Scott Andrews - School_s Out

Silence fell. Everyone in the room was transfixed, waiting to see what Mac would do. If he went for this then we had a chance

I walked up to Mac, who still stood with his gun aimed at Norton. I whispered in his ear.

"All this time you've been pointing out to me the ways in which I'm a failure. The things I can't do that a leader needs to. Not forgetting the rules of challenge and succession you keep banging on about. You want to do this right, yeah? According to the rules? Then here's your chance. Follow your own logic, Mac. Fight the man I delegate to represent me. Prove you're better than the best I can field."

"And what if I delegate too? What if I ask Gareth to fight for me?" He indicated one of David's giant guards.

"Brother Sean, I think you're forgetting who's in charge here," said David, with steel in his voice. "I do the delegating, not you. I'm indulging your whim. Take care that my indulgence doesn't run out. The young man's logic is sound. I suggest you accept the challenge. Otherwise I may decide you're not the man you profess to be. I might decide you're cattle."

Mac looked rattled. But he had no option now. He'd engineered this situation, he'd have to see it through.

"Fine," he snarled as he let the gun fall from his grip, and charged.

Before Norton could react Mac took him in the midriff and barrelled forward, propelling him off the stage. They sailed through the air, crashing five feet to the floor of the main hall. Norton fell flat on his back, with all Mac's weight on top of him. There was a dreadful crack of bone as his spine hit the hard wood floor, then a hollow thump as his skull bounced. Lying on top of Norton, Mac reached his one good arm up, grabbed Norton's hair and slammed the back of his head onto the floor. Once, twice, three times. Then he leaned back, folded his arm and brought the sharp end of his elbow smashing down with all his might on Norton's throat. There was an awful soft crunch as his windpipe collapsed.

The whole fight had lasted about five seconds.

Mac rolled off and got to his feet. Norton lay there, clutching at his collapsed throat, gasping for air. The assembled Blood Hunters roared in triumph.

It's a measure of how used to this kind of thing I'd become that while everyone was watching my best friend die, I took the chance to get to Mac's discarded gun. I dived forward, landing on my broken arm, reaching for the gun with my semi-good hand. Yep, the drugs were wearing off. That hurt.

Gareth the guard stepped forward and kicked me under the chin before I could reach the weapon. I was flung backwards off the stage. I fell hard and lay on the hall floor, winded, next to Norton. We looked into each other's eyes. I could see all the fear and panic and horror in his, as they widened, dilated, and died. The crowd kept cheering.

Mac's leering zombie face appeared over mine.

"Well done," he said, shouting over the din. "One more corpse for the cause. Hope you're proud."

At that moment I finally accepted it. We were finished. We'd lost. I had no clever plan to fall back on, no trap to spring, no argument to put forward. I felt the darkest, blackest despair. I was beyond weeping or begging for mercy. There were no more sarcastic comebacks or flippant put downs. My friends were dead or captured. I was a broken wreck. Everything I'd tried to achieve had been destroyed. I'd failed my friends, my father, myself. All I had to look forward to was a creatively stage-managed death. And I was okay with that. It'd be kind of a relief.

I got my breath back and slowly rose to my feet. Mac faced me across Norton's cooling body, one mad eye gleaming with triumph. I spat in it. He just laughed.

I looked over his shoulder at the kneeling captives. Rowles' face a mask of cold fury, Green weeping, Mrs Atkins staring blankly into space. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was, but it wouldn't have meant a damn.

"Loser," said Mac, taunting me. I didn't reply.

David called for silence and the noise died away. The cult leader rose to his feet and addressed us.

"Brother Sean has brought great credit to our crusade. He led us out of our hermitage and set us on the true path. And now, brothers and sisters, he has brought us to a place of refuge and sanctuary, where the chosen can abide in peace through the Tribulation. This place, once a school, will become a beacon of hope for all the world. Children will study here under our guidance, learning of the one true faith. Here we shall train acolytes and pilgrims, preachers and reapers. The good word shall spill from this hallowed place like a flood and it shall sweep away all the cattle from our lands and make us safe. Hallelujah!"

The Blood Hunters howled their hallelujahs in response. David pointed at me. "Bring that child to me." I didn't wait to be grabbed and herded. I walked to the steps and mounted the stage again.

"No!" shouted Mac. "You promised me! You said I could do it!"

David silenced Mac with a look before turning to me.

"Young man," said David. "You were given an opportunity to join us, but you rejected it. Instead you tried to silence my holy voice. This cannot go unpunished." He gestured to the men in the wings. "Fetch rope," he said. They didn't even have to move, they just reached out and grabbed a rope that dangled from the gods. One of the guards walked out onto the stage holding the rope, which came easily, because it was only anchored to a wheeled pulley way up high. David took the rope and bent down, tying it around my feet.

He motioned to the guard, who walked back into the wings and unlaced the other end of the rope from the metal peg that secured it. Then he hauled on it, and my feet went out from under me. I crashed to the stage, face first. I felt one of my front teeth shatter. I was pulled upwards until I dangled in the air, suspended so my head was level with David's.

I could see Mac in the crowd. He looked agitated.

Slowly, meticulously, David stripped naked. Then he took a knife from one of the guards and walked centre stage. He spread his arms and addressed the crowd.

"In the fountain of life I shall be reborn," he intoned.

The Blood Hunters replied: "Make us safe."

"With the blood of the lamb I wash myself clean."

"Make us safe."

"From the source of pestilence comes our salvation."

"Make us safe."

"Life for life. Blood for blood."

"Make us safe."

He turned towards me, cradled my head and moved to kiss me.

"I'll bite your fucking lips off," I growled. He backed away.

"I thank you for your gift," he said.

Then, suddenly, the right side of his head wasn't there anymore. He reached up to feel his face, as if he were confused at what was trickling down his cheek. Someone in the crowd started to scream. David's hand came away from the gaping wound and he held the bloodied fingers up in front of his face, trying to focus on them. He emitted a bark of laughter and said: "As if by magic!" Then he collapsed in a heap.

Mac stood on the right side of the stage, smoking pistol in his hand.

"You promised!" he shouted at David's crumpled form. "You fucking promised! He's mine. I told you that and you promised."

The fallen cult leader craned his head to look at Mac. He gave a sick, gargling laugh and blood bubbled up out of his mouth. "Safe now," he gasped. And then his head fell backwards, lifeless.

While all this was going on my eye caught a flash of movement as the door to the balcony swung open. I couldn't see anybody emerge. It didn't swing shut, but it was pushed further open, as if someone else was entering. Then again and again it swung a little shut but was pushed back open. There were people crawling onto the walkway overlooking the hall, hidden from view by the waist-high wooden guard rail. Who the hell was up there?