Scott Andrews - School_s Out

The crack of David's head on the wood jolted the guards out of their shock and they ran at Mac, machetes raised. He gunned them down. While they were still falling, he turned to the screaming crowd and fired over their heads. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled. Silence fell. "I'm in charge now, right? You!" He pointed at one of the Blood Hunters in the wings. "Cut him down." The Blood Hunter didn't move. Mac waved the gun at him. "Now!" Still he didn't move. Mac paused, seemingly unsure what to do in the face of this refusal to comply.

It was as if his head suddenly cleared and he realised the position his unthinking rage had placed him in. He'd just killed the religious leader of a group of insane cannibals, all of whom were armed. And they were all looking at him.

"Nice one, Mac," I said. "Good move."

There was a collective roar, a guttural explosion of fury from every Blood Hunter in the hall. Then they rushed him. They could have shot him, but I guess there was something about wanting to inflict the pain personally, needing to feel the kicks and punches landing. Some of them even threw their guns aside as they ran. Like a tide, the cultists swept left and right to the stairs and streamed up them onto the stage. I was ignored, forgotten. Mac fired, mowing some of them down as they approached, but it was no use. They fell upon him and he screamed as he vanished beneath a flurry of fists.

Two things happened at once. The boys and men who'd been held prisoner ran forward and grabbed all the discarded weapons they could; and an army of girls appeared on the balcony above us.

Matron stood directly opposite and above me on the balcony, machine gun pointed down. To her left and right, flanking the room on all three sides, were fifteen young girls, all similarly armed.

I saw Rowles look up in astonishment. Then he looked at the stage and he smiled broadly.

"Fire!" he yelled.

All the girls opened up at once, pouring fire down into the throng of Blood Hunters. Those boys and men who'd grabbed discarded guns did the same.

The Blood Hunters didn't stand a chance. It was a massacre. Some of them realised what had happened and tried to bring their weapons to bear, but the onslaught was too fierce, the fire too concentrated. The gunfire seemed to go on forever, a cacophony of stuttering weapons with a staccato accompaniment of spent cartridges hitting the floor. The noise reached a crescendo and then gradually died away as magazine after magazine clicked empty and the guns fell silent. As the smoke rose, and the smell of cordite swamped everything, silence fell.

The stage was piled head-high with twitching, bleeding Blood Hunters; dead, dying and wounded. And me, upside down, swinging gently above the slaughter, splashed with blood and gore, laughing hysterically.

Matron was appalled at what had occurred, but she took control with assured, businesslike calm. She sorted out the youngest children, both boys and girls, and sent them outside to collect weapons from the battlefield. The men and older boys set to work pulling the Blood Hunters off the stage and sorting them into three piles: dead, mortally wounded, and those who could perhaps be saved. Matron co-ordinated the triage.

There was a brief argument between Rowles and Matron, with Rowles arguing that they should all be shot in the head. Matron wouldn't hear of it. Rowles surprised me by accepting her authority.

After I was cut down I sat at the far end of the hall and nursed my wounds, unable to believe that I was still alive. After a while Matron came and sat next to me, resting her hand on my knee.

"You all right?" she asked. I didn't need to answer that. "No, of course you're not. Sorry. Stupid question."

I smiled to indicate I didn't mind and she grimaced. "Ouch," she said, as she leant forward, took hold of my jaw and opened my mouth to reveal my missing front tooth. It had snapped in two, leaving a jagged, serrated edge that I couldn't stop probing with my tongue. "That must really hurt."

"Not yet," I lisped. "Your drugs are still taking the edge off. But I wouldn't mind another hit before you pull the root out."

"No problem. Hold still." She took hold of my re-broken nose and wrenched it into place again, making me yell. "You need a splint on that. I'm not sure it'll set quite right, though."

"Great," I laughed. "I'm a limping, lisping, gap-toothed scarface with a broken nose. What a catch."

She placed her hand on my cheek. "Oh, I don't know." She flashed me a cheeky, girlish grin that made me feel all sorts of interesting things. I actually blushed.

"Are all the girls okay?" I asked, changing the subject.

She nodded. "David kept his side of the bargain. They didn't touch them. Which isn't to say they enjoyed being locked in a caravan for so long." She surveyed the makeshift morgue in front of her. "I was hoping they wouldn't have to open fire; that just the threat would be enough to get the Blood Hunters to disarm. It seems that these days everyone has to end up killing somebody."

I looked at her and suddenly I realised where we'd gone wrong, all those months ago.

"It should have been you," I said to her.

"Sorry?"

"In charge. It should have been you, not Bates."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed.

"Think about it. Every time things went wrong you were the one who did the right thing. You stood up to that woman on the drive; you stood up to Bates and Mac when Hammond was killed. While I was making plots, pretending to be something I wasn't, you were always the honest one. Of all the lessons Mac was trying to teach me about leadership, that's the one he never understood: you can only be a proper leader if you're willing to stand up for what you believe in and be counted when it matters. I never was. You always were. It should have been you, Jane. Not Bates, not Mac, not me. You. Maybe then none of this would have happened."

"Oh fuck off, Nine Lives" said a voice from the stage. There was Mac, fished out from the very bottom of the pile of bodies. He was covered in cuts and bruises, but not a single bullet had made its way through the crowd to him, curled up on the floor at the epicentre of the lynch mob. "The last thing we need right now is a fucking moral, yeah? Spare us, please."

Two of the boys who'd been sorting through the bodies stood beside him, keeping him covered. I stood up and walked towards him across the hall floor, skirting the wounded and dying.

"What does it take to kill you, eh?" I said, incredulous. "I mean, I shot you, I blew you up, you just got beaten and shot at. What does it fucking take to get rid of you?"

"Back at you, Nine Lives," he replied, with a sneer.

I reached the stage and leant on it, resting my arms on the footlights and looking up at him. I sniffed and shook my head. I didn't understand it, but I was almost glad to see him. "Shooting David wasn't the cleverest thing you've ever done, was it?"

He shrugged, then he limped over to the front of the stage and sat down, dangling his legs over the side next to me.

"Fair point." He chuckled. "Snatched defeat out of the jaws of victory there, didn't I?"

"Kind of, yeah. You do realise you're insane. Really, genuinely psychopathic."

"Probably," he replied. He paused and then said: "I blame society."

I couldn't help it; that made me laugh. After a second he joined in and before I knew it we were holding our sides, tears streaming down our faces, in the grips of the most terrible giggles. When they subsided I reached down and picked up a discarded Browning. I checked it was loaded and chambered a round.

"Still," I said. "I'm going to have to kill you now, Sean. I hope you understand that."

He looked at me and nodded.

"It's what I'd do," he said evenly.

"I just want you to know, it's completely personal. I really hate your guts and I want you to die."