Scott Andrews - School's Out Forever

“I’m authorised to shoot looters,” he said quietly. “In fact my C.O. positively encourages it. But lucky for you I like to get my facts straight before I start shooting. So I’m going to give you one chance to explain to me how a young nurse and a house full of children happen to be in possession of enough army property to wage a small war. And you’d better make it good, Miss Crowther, because the serial number on that box tells me that this ordnance came from a Territorial installation about ten miles from here, and the men who were guarding it were found tied up and murdered last month. As you can imagine, we take a dim view of people who kill our colleagues.”

I took a deep breath and maintained eye contact. Such pretty blue eyes, but they were hard and cold. I didn’t doubt he’d shoot me if I said the wrong thing.

“I thought,” I said, “that you were here to stop me trafficking children?”

“I am. And I’ll do as you ask — talk to the children from the truck, interrogate your prisoner, check on Olly and see if he’s as dead as you say. It’s easy to check a few facts and find out if you’re lying. But this,” he gestured to the crates, “is another matter. And I’m still waiting.”

There was nothing to do but tell the truth.

“I took control of this school a few months ago,” I explained. “Before that it was briefly run by a man called Sean MacKillick — a ruthless, violent psychopath. He was setting himself up as some kind of tribal leader until he was betrayed and killed by the children he was attempting to lead. Then I stepped in and took his place. These children were — are — horribly traumatised. I’m trying to look after them and keep them safe. It was MacKillick who raided your base, killed those men and took the guns. I just sort of inherited them.”

His eyes were sharp and calculating as he considered what I’d just said. I stood there underneath the light bulb, with my back to the staircase, waiting for his decision, knowing that I might only find out what it was when a bullet hit my spine.

Looking back at that moment, I think he believed me. I fancy that I saw the change in his eyes, the instant he chose trust over fear. But I may be wrong. I’ll never know. Because at that precise moment the young woman soldier from upstairs was thrown down the cellar stairs. I looked down and to my left and saw her eyes blink once in surprise before she died. Her throat had been slit and there was arterial blood still pumping from the gash.

“Drop the gun,” said a familiar voice behind me.

Oh no.

Captain Jim still had the machine gun jammed into my stomach but he was looking over my shoulder at the boy coming down the stairs. Then he looked back to me and held my gaze. I suppose that’s one of the things about soldiers — they’re trained to stay cool even when awful things happen out of the blue. I could see the captain calculating the odds, weighing his chances, not sparing a second thought for the poor dead girl lying next to me on the floor.

“I said drop it,” barked Rowles as he came down the stairs. I couldn’t see him, but I presumed he had a gun aimed at the captain’s head.

I needed to try and defuse this situation.

“I thought you were walking back, Rowles,” I said, maintaining eye contact with the captain, telling him with my eyes that he shouldn’t do anything hasty.

“They had horses. I nicked one. Who are these bastards?” asked the boy.

“They say they’re the British Army.”

“Ha. And who are they really? More traffickers? Militia? What?”

“Thing is Rowles, I think they might be telling the truth. I think they may actually be the army.”

The captain inclined his head slightly, acknowledging what I was doing, giving me leave to continue

“So why have they got everyone lined up outside like they’re about to start shooting?” asked Rowles.

“He’s got a point, you know,” I said to the captain. “You go around kidnapping people at gunpoint with no explanation, they’re going to assume you’re just another bunch of thugs. They’re not going to think ‘hang on, maybe they’re here to help, maybe they’re lining us up against a wall for our own good’. They’re going to think ‘oh look, another shower of bastards with big guns’, and they’re going to start a fight. You can’t blame them for that. After a year of fighting for our lives against all sorts of gun toting, uniform wearing bully boys, why would anyone give you the benefit of the doubt if this is the way you do business?”

Don’t do anything stupid, Captain, please don’t shoot the boy.

He considered what I’d said, his gun muzzle still nestled in my tummy, Rowles’ gun still pointing at his head.

“We’re the army, Miss,” he said. “We don’t have to explain ourselves.”

“And that’s the kind of arrogant bullshit that gets people killed,” I replied angrily. “Of course you have to explain yourselves. Anyone can get army guns and uniforms these days, they’re just lying there. The point of the army is to be better than that. You’re supposed to protect us from the thugs, not act like them. That girl on the floor, what was her name?”

“Julie, Julie Noble.”

“Well Julie Noble would still be alive if you’d just knocked on the door and introduced yourselves instead of waving guns around and lining up children like cattle.”

“These days people have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later,” he said. “We’ve lost a lot of good soldiers trying your approach. It’s proven more efficient to seize control and then explain later. Saves lives.”

“Army lives. But how many innocent people have been killed resisting you before they knew what was going on?”

He shrugged. “A few.”

“Even one is too many. Your job is to risk your lives to keep them safe, but you’re risking their lives to keep yourselves safe. And if you do that you lose what little authority that uniform gives you. The boy behind me is eleven. Look what this world has driven him to. Look what you’re driving him to. Someone is going to die here in a moment — you, me or an eleven-year-old boy — if you don’t start acting like a proper soldier. And I’d really, really like it if no-one else died today. So be a dear, Jim, and put the bloody gun down.”

“Him first,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. It was hard to know who was the bigger child, the soldier or the schoolboy.

I glared at him and said: “Rowles, lower your gun please.”

“But what if he shoots you, Matron?”

“He won’t.”

“I can take him, Matron. Just say the word.”

A momentary flash of disbelief crossed the captain’s face.

“Oh, he’s not lying, Captain,” I said.

“Listen, son,” said the soldier.

“No no no!” I interrupted, frantically signalling him to stop. “Don’t do that. Don’t.”

There was a long pause and then Rowles said: “I don’t like people in uniforms telling me what to do.” The emotionless calm in his voice told the captain everything he needed to know about Rowles’ state of mind and why it would be a really bad idea to patronise him.

“Rowles,” I said firmly. “you’ve never disobeyed a direct order from me, or moaned once if you don’t like an order I’ve given. As long as I let you say your piece before I make up my mind you let me make the call. Right?”

“You listen and you’re fair. I trust you.”

“Trust me now and put down the gun. That’s an order.”

After a moment’s hesitation I heard the sound of his gun being uncocked. That was half the battle. Now which way would the captain jump?

“He’s eleven years old,” I said quietly. “You’ve invaded his home and kidnapped his friends at gunpoint. He’s done nothing wrong, nothing you wouldn’t have done in the same situation. This is your fault, Captain. Your actions led us here. And your actions will determine whether this ends peacefully or not. I don’t think you want the blood of children on your hands, do you?”