the school. He looked at the gun on the table, within easy reach, but I knew he'd never make a grab for it.
So it was down to me.
But the soldier was on the opposite side of the table.
I started to massage the captain's chest, pushing down rhythmically, one two three, making it look good. I considered the young man in the uniform. He couldn't be more than twenty, so he'd probably only just joined the army when The Cull hit. His manner didn't exactly scream high intellect. He was an uneducated, inexperienced, scared young man. Just the kind of person my school was intended to help. But he had a gun, a twitchy trigger finger and he was threatening my children. I didn't think I could talk him down or overpower him. Which didn't leave me many options.
'We need to shock him,' I gasped.
'With what?'
'I dunno, Sherlock. Improvise!'
'But there's no fucking power, is there!' He looked around the room, frantic.
I pointed at a large battery-powered torch on the sideboard. 'Get that,' I said.
He reached over and got it. If only it had been a little further away I'd have made a grab for the gun, but there wasn't time.
'Now smash the bulb,' I instructed, 'switch it on and when I say so, shove it into his chest.'
'But it'll cut him.'
'For fuck's sake,' I yelled, 'do you want him to die or not?'
'Okay, okay.'
He cracked the glass on the table side and stood there, poised, with the torch in his hands, ready to save his captain's life.
'No,' I said, leaning across the table and moving his hands so that the torch was over the captains's left breast. 'There.'
He nodded as I leant back over to my side of the table.
It took him a second to realise that I'd stopped working on the captain. Another half a second to notice the sticky wetness at his throat. Then he saw the scalpel in my hand.
'Torches don't work like that,' I said softly. 'I'm sorry.'
'But…'
'You left me no choice.'
He stepped back and dropped the torch to the floor.
'But…'
'He's already dead, I'm afraid.'
The young soldier reached up to his throat and his hands came away covered in blood.
'Benefits of medical training,' I said sadly. 'It only takes the tiniest cut in the right place.'
He looked confused and upset, as if I'd said something that had really hurt his feelings. His face crumpled.
'I couldn't let you hurt my children,' I explained.
His legs gave way and he crashed to the floor.
I walked around the table, knelt down, lifted his head and cradled it in my lap, stroking his hair.
'It's all right,' I said. 'Everything's ok now. Don't be afraid. You're fine.'
'Really?' He sounded hopeful and relieved. 'That's good.'
His eyes glazed over, he wheezed, and he was gone.
There I was in my surgery, the place where I was supposed to mend broken people, with blood on my hands for all the wrong reasons.
And I wasn't finished yet.
I stepped into the courtyard with my hands in my pockets.
It sits on the west, with the house on one side, stables on another, mews buildings on the third, and a wall with large wooden gates on the fourth. The floor was cobbled and muddy. In the centre of the courtyard stood all the children and staff of my school, lined up and standing to attention with their hands on their heads, watched over by two soldiers who kept their machine guns trained on them at all times.
There was Mrs Atkins, the dinner lady. With her florid face, ample bosom and floury apron she looked like a character from a Carry On film, but she was cunning and determined when she needed to be. The boys adored her unconditionally.
Beside her stood her husband Justin, a tall, stick-thin man with thick grey hair and a hawk-like nose. Quiet and soft spoken, I didn't know much about him except that he used to be a customer service manager for BT, had lost a wife and two children in The Cull, and he made Mrs Atkins' hair curl (her words).
Then there was Caroline, Rowles' partner in crime. I'd never seen them hold hands or kiss, so I wasn't sure if they were what you'd call boyfriend and girlfriend, but they were inseparable and she was almost as scary as he was. Almost.
There were also twenty-one surviving boys from the original St Mark's, fifteen girls who'd joined me when I'd been hiding from MacKillick, the strays we'd rescued that morning, plus three teaching staff who'd joined us from the nearby community of Hildenborough.
These were my people, my responsibility, my family. I'd killed to protect them before and I'd do it again.
The two soldiers guarding them were young – a man about the same age as the one lying dead on the surgery floor, and an older woman, about twenty-five. I'd describe them, but in their uniforms and helmets, in that gloomy brick-lined square, I'm ashamed to say that nothing leapt out at me. They were just soldiers, that's all.
Maybe I deliberately didn't look too closely.
Mrs Atkins smiled at me as I entered, but her smile quickly faded when she saw how much blood had soaked into my clothes.
The female soldier saw me then and brought her gun to bear. She was to my left, about eight or nine metres away, at eleven o'clock. Her male colleague was hidden behind the hostages but I knew he was to my right at about one o'clock, in the far corner.
'Don't move,' yelled the woman.
I stopped moving.
'Where's Rich?' she asked.
'Do you mean the young man who took charge?'
'Where is he?'
'Dead. Your C.O. too. Sorry.' I meant the apology, but I can see how that wouldn't have mattered to her.
'Why you…' She took one step forward. There was a sharp echoing crack and one of the cobbles at her feet splintered into flying shards. She froze.
Nice shot, Rowles.
There was another shot and I heard a cry of 'Fuck!' from the other soldier. Green making his presence felt – under the circumstances he'd agreed to use the gun, but had sworn he wouldn't shoot anybody. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.
'Do I have your attention?' I asked.
The woman nodded.
'Yeah,' came the nervous reply from one o'clock.
'Would everybody except the soldiers please sit down.'
Silently, all the children and adults sank to the floor. Not much protection if bullets started flying, but it was something. I could see both soldiers clearly now, above everyone's heads. Time for my big speech.
'I woke up this morning feeling nervous,' I began. 'I planned to take two of these children into a hostile, dangerous situation and put their lives at risk. Mine too. I had a plan and I was determined that no-one would get killed. But I should know by now that plans rarely work. As soon as you start waving guns around somebody dies. Somebody always dies.
'But I thought I was doing the right thing. There were children who needed rescuing from bad people, and I decided it was my job to do that. You might think that was arrogant and reckless of me, but no-one else was going to rescue them. Not the police, not the army.
