Scott Andrews - School's Out Forever

He nodded. “What exactly is the reason for the name change, Miss?” The shift from friendly reminiscence to polite officialdom almost went past me. Almost.

“Witness protection,” I replied. “They made me into a boarding school matron, would you believe. I was only supposed to be here ’til they caught up with The Spider, but I never heard anything. And then, The Cull, obviously.”

“Kept the name though.”

“Kate’s a distant memory now. It’s Jane who looks after the kids. I’m not sure Kate would have been up to this kind of thing.”

He was looking at me oddly, trying to suss out whether I was delusional or just weird.

“I know,” I said. “It just helps me if I keep them separate in my mind, lets me focus on the here and now. And it would only confuse the kids if I introduced them to Kate after everything we’ve been through. They trust Jane, they might not be so sure about Kate.”

He nodded again. “I’ve been undercover, Miss, I get it. So, Lance Corporal Barker says you’ve evacuated the school and he doesn’t know where they’ve gone. That right?”

“Yes.”

He looked at the row of bodies and his cheeriness faded. Our surprising reunion lost its novelty and the reality of his job re-asserted itself.

“It was just an awful misunderstanding,” I said.

He regarded me coolly. “I’m sure it was, Miss. But it’s not me you’ve got to convince, it’s Major General Kennet.”

More soldiers had arrived now, and Sanders set them to carrying the bodies into one of the three trucks they’d brought, expecting to have to transport all the children and staff to safety.

“What’s he like?” I asked as we walked away.

“I’ve served under worse,” he replied.

“But you’ve served under better?”

“Oh, yes.”

We reached the first truck and he took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

“I don’t want to cuff you, Miss,” he said. “So if you promise that…”

“I promise.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on her, Lieutenant,” added Barker, who was already sitting on one of the hard wooden benches that lined the metal-bottomed, canvas-topped transit vehicle.

“All right then,” said Sanders briskly. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us. A lot of the road has been cleared but not all, and there are some unswept areas on the way. We took some fire on our trip here, but nothing too serious. Of course they could be waiting for us on the return journey, but we’ll vary our route, just in case. If we do run into trouble, then Barker, your job is to look after Kate here. I spent a lot of effort keeping her alive once upon a time. I’d hate all that work to be wasted.”

“Sir,” replied Barker, resting his rifle on his lap.

“What do you mean, unswept areas?” I asked.

“I’ll let the C.O. answer that, Miss,” replied Sanders. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Sanders left and I could see him poring over a map with the three drivers, plotting a route.

“Where are you lot based, Barker?”

“Operation Motherland HQ is at Salisbury Plain,” he replied.

“Operation Motherland? What’s that?” I asked.

“Top secret,” he replied, tapping the side of his nose. “Look, I was expecting you to get some pretty rough treatment, but the Lieutenant was all pally. You got really lucky, knowing him, otherwise you’d be on the floor, in shackles with a sack over your head.”

“I know. I can’t quite believe it myself.”

“My point is that it isn’t always going to be like this. The C.O. is not a very flexible boss, if you know what I mean. Me and the Lieutenant speaking up for you might not make a lot of difference.”

And with that happy thought, the engine sputtered into life and we rumbled away.

I looked out the back of the truck at my beloved school. I’d worked so hard to build something special, to make it a safe, happy place. It was my home and the people who lived there were my family.

I wondered if I’d ever see it again. Probably not. I shed a tear as it receded into the distance. Not for myself, but for the loss of a dream. Nowadays it seemed like every good, clean thing had to end up covered in blood.

As we slowed to turn the corner at the end of the drive I saw two small figures burst from the bushes by the side of the road and leap quickly over the duckboard of the third and final truck.

I didn’t know whether to curse or smile. It seemed like I still had two psychotic guardian angels looking after me.

IN THE EIGHTEEN months since The Cull had burned itself out I’d not moved outside a twenty mile radius. With one notable exception, who was now God knew where, people just stayed put. The days of travelling long distances for work or pleasure were long gone. This was a parochial world of small, paranoid communities. Apart from some mad American religious broadcasts, which I wouldn’t allow anyone at school to watch, there was no TV, no newspapers to keep people up to date with events taking place outside their immediate circle of family, friends and neighbours. Horizons had narrowed, and life had focused on the local and familiar. So it felt weird to pass a battered metal sign at the side of the road which read ‘You are now leaving Kent’.

It might as well have said ‘Here Be Monsters!’

We moved down quiet country roads, deserted for the most part, until we came to the A272. Barker told me this had been cleared about a month ago, which was why the soldiers had only just shown up at my school. Their sphere of influence was expanding along reclaimed A-roads and motorways. But this road still ran through large unswept areas, which I took to mean places not yet brought under military control. This, it turned out, was not entirely correct.

The A272 had once been a nice wide road, but now there was only a narrow path through the thousands of abandoned vehicles. Londoners had fled the capital as The Cull took hold, hoping to hide away in the country until things calmed down. Soon all the main roads and motorways were gridlocked. Of course many of those fleeing were already infected, and they began dying in their cars. It soon became clear that the traffic was never going to move again, so those still alive just got out of their cars, vans and trucks, and walked away.

The path through the debris, which Barker told me had been cleared by huge diggers salvaged from a quarry, was wide enough that we could get up to a reasonable speed, but with so much raw material available for use as obstacles, the risk of ambush was great.

We travelled this graveyard highway for about an hour until we pulled off the road and into a small market town, empty and forgotten, slowly decaying. The convoy stopped in the middle of the narrow high street, littered with abandoned cars, and Sanders gathered everyone together at the bonnet of the lead truck.

“Change of orders,” he told us. “Since we’ve got more room than expected, the Colonel wants us to recce a site near here and sweep it if possible.”

Barker sighed softly and shook his head, but when I tried to ask him why he just rolled his eyes.

“The site is half a mile south-east of here,” continued Sanders. “I’m going to take Patel here and we’ll scout around. The rest of you stay here and stay alert. If we’re not back by oh-two-hundred hours, I want you to radio for support and then come looking for us.”

“Sir, isn’t this Midhurst?” asked one of the squaddies.

Sanders nodded.

“But we swept here. Remember, the gang war we sorted out? Bossy bloke with red hair running things.”

“I remember,” said Sanders. “But this new site was top secret, apparently. All hush hush. HQ have only just identified it. We went right past it last time.”

The squaddie shook his head. “That’s not my point, Sir. This town’s inhabited and we made it safe. So where is everyone?”