Scott Andrews - School's Out Forever

“I missed the first year of Putting Down Rebellious Peasants.”

“Has he been having problems with the snatchers?” I ask, bringing the conversation back on topic.

John shakes his head. “They know about them, but so far they’re staying out of Hood’s territory. I’d bet money that he’s got some of his Rangers trying to track them down, but he’s hardly going to tell us details of his operations.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s about to deliver bad news.

“The second thing is that there’s been another raid. A big one.”

“Who?”

“The Steamies.”

We’re all shocked. The Kingdom of Steamies are a community that’s grown up along the length of the old Spa Valley Railway. Their philosophy, handed down by their benevolent but bonkers leader, rejects all electrical power, relying instead on steam engines. It’s like stepping back to the nineteenth century when we visit their domain, but most everywhere else is like stepping back to the fourteenth so they’re ahead on points.

“How many?” I ask.

“They hit the Steamie settlement at High Rocks. There were eleven children there. All gone. They killed most of their parents in the snatch, too.”

“That’s a hell of an escalation,” says Tariq.

John nods. “They’re getting bolder.”

“Did you track them?” asks Lee.

“Straight to the M25, same as always.”

“Double the patrols,” I say. “And enough with the rifles. Issue the machine guns. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Done,” replies Tariq, who is responsible for perimeter security.

“That all, John?” I ask.

“Yeah, although I still think…”

“We should go after them.”

“Sooner or later they’re going to find us. I’d rather find them first.”

“Duly noted.”

There’s a moment when I think he’s going to challenge me, but he shrugs and resumes his seat. He’s older than me, and far more experienced. But this is my school, and he accepts that — some days with better grace than others.

“Tariq?”

Tariq remains in his seat, I wonder whether out of laziness or some complex dynamic of male hierarchy that makes him uncomfortable taking the table his one time leader just vacated.

“I’ve been to three markets this week,” he says. “Sevenoaks, Cranbrook and Crowborough. People are paranoid and there are a lot more guns being carried openly. There was a fight at Crowborough which ended with a man being shot. It was a misunderstanding, it seems. Someone trying to return a lost child got accused of abducting them. Tensions are high. When word of the attack on the Steamies gets out, they’ll get higher. I didn’t hear of any fresh raids, though.”

“Lee?”

I know what he’s about to tell everyone, so he turns away from me as he speaks. I stare at the thick line of baldness that runs down the back of his head, betraying the presence of a surgical scar. I bear a similar mark.

“I’ve been up to Oxford for a few days. A while back we heard of a group that had secured the Bodleian and was trying to start up a university. There are about fifty of them, all ages, scholars and students. The boss is a guy called Pearce — big, musclebound, ex-Para. He’s an unlikely Dean of Studies, but from what I could tell he’s passionately devoted to what they’re doing and more than willing to kill anyone who threatens the project.”

“Forces?” asks Jack.

“A team of six; four guys, two women. Hardnosed, well armed. Polite but not welcoming. They let me stay overnight, though, and while I didn’t sound them out directly, I’d recommend making an approach.”

“Why?” asks Tariq. “They’re miles away.”

“We’re a school,” I reply. “Where else would the kids go after they finish their studies with us, but university?”

“There’s more,” says Lee. “Over dinner, one of Pearce’s men offered up some intel on the snatchers. He says they’ve been increasingly active in East Anglia, and thinks they have a staging post in Thetford.”

I rise from my chair. My stomach is full of butterflies because I know that what I am about to do puts everything I have worked to create here at risk. But I’ve mulled it over long enough. It doesn’t really matter who these bastards are or why they’re capturing children, they’re expanding their area of operations and getting bolder. Sooner or later they’re going to learn our location and pay us a visit. I don’t intend to sit here waiting for them to arrive.

John’s instincts are sound. It’s time to take direct action.

“So that’s where we’re going,” I say. “I want everyone out front this time tomorrow, full kit and arms. If these fuckers have a place of business, I think we should pay it a visit.” I fold my arms and strike a resolute pose, accidentally kicking over my cold nettle tea as I do so.

“That’s gonna stain,” says Lee with a smile.

WHEN THE MEETING’S adjourned, the inner circle all head back to their allotted tasks. Lee is working in the garden today, Jack is doing an inventory of the armoury, Tariq is teaching creative writing to a classroom full of impressionable teenage girls who hang on his every word. John teaches PE and survival skills, but has a free day. He stays in his seat until the others have left, then leans forward earnestly.

“Good move, Jane,” he says.

“But?”

“I want to set clear chain of command in the field. We’ve not gone looking for a fight in a long time and I want to be sure everybody knows how things work.”

“I’ve told you before John, in here I’m the boss. But in the field you’re in charge.”

“And you’ll have no trouble taking orders from me?” he asks, slightly dubious.

“None. You’re a soldier. I’m a… I dunno what I am. I used to be a doctor, then I was a matron. Now, I suppose I’m a headmistress. Either way, you’ve more combat experience and training than all the rest of us put together. It’s only right that you take charge when we’re in action.”

He nods, biting his lip. I can sense an unasked question.

“Do you think they’re ready?” I ask eventually.

He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he replies. “Jack’s pretty nimble on his leg. He’s not going to win any 100 metre sprints, but he’ll be fine. Tariq can still shoot straight and the claw’s a nasty weapon if needed.”

“And Lee?”

He pauses, trying to frame his reply correctly. “The limp’s almost imperceptible, his arm doesn’t have full movement, but again, it’s not a handicap. Physically, I think he’s as healed as he’s ever going to be.”

“But psychologically?”

“He worries me.”

“Still? It’s been two years since Salisbury.”

“But he won’t talk about it. Anything that happened between The Cull and Salisbury is off limits.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No,” I say firmly. “He wants to move on. I’ve told you everything I can about what happened during the year Mac was in charge, and Tariq filled you in on events at Salisbury. You know the facts. He was so angry all the time but it’s faded now. He’s calmer.”

“I think that’s got more to do with you than anything else,” says John eventually. I just smile and he doesn’t pursue the point. “Anyway, I want you to keep an especially close eye on him while we’re out there. PTSD can manifest in unexpected ways. He’s been fine here, it’s true, but this is a sheltered environment and somewhere he feels safe. I was worried when he started going on field trips, but they’ve all gone smoothly. My point is he’s not been tested. It’s just possible he may fall to pieces the first time someone takes a shot at him. Or worse, see red and fly into danger without a second thought.”