Scott Andrews - School's Out Forever

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I DIDN’T EXPECT to survive. If it had been a straight choice — kill Heathcote or die — I like to think I would have chosen death.

Thing is, I had a knife, but David was ten feet away. If I moved towards him I’d be shot down before I got halfway. The only way to kill him was to get him to come to me. And the only way to do that was to kill Heathcote and continue with the ritual. I knew, when I slit that poor boy’s throat, that his death was buying me the chance to kill David. That was the deal. I also expected to be shot in the head a second after the knife slid into the bastard’s heart. I was fine with that.

But he didn’t die. Nor did I. And so I have to live with the knowledge that I killed a friend in cold blood. The other nightmares keep me awake, but Heathcote’s hopeless pleadings whisper in my ears every waking second.

“OOPS,” SAID DAVID, grinning. Then he kneed me in the balls. I doubled over and he brought his knee up again, into my face, smashing my nose and sending me reeling backwards. I stumbled and fell to the ground. A huge cry went up from the crowd, and they fell upon me. Everything was a blur of kicks and punches, shouts and screams. Boots slammed into every inch of my body, I managed to raise my arms to try and protect my head, but it was of little use.

I heard a dreadful crack as my left arm snapped in two. I screamed in agony, and my head began to swim. It felt like I’d come adrift from the ground, weightless. I was starting to pass out.

Then the shooting started. The beating stopped almost instantly and I heard the screams of bloodlust change to cries of fear. I heard feet running left and right, the loud, insistent stutter of machine gun fire, and shouted orders from Mac and David. I lay there, unable to move. Every part of my body hurt, and my arm was agony. My head felt twice its normal size. I tried to calm my breathing. Couldn’t lie here in the open like this. Then I felt hands reaching underneath my arms and lifting me. I opened my eyes but all I could see was swirls of colour; nothing made sense. I’d taken so many blows to the head it felt like my brain was bouncing back and forth inside my skull. Whoever was helping me managed to get me upright and I took a few shuffling steps.

“Down!” Matron.

She pushed me forwards and I sprawled back onto the grass. I landed on my broken arm and passed out.

When I came round I was moving again, staggering forward with Matron holding me up. I could hear the sounds of battle but I couldn’t tell where they were coming from. Were we in the thick of the fighting or had we left it behind? Then I felt canvas on my face as we pushed through the flap into the tent. My vision started to clear slightly, and I could make out vague shapes and colours.

“Sit here,” she said as she lowered me onto a chair.

My vision and hearing continued to improve. There was a hell of a battle going on outside. Matron came running up with a medical kit.

“You’re holding your arm, is it broken?” She was breathless, and kept glancing over her shoulder at the tent door.

“Think so.”

“This is going to hurt,” she warned, and then she took hold of the arm and wiggled it a bit, trying to find the break and set the bone.

I passed out again.

When my senses returned my arm was in a sling, bound tight across my chest. I looked up and saw Matron struggling with an attacker. My vision was still blurred, and I couldn’t make out the details, but I could see she was being overpowered. I looked around for a weapon and saw the med kit case lying at my feet. I leant down and picked it up with my good right arm. I tried to stand but my legs were like jelly. I managed to rise off the chair and then I toppled sideways and crashed to the ground. Luckily I fell onto my good arm this time.

Deep breaths. Focus. Things to do.

This time I managed to get upright and I lurched towards the struggling couple. I brought the corner of the med kit case down as hard as I could on the head of the man who had his hands around Matron’s throat. He grunted and slumped to the ground. Hang on, he wasn’t a Blood Hunter. Fuck.

Matron greedily sucked in some air with a hoarse yelp.

“Thank you,” she gasped.

“We need to get out of here,” I said. “Our guys are going to think you’re the enemy, and any Blood Hunters who see you helping me will cut you down. You need to go.”

“I know. Need to find the girls. One last thing, though.”

She grabbed the med kit, opened it, pulled out a syringe and bottle. She filled the syringe and jabbed it into my good arm before I had a chance to ask what she was doing.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked.

“Home brew,” she said. “Should help you stay on your feet for a bit. Take this.” She pressed a machine gun into my good hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed me hard on the lips. “Good luck!” And she was gone, machine gun held ready, out the rear tent flap.

The spot where she’d injected me felt red hot. The heat spread out from my arm, creeping through my veins until my entire body felt like it was full of lava.

It felt fantastic!

A stream of bullets ripped through the tent fabric right in front of me, cutting a horizontal line. I dived for cover. The bullets stopped for an instant, hitting something between shooter and tent, and then continued. A body slammed into the canvas, and slid down to the grass. Then a Blood Hunter backed into the tent, firing wildly. Once inside he turned and made to run for the other exit, but he saw me. He screamed furiously and raised his gun. I was quicker. Two bullets to the chest took care of him.

The man lying beside me groaned and rubbed his head, coming around. I vaguely recognised him as one of the men from Hildenborough.

“Wake up,” I yelled at him. He looked up at me, shaking his head to clear his vision.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Will be. You?” He nodded.

We got to our feet.

“Come on then,” I said. And we ran out of the tent into the battle.

I’d never seen anything like it. It was a free for all. Everywhere I looked there were people fighting hand-to-hand; everywhere the glint of sunlight on machete blades, the smell of blood and cordite. People were being stabbed and shot, strangled and beaten. It was a mêlée and it was impossible to get a sense of who was winning. The force we had brought from Hildenborough was only forty strong, so they were hopelessly outnumbered.

I raised my gun and took a few potshots, killing two Blood Hunters outright and wounding at least one more. I was shooting one-handed, from the hip, with my other arm useless on my chest, but I was still shooting better than I’d ever done before. All my senses felt crystal clear. Whatever it was Matron had injected me with, it made me feel invincible.

The guy next to me staggered backwards as his head exploded in two, cleaved by a machete. I spun, firing, and the stream of bullets ripped into a Blood Hunter who jerked backwards and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Suddenly I was in the thick of the fighting.

People crashed into me, locked in life and death struggles. Bullets whistled past my head. One Blood Hunter came for me, machete raised. I tried to bring my gun to bear, but it was grabbed by another Blood Hunter. I wrestled for control of the weapon, saw the raised machete out of the corner of my eye and let go of the gun. The Blood Hunter who’d grabbed it fell backwards with a shout of surprise and let off a burst of bullets, which cut down the one with the blade. As he fell I grabbed the blade and whipped around, throwing it as accurately as I could. It found its mark in the chest of the man who’d shot its owner. I grabbed my gun back from the lifeless hands of the Blood Hunter and tried to get some sense of what was going on around me. I couldn’t see any boys. Where the hell was Norton?