leadership is, Lee: the willingness to send men to their deaths when necessary, the ability to kill without compunction or hesitation when you need to. Show me what you're made of.'
He stepped back, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered pistol.
The knife felt heavy as lead in my hand. I stared at Heathcote's wide, terrified eyes as he shook his head imperceptibly, in denial of what was happening. I looked around me, at a sea of blood-smeared faces, expectant and excited. And David, amused but curious at my hesitation.
'Come, come young man,' he said briskly. 'If you wish to join us you know what you must do. Bleed the cattle. Earn your salvation. Make yourself safe.'
I thought of the two men at the pillbox who I had spared. If I'd killed them and taken care of the river defences, we'd have been able to evacuate the school unseen by the forces at the gate.
I thought of the officers I had released. If I hadn't let them go then Ben Woodhams, that young woman, Russell and Jones would all still be alive.
I thought of Mac. If I'd killed him before he'd seized power then Matron would have been spared her ordeal, and countless lives would have been saved.
If I had done what was necessary, so many people need not have died.
Every time I'd spared a life I'd made things worse. Mac was right. And Heathcote was a dead man anyway.
So I stepped forward, bent over the quivering boy, leant into him, whispered 'I'm so sorry' into his ear, and slit his throat open. All the while, looking straight into Mac's face. Even half ravaged as it was, his look of triumph was unmistakeable. It was the most terrible thing I have ever seen.
He mimed applause as the crowd began shouting hallelujahs.
As I stood up I saw Matron standing in the crowd. She was crying. Her tears ran red as they streamed down her cheeks. It was only then that I realised I was crying too.
The two men held Heathcote as he writhed and kicked his way to death, collecting the blood that flowed from his throat in an ordinary breakfast bowl. When his feeble struggles finally ceased, and the bowl was brimming with fresh blood, David stepped forward, lifted the bowl and brought it to me. He raised it to my lips. My nostrils filled with the metallic tang of slaughter.
'Drink of the blood of the lamb, and be transformed to your very soul,' he said.
He didn't realise that I was transformed already.
I took two short, deep breaths, and leaned forward to take a sip.
As I did so I gripped the knife tightly, and brought it up as hard as I could into David's chest, aiming for his heart.
The blade bounced off the bullet proof vest that David was wearing beneath his jacket, and fell to the grass.
And all hell broke loose.
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 Heatcote'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.
