we'll make you better first. While there's life there's hope, isn't that what they say?'
'I've got a better idea. We want to convert. We want you to make us safe.'
'Sorry. No initiations today.'
'They've got a bomb,' yelled Mac. I punched him in the face as hard as I could. I felt the cartilage in his nose shatter. Felt good.
'One more word and I'll finish you now,' I hissed.
'Like you've got the guts,' he replied, and spat in my face.
So I took my Browning and I smashed him over the back of the head, knocking him out.
'Everything all right in there?'
'Fine. We're just, um, conferring.'
I gathered up the strings we had taken from the window blinds and backed towards the open windows, where Norton and Cheshire were already waiting.
'Ready?'
They nodded.
'All right, we agree. Come and get us,' I shouted. Then we all three turned and leapt out through the windows.
The gunmen on the tower opened fire. As I fell I took the string with me. I felt a slight resistance at the other end and then it came free and sailed out the window after me, with the pins of all our remaining grenades attached to it.
We hit the bloodied water before any of the bullets could find their mark, and the room above us exploded while we were still submerged. Stone, glass, wood and furniture crashed into the water all around us as we swam for safety.
The fire, smoke and confusion that reigned in the building behind us masked our clumsy emergence from the water, using the rubble from the exploded bridge as a ramp. We made it to the tree-line safely. The other boys and the Hildenborough captives were long gone. I stood in the shadow of the trees and watched the conflagration take hold of the fragile wooden house.
Mac was in there. The explosion had probably killed him, and if he'd miraculously survived the blast then his wounds would probably finish him off. Either way, he was gone for good. Everything had gone according to plan. I'd gained his trust, lulled him into a false sense of security, and betrayed him. I was a traitor, pure and simple. I hated myself for it. Mac had been right, I was a coward. I'd opposed him because I'd never accepted that the ends justified the means, and yet look at what I'd done. In order to get rid of Mac I'd betrayed every principle I'd ever held dear. I'd lied and cheated, betrayed trust and committed murder.
But the school was free of him now, and with the Blood Hunters burning in front of me, and Hildenborough ravaged and leaderless, there was no-one around to threaten us. At least for a while.
The means had been despicable, but the end had been achieved. Still, I wondered whether I hadn't failed in one crucial thing: preventing myself from becoming the thing I hated. After everything I'd done I couldn't help but feel that I was that little bit more like Mac than I'd ever wanted to be. I didn't know how I was ever going to come to terms with any of this.
I'd killed two people today and seen many more die. As I watched the fire I prayed that this was the last I would see of killing.
Should've known better, really.
LESSON THREE: How To Be A Leader
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
'Wasn't my fault. They were bigger than we were.'
Wylie was making excuses, but his heart wasn't in it. Like all the best bullies he was a coward at heart. It turns out the boys hadn't blown the bridges to get rid of Mac and me. The adults from Hildenborough, scared out of their wits, some of them armed (by us), had demanded that the boys blow the bridges immediately. Wylie, who'd been in charge of that part of the operation, had agreed.
I was wet through, cold, tired and very, very pissed off.
'You left us to die,' I said, through gritted teeth.
'You look fine to me.' Cocky little shit.
I raised the Browning and pointed it at his face. He hadn't expected that.
'Give me your gun,' I said.
'You what?'
I twitched the gun sideways an inch and fired a shot past his right ear. He jumped, yelled and backed away.
'What the fuck are you doing, man?'
'I won't ask again.'
He threw the rifle at me. I let it fall to the floor.
'Here, have it you fucking psycho.' His shout was half whine, like a spoiled brat being told to give back the car keys.
I didn't lower my gun.
'How old are you, Wylie?'
He glanced left and right looking for support or a way of escape. I had him cornered.
'Seventeen. Why?' he said. Half petulance, half defiance.
'And how many men have you killed?'
His eyes widened as he felt a jolt of genuine fear.
'Just the one.'
'One kneeling man with his hands tied. What, you didn't off a few more when the Hildenborough men attacked?'
'My… my gun jammed.'
I laughed.
'Not what I heard.'
Rowles had found him cowering in the art room. He hadn't told anyone but me because he was too afraid of what Wylie would do to him if he blabbed.
'Fuck you! I'm a sixth-former! And a prefect!' He was starting to cry.
'That's right. And I'm only fifteen. But I've killed four people, two of them this morning. So who do you think is the scariest person in this room?'
He sniffled.
I chambered another round.
'Who do you think is the scariest person in this room?'
I fired a shot past his left ear.
'You. You are, all right. You.' His lower lip was trembling.
I nodded.
'Right again. I am. I am the scariest person in this room.'
I was having fun. I'd have been worried by that if I'd stopped to think about it. But I didn't. I was enjoying myself too much.
'You're a bully, Wylie. And a coward. I don't like cowards much. But I hate bullies.'
His nose started to run.
'But do you know what I hate even more than bullies, Wylie? Do you?'
He shook his head. Mingled snot and tears dripped off his wobbling chin.
I walked right up to him and pressed the gun against his temple. He let out a low moan of fear.
'The one thing I hate more than bullies,' I said. 'Is anyone who was in the room when Matron was raped.'
