Scott Andrews - Children's Crusade

Once they were down I radioed in and the shooting began back in Whitehall. By the time we got back it was mostly over. There were bodies everywhere. I remember flying over Trafalgar Square and seeing it thick with corpses, like a human carpet.

Sorry? No, not at all. It was necessary. I thought so then and I still think so. Needed to be done.

The problem was that the PM's power base wasn't as strong as we'd thought. There were some people in cabinet who tried to stop him giving the order to open fire. While I was busy at the BBC, these dissenters tried to stage a coup. Some of our guys, SAS bodyguards, joined in. Said they couldn't carry out an order like that.

Wimps.

It was a hell of a fight. By the time we got back the PM was already dead, killed in the initial confrontation. Despite that, his supporters were winning. The coup was botched and the rebels were executed on the spot.

But the next day something unexpected happened. Kennett turned up with a force of soldiers, and told us that we were under arrest. Following illegal orders, he said. Took some balls, I reckon, for him to stand up to us. There were eighteen of us, entrenched, all Regiment. He knew that we wouldn't just roll over, and he knew he couldn't force us to hand over our weapons. So he basically turned his back on us, threw us out of the army, said we'd all been dishonourably discharged and would not be welcome at Operation Motherland HQ.

Then he buggered off to Salisbury and left us in charge of the wreckage.

The only one who left with them was our mutual friend Sanders. One of the rioters had managed to hit him with a rock while he was on the barricades, so he'd been out of action when the order to fire was given. Lucky bastard had a get out of jail free card. I reckon he'd have opened fire like the rest of them, but later that day he swore to me that he wouldn't have.

You think so? Well, I suppose you got to know him a little better than I did.

Anyway, with the PM dead, most of the cabinet wandering around like headless chickens, and the bleeding hearts executed, I saw my chance and took control. It wasn't hard. I had the most experience of command. I acted like I was the boss and they fell into line.

But Central London was empty. Those left alive fled the centre after the massacre, and the virus was still finishing its work.

I was the ruler of a ghost town.

I didn't have grand ambitions. We fortified our position as thoroughly as we could, gathered up all the food we could find, and waited for the virus to burn itself out. That was a long winter. Quite boring, actually.

By the time spring came I'd worked out a new plan. I divided the city into quadrants and we began clearing it. Emptying the roads of cars, dragging all the bodies to mass pyres, stockpiling fuel and resources. We did that for a whole year, one street at a time. Reclaiming the heart of the city.

The Army stayed away. I knew they were collecting weapons from all around the country and building their great depot on the plain, but they didn't want to get involved in London. Kennett left it to us. Probably figured that time would only make him stronger and us weaker. He'd have been right too. I'd consolidated my position but I had no real power base because nobody would come into the centre any more. I think Kennett would probably have come for us eventually, and I'd have been toast. If it wasn't for the American.

I bet you encountered a lot of religious cults in the last few years? I expected the same thing to happen in the outskirts of London, but they all unified behind one preacher. I first heard about the American three years ago. He'd built up quite a following in West London. I found out later that he'd flown into Heathrow and started preaching at the first settlement he found. He taught people how to tune into the broadcasts.

That's right, yeah. The Miracle.

So he gathered a huge following very quickly and then one day he and a gang of his followers walked into my territory and said hello. I think his acolytes were supposed to intimidate us. They were all dressed in army surplus and carrying shotguns.

They nearly wet themselves when they realized who we were.

He didn't, though. He stayed very cool.

So I let him talk. Gave him dinner at Number 10, allowed him make his pitch. I needed allies, after all. He showed me the broadcast and I was impressed. I didn't think this Abbot guy was the new messiah but I could see how people could want to believe he was.

I wasn't convinced they were a real force, though. I mean, a bunch of religious nutters run by a Yank didn't seem like much of a threat to Operation Motherland. But then, after dinner, the yank took me down into the cellars of Number 10. There was a door down there that I'd not been able to breach. The keypad was still active, run by some distant power source, and I'd had no joy with the code.

But this guy knew it. That's when I really started paying attention. I asked him who he was, but he just smiled. To this day he's never told me, but he must have been CIA, probably based here before The Cull. He knew all sorts of crazy shit, let me tell you.

The bunker down there is pretty extensive, with lots of comms equipment. He took me to an office, which I think was the PM's retreat in the event of a major attack, and said to pick up the red phone on the desk.

I did so, and after a second's silence I heard someone saying my name.

The voice at the end of the phone said he was the President, that he was working with the Abbot, and that they had managed to restore rule of law. He wanted to know if I was the de facto PM so of course I said yes.

Long story shot, he had a proposal for me. If I would start exporting children to the US, he would send their army to back me up.

Now look at this from my position. On one hand I have a power base but no power, and the British Army knows where I am and is almost certainly getting ready to come and flush me out. On the other, I'm being offered the support of an entire army that will do as I say as long as I provide them with the resource they require. Can you think of anyone better suited to round up the kids and ship them abroad? I mean, it's kind of top of my CV, isn't it?

So I told the President about Operation Motherland. Where they were and what they were doing. I told him if he wanted my help, he would have to eliminate them first.

He put me in touch with Blythe in Iraq and the rest you know. I realised that once Kennett was out of the way, I would have to deal with Blythe, but at least initially he'd be on my side. I'd have time to work out a strategy to deal with him.

And then, hallelujah, the Yanks took out Kennett and his forces, but managed to get themselves wiped out in the process. I'm not ashamed to say I did a little jig when I heard about the nuke. Couldn't believe my fucking luck. The biggest single threat to my power base had been neutralized and there was no fall out.

Well, not for me, anyway. Ha ha.

At that point I could have told the President to go fuck himself, but the thing was I kind of enjoyed being back in the trafficking business. It gave me something to do, and it meant that my sphere of influence spread. People started to become afraid of me, to respect me and my forces. Me and the Yank still work together. He takes care of the religious stuff — brainwashing the plebs and spreading the word — while I take care of logistics and manpower.

Pretty much the entire territory inside the M25 is mine now, and soon we'll start moving outside. I actually had your school down as my first port of call. Once I've dealt with a little problem in Hammersmith tomorrow, maybe we'll take a trip there together.

What? Oh, didn't I say?

How do you think the Abbot stays alive? Blood transfusions, Kate. Daily. Fresh, young, healthy blood from universal donors.