Scott Andrews - School's Out Forever

Jane gently closed the door behind us and Dad led us to the right, towards what had looked like the assembly hall from outside. No matter how softly we trod, the squeak of our boots on the linoleum sounded like a chorus of banshees. I nervously walked backwards at the rear of the group, covering the swing doors at the far end, expecting someone to come crashing through them at any moment, guns blazing.

We crowded around the hall doors. The windows had blankets hanging over them on the inside, so we had no idea what we’d be walking into. There was a heavy metal chain padlocked through the door handles. I took the metal cutters from my backpack and got to work.

“We go in quiet,” whispered Dad as I tried in vain to cut through the thick steel quietly. “Jane, stay just inside the door and keep an eye on the corridor. Tariq and I will go right. Lee, you go straight ahead. We fan out. No shooting unless absolutely necessary — there could be children in here.”

We all nodded.

I finished cutting and threaded the broken chain off the metal handles, leaving it in a pile on the floor. Dad gently pushed the door open and we crept into the darkness, the squeaks of our boot soles echoing against the rotting wooden climbing frames that lined the far wall.

Blankets had been taped over the huge windows that Jane and I walked past as we moved into the hall, but the first light of dawn sent dim chinks of light through the moth holes and gaps to illuminate a large floor space littered with small grey mounds.

It took me a moment to realise that these were sleeping children, huddled on the cold, hardwood floor under ragged old blankets. There was no sign of any guards.

Dad waved me over to him.

“We’ve got to move quickly,” he said. “The other exit is chained from the outside too, so we’re stuck in a cul-de-sac. The second anyone walks down that corridor, we’re trapped. You head outside and unchain the fire escape, that way we’ve got choices.”

I turned on my heels and squeaked past Jane, down the corridor and back to the playground. Just as the exterior door swung closed behind me I heard a muffled shout of “Oi, who left the chain off? Jim? You there?”

I paused and considered my options, then drew my knife and crept back to the door, stepping over the cooling body of the guard Dad had killed only minutes before. I crouched down and peered through the glass panel, thick with grime and mildew. I could make out a tall woman walking down the corridor towards the hall. She was bringing a shotgun to bear, beginning to be concerned.

“Jim?” she said again, more quietly, wary and suspicious now.

I waited until she had just passed the door, stood up and grasped the handle. I’d have to be quick about this. I took a deep breath and swung the door open, stepped into the corridor and brought the knife to her throat in one fluid motion. She froze.

“To the hall, slowly,” I whispered in her ear. She walked forward without a word. I pressed in hard against her back, feeling her body — warm, tense, slim and muscled. She was as tall as me, with dirty blonde hair, and she really needed a bath.

Jane opened the hall door and ushered us inside. She took the woman’s gun away and gestured for her to sit on the floor. I could see children beginning to sit up across the hall, sleepy and confused.

“All yours,” I said, and then I headed back outside to complete my task.

The sky was bright grey as I skirted round the outside of the building to the fire escape which was, as predicted, chained from the outside. I didn’t bother being quiet this time. I chopped the chain and pulled the door open. It made an awful noise as it opened for the first time in years, but nobody came running.

By now there were children standing up, as Tariq moved quietly through the hall waking them one by one and telling them to wake their friends. There was a susurration of whispers.

The plan had been to take one captive for interrogation, rescue the kids, and try to get out of the compound without the alarm being raised. So far so good. I propped the fire escape open with a chair and ran over to Dad, who was kneeling facing the captured snatcher. Jane was still keeping watch at the door.

“I’ll only ask you one more time,” Dad said as I drew up beside him. “How many of you are there?

The woman, who I could now see was in her early twenties and had multiple piercings all over her face, clenched her jaw and stared ahead, defiantly. Dad shook his head and turned to me.

“Cuff her and bring her along,” he said briskly, then he went to help Tariq muster the kids by the fire exit. I pulled a set of genuine cuffs from my pack.

“Wrists,” I said curtly. She held out her arms and gave me a sarcastic smile. I shook my head and indicated for her to turn around. She got up on her knees, shuffled so she was facing the wall, and put her arms behind her back.

I snapped the cuffs closed and used them to drag her to her feet.

There were about twenty children gathered by the door now, each with a blanket pulled tight around their shoulders. As I marched the woman across the hall towards them I could see that the boys and girls ranged in age from toddlers right up to fourteen- or maybe fifteen-year-olds. Every one of them looked hollow cheeked and had dark rings around their eyes where hardship and lack of food had taken its toll, but their eyes all told different stories, speaking of everything from broken defeat to spirited resistance.

As I approached, one of them, a slight girl with a scowl on her face, stepped up to my dad.

“Why should we believe you?” she said primly, folding her arms and sticking out her chin. “How do we know you’re not just going to sell us yourselves?”

I could see that Dad didn’t know how to respond to this. Even though he’d spent two years as a de facto staff member at St Mark’s he still wasn’t very good at talking to children. He tended to be brusque and uncomfortable around them. He wasn’t unkind, but he didn’t really understand that kids need to be handled with more sensitivity and patience than, say, a squaddie on a parade ground. He liked kids, he just didn’t get them.

Tariq smiled and reached for the gun he had taken from the guard. He handed it to the girl, who took it warily.

“This is the safety,” he said, demonstrating. “It’s cocked and ready to fire now, so all you need to do is flick the safety off, point and shoot. But not at me, please. Okay?”

The little girl nodded at him in mute, wide-eyed astonishment.

“Good girl. I’m Tariq, by the way.”

“Jenni,” she whispered. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you!”

“If you’ve quite finished flirting, can we get a move on?” I said. Dad and I laughed as Jenni blushed bright red.

“Jane, let’s go,” said Dad.

She ran to join us and we led the children — cold, hungry, holding hands in a long chain, but quiet and co-operative — out of the hall and into the open. Tariq ran to the corner and peered around. He signalled the all clear and we moved as quickly as we could to the playground gate.

“One sound,” I whispered to my prisoner, “and I’ll slit your throat.” Even so, I was surprised she didn’t try and raise the alarm.

Dad pushed open the gate and stood watching the school for signs of pursuit as the children filed outside. When they were all out, and the gate was closed behind us, I gave a short laugh of relief.

“We’re not clear yet,” warned Jane, but I could see she was feeling it too. She smiled at me then ran down the road to get the minibus, which was parked down the side alley. It started first time and she drove quickly to the gate where we loaded the children inside.

When they were all safely stashed I leapt up into the front passenger seat with Dad and pulled the door closed. Just Guria and the other kids to collect, and we’d be on our way.