Scott Andrews - School's Out Forever

“Says you,” he replied. He stood for a moment, considering, and then decided to give Derek a chance. “Okay then, spill.”

But Derek had got the measure of the man, and he cocked his head to one side as he regarded his would-be torturer. I saw all hope go out of his eyes and resignation and defeat set in. He’d realised what I’d long ago worked out — Mac was never going to let him get out of here alive, no matter what he said. He stared into the face of the man who he knew would soon be his murderer and found a depth of resolve that no amount of threats could break.

“Operation Motherland,” he said, “is your death, little man. It’s your big, hairy, motherfucking slaughter. It’s coming for you and you won’t even know it’s arrived until you’re dangling from a rope, kicking in the air and shitting yourself as your eyes pop out and your tongue turns black and you realise in your final moments that all you ever were was a sad, frightened child who wants his mummy. Operation Motherland is our justice and our justification and our vengeance. And that’s all you’re getting from either of us, cunt, so cut away.”

Mac stood there staring at Derek, looking sort of impressed.

“Oh, well,” he said. “It was worth a try.”

And he pulled out a handgun and shot both men in the head.

“Right then, back to Castle with the booty,” he said, and walked up the stairs past us, whistling, leaving behind the corpses of three more soldiers who’d never know how the story ended.

NOBODY SPOKE MUCH on the drive home, all of us trying to process what had happened. I would soon come to learn that the lesson the others took from the day was as simple as it was stupid: Mac is the boss, he is hard and cool and if you stick by him you’ll be fine. That day Green, Zayn, Wolf-Barry, Patel and Speight all became, to a greater or lesser degree, Mac’s devoted disciples, his power base, and everybody else’s biggest problem.

What lesson Bates took away with him I’ll never know, but it was a different man travelling back to school with us from the one who’d set out that morning. He’d appeared broken before, now he seemed to be a shadow.

When we got back to the school I was ferried up to the sanatorium with Green, and Matron swabbed and stitched and bandaged us. Green was allowed to go, he only had a flesh wound, but my injury was sufficiently severe that I was confined to a bed in the San. Matron warned me that as it healed it would hurt much more, and that if I wanted to recover fully then I must at all costs avoid splitting the stitches. I was prescribed bed rest for a week and a wheelchair for a fortnight thereafter.

It was my second day in the San when Mac came to visit.

“I tried to buy you some grapes, but they’d sold out.” He laughed at his own joke, and I cracked a grin. He pulled a chair up next to my bed.

“Listen, Lee, what you did back there — risking your life, getting shot, saving Green, capturing that bastard sniper — that was hardcore shit. I reckon you’re probably the hardest person here. Next to me, obviously. And you can really shoot.”

Flattery now?

“The rest of my lads are loyal and all that, but, y’know, they ain’t exactly Einsteins. If I’m to run this place…” and just like that he admitted he was planning to do away with Bates, “… then I need a lieutenant, a second-in-command, someone I can trust to watch my back when things get nasty. Someone with initiative. And I reckon that’s you, mate.”

Bloody hellfire. Okay, careful, think this through. Mac’s not stupid. He knows to keep his enemies closest so maybe he realises I’m a threat and just wants to keep an eye on me. At the same time, I want to keep him close too, precisely because I am a threat. Then again, if I’m his trustworthy right hand man then it should make it easier for me to keep secrets from him, subvert him and bring him down. Easier and far more dangerous.

My head hurt just trying to work out all the wheels within wheels this conversation was setting in motion. But really, I had no choice whatsoever.

“Wow, Mac, I dunno what to say. I mean, I’m only a fifth year and the others are sixth-formers. I don’t think they’d like me lording it over them.”

“Let me worry about them. They’ll do as I say.”

“Okay, well, wow. Um, yeah, I’m flattered you think I’m the man for the job and I’ll try not to let you down.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, bring it on.” Just the right mix of reticence and gung-ho. I should be on the stage.

Mac held out his hand and I shook it. I waited for the warning, the lean-in and hiss, the ‘but if you…’ It didn’t come. Maybe he was sincere. He smiled.

“That’s that then. Now all we need is for you to get better and we can really start sorting this fucking place out.”

“What you got in mind?”

“Oh you’ll see, you’ll see.”

Yeah , I thought. I’m sure I will .

AFTER BEING IN the thick of things for a few days it was odd to be cocooned in the San while the school went about turning itself into an armed camp, and Mac and his newly acquired groupies started to swagger and strut around Castle like they owned the place. Which, given that they were the only ones allowed to carry guns at all times, they did. They soon started dishing out punishments for supposed transgressions — lines, canings, laps before breakfast. It wouldn’t be long before more inventive, sadistic punishments. The bullying was beginning.

Norton visited me regularly and kept me up to date with what was going on, and I was able to pass him my handguns and ammo to be stashed somewhere safe. Through him I learned that a new armoury had been set up in the cellar of Castle, with an armed guard on duty at all times. Bates and Mac carried handguns, but the rest of the senior officers carried rifles.

“Hammond’s started giving lessons, if you can believe that,” Norton told me. “Survivalist stuff, like water purification, how to trap and skin a rabbit, firemaking, that sort of thing. It’s like being in the bloody Boy Scouts again. Oh and he’s got these DVDs of this awful old telly show about survivors after a plague and he makes us watch it and ‘discuss the issues’.” He mock yawned.

“But that’s not the best thing,” he went on. “He’s making a memorial. He won’t let any of us see it, but knowing him it’ll be some daft modern art sculpture. A ball with a hole it or something. Anyway, he’s planning a big ceremony to unveil it the day after tomorrow, so we’ll get you down in the wheelchair for that.”

“I can hardly contain my excitement,” I said.

I had told Norton all about events at the TA centre and he agreed with me that Mac was becoming a serious problem. If it had only been Mac then we might have used our guns to drive him out, or worse. But now he had a new gang of acolytes it was going to be much harder to unseat him. We would have to be cunning, bide our time, wait for the right moment, recruit other boys who would help us when the time came.

“Wylie is the biggest problem right now,” said Norton. “He’s taken a fancy to Unwin’s little sister and he’s not taking no for an answer. There’ve been a few slanging matches, but so far he’s not threatened Unwin with his gun, but I reckon it’s only a matter of time.” He paused and looked at me worriedly. “She’s 13, Lee.”

“And what’s Mac’s reaction to this?”

“Seems to think it’s funny.”

“Look, do you think you’d be comfortable carrying a gun yourself?”

Norton looked surprised. “Me? Yeah, I suppose.”