'Right, so Smith told you I was selling children to Olly, and instead of shutting that scumbag down you waited 'til I'd gone to do business, seized the school, presumably to protect the kids, and then waited for me to get back. That way you leave Smith in place, which means you don't know where the kids end up yet. That about it?'
The captain rubbed his neck.
'Thought so,' I said. 'Only two problems there, Captain.
'One: I'm not trafficking children, I'm rescuing them. If you talk to the kids from the back of the truck I was driving when you arrested me – kids, by the way, who need medical attention, which is what I should be doing now rather than explaining myself to you – if you talk to them, they'll confirm what I'm saying.
Two: Olly is dead, as is one of his goons. The other two ran away and the final one is the sod with the bag over his head. I was going to interrogate him and find out where the kids end up, but if you really are the British Army and not just a bunch of roleplaying inadequates, then I'm sure your interrogation techniques will be far more effective than mine. I don't enjoy inflicting pain.'
Captain Jim was not used to people talking back to him. I could see that it was taking a lot of effort for him to stay calm. He was used to unquestioning obedience; maybe I could use that.
'If what you say is true, we'll have it sorted out in no time, Miss.'
This was not the reasonable, measured answer I wanted. And he'd called me Miss again.
'And while we're at it,' I said, 'who the sweet holy fuck do you think you are to come walking into my school at gunpoint and start tossing orders about?'
'As I've explained, Miss, we are the British Army.' He was getting testy. I wondered what would happen if I really pushed him.
'My big fat arse you are.'
'I can assure you…'
'If you're the army then where were you after The Cull burnt itself out? Where were you when martial law fell to pieces? Where were you when the rape gangs and cannibals and the England-for-the-English death squads started running things? Where were you when I had to lead an army of children into battle, for fuck's sake? We could've used you! What, were you too busy putting 'assets' in place to actually fucking help? And how many of you are there, eh? Seriously, are there even enough of you to be an army? Even if you are all soldiers you're just another militia now. And as for that Royal Decree bollocks, Christ, don't make me laugh. That bunch of parasites bled out and died just like everyone else. Who's left? Fergie? Is that it? Are you Fergie's Forces? God help us. Or is it Harry? He likes a good uniform, that one; just make sure it's not got a swastika on it.'
I was red in the face, breathing hard, and I'd stood up half way through my rant, trying to assert some measure of control over the situation, impose myself on him a bit.
The captain just sat there, placid, letting me get it out of my system.
'Finished?' he asked.
I'd misjudged him. He'd been annoyed by my niggling jibes and insubordination, but a full temper tantrum just brought back his sense of superiority and condescension.
I nodded and sat back down. So much for that idea.
'Well?' I asked.
He spoke calmly and with control. If he was angry he was determined not to let me see it.
'I can assure you, Miss, that I am a member of His Majesty's Armed Forces. At present the UK has no civilian administration, but the emergency provisions laid down by the government at the start of the crisis still hold. Martial law remains in effect. However, we do not have enough troops to enforce it. Instead, we are engaged in an operation designed to restore some level of order and security.'
I waited for more information, but he said nothing else. 'Is that it?'
'I am not authorised to tell you more,' he said smugly. 'We are not in the habit of revealing top secret plans to school teachers.'
'I'm a matron, not a teacher, and if you think you're going to restore order by wearing a uniform, looking pleased with yourself and being vague at people then the best of luck to you.'
He smiled thinly and for the first time I suspected that Captain Jim could be quite ruthless if the circumstances demanded it.
'You misunderstand, Miss. I have more than a uniform.' He reached down and I heard the soft metallic click of a button being undone, then he laid a browning semi-automatic pistol on the desk in front of him. 'I have my standard issue browning sidearm.'
I was about to make some sarcastic rejoinder when he reached down and produced the handgun I'd been carrying when I was detained. He gently placed it alongside his own.
'The curious thing,' he said, 'is that you do, too. And you're no soldier. Which raises some interesting questions, don't you think?'
Before I could reply there was a sharp knock at the door and the captain barked 'Come!'
A young female soldier entered, snapped to attention and saluted.
'We found what we were looking for, Sir.'
'Thank you, Private,' replied the captain, getting to his feet and holstering his gun. 'Bring her,' he said, and left without giving me a second glance.
I felt the squaddie grip my shoulder, so I stood up and was led out of the room and into the main reception hall of the old house. The double front doors were to my right, the main staircase with its plush red carpet was to my left, and a series of doors led to rooms off the hall. Normally this space would be full of life – running kids, play fights, all sorts of wonderful commotion. Now there was just a young man in uniform with a machine gun nestled in the crook of his arm, indicating to the captain that he should walk past the staircase and into what would once have been the servant's area. I followed, receiving a sneer of contempt from him as I passed. Like I cared.
We went through a small door beside the staircase into a narrow corridor that led to the scullery, pantry and kitchen. But it turned out that our destination was the cellar. As I got to the cellar door I caught a glimpse of the courtyard through a small window. I saw all the children and staff of my school, lined up, stood to attention, being watched by three soldiers whose guns were trained on them. My first instinct was to raise hell, but I'd realised what was coming, so I bit back my anger and followed Captain Jones down the stairs into the armoury. The female squaddie remained in the corridor above.
A single naked bulb lit the cool, damp, barrel-vaulted chamber where we kept our guns and ammunition. It was not that different to the armoury back at St Mark's, out of which we'd hauled as many boxes as possible while Mac's time bomb counted down. The captain was standing by a box of SA-80 machine guns, inspecting them closely. He lifted one out, felt its heft, and assured himself it was the genuine article and not a replica or a toy. Then he scanned the room, found the ammunition, checked that too, and slammed the magazine into place. Satisfied, he shoved the muzzle hard into my abdomen and looked me in the eye.
'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
