blood into your outstretched hands, and you wash your face with it. That about right?"

"And you'd be happy to take the ritual of salvation?"

"If it means staying alive, then yes, I would."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Please."

He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially: "You're not a very good liar."

"I'm not lying. I swear I'll join you if you let me."

"If you wish to join us why did you kill the acolytes I dispatched to bring you to me? We found their bodies on the road yesterday. And why attack and tie up the two men by the river? No, I think it's more likely that you've developed some kind of plan and this conversation is the start of it. Did you really think we would just leave if you asked me nicely?"

He spat the word 'nicely' at me like a curse, and there was a sudden flash of furious madness in his eyes.

"I hoped so. I had to try, didn't I?"

The fury was replaced by contempt.

"You believe yourself to be in a story, don't you?" he sneered. "I think you imagine yourself as the hero who strolls into the enemy camp, baits the villain and then runs away to fight another day. Yes? But you're so wrong. My crusade is holy and righteous and you are nothing but a clueless heathen. I have bound my followers together in faith and blood through the power of my will. I lead them to glory and salvation. You have no idea the trials I have undergone, the opposition I have overcome, the demons I have banished. I am the hero of this tale, boy, not you. You're just a footnote. Nothing more."

He was impressive when he got going.

"I don't know what you and your boy scouts have planned, but I can assure you it's utterly futile," he ranted. "You have no forces to call upon. We have the school surrounded and all your boys and their weapons are contained inside. They can't attack us for the same reason we can't attack them – they'd be cut down before they reached the walls. And even if it does come to a fight, which I think unlikely, my men outnumber you two to one and are not afraid to die. You should see them fight. It's a glorious thing. They fling themselves into danger without a second thought. They are magnificent!"

David's messianic fervour was impressive but I wasn't completely convinced by it. I thought about the two men I'd interrogated on the river bank the day before. Magnificent wasn't the word I'd use to describe them; they were just scared idiots happy to have a tribe to belong to. Obviously there would be a hard core of men, like the one I'd killed in Hildenborough, who'd fight to the last, but I was sure that if David were taken out of the equation then the majority of Blood Hunters would fall apart. I hoped so, anyway. My whole plan relied upon it.

"You're… you're right," I said, trying not to overplay it. "I know we don't stand a chance. I was bluffing. There's no way we can fight you, not like this."

"Don't believe a word he says, David," said a familiar voice behind me. "He's got a plan, all right."

I turned to face the new arrival. The guys I'd interrogated at the pillbox had told me Mac was here, so I'd expected to come face to face with him again. But nothing could have prepared me for how he looked. I recoiled involuntarily at the sight of him.

His hair was all burnt away, his bald head blackened and scarred. The left side of his face was also a mass of scar tissue, and it sagged downwards, indicating that he had no muscle control there. The left side of his lips had been burnt away too, leaving half his teeth exposed and giving him a permanent sneer of loathing and contempt. His left ear was a ragged tatter and his left eye socket gaped, black and empty. His left arm ended abruptly just above what used to be his elbow, but the right hand held a machine gun with measured confidence. He looked like some kind of zombie.

But it wasn't the sight of Mac that froze my blood and stopped my heart.

Because standing next to him was Matron.

And her face and hair were smeared with human blood.

"Look," I said, "It's a pretty simple plan."

"Too simple if you ask me," said Bob.

"Can your man shoot as well as you say… yes or no?" I asked.

"He's bloody brilliant," he replied.

"And does he have a problem with shooting people?"

"No," he replied darkly.

"Then I reckon it's our best shot. Um, sorry. Not intended."

"But are you sure it'll work?" asked Rowles.