He looked like he was about to shit himself.
'It… it… it wasn't my idea. It was Mac… he made us… he had a gun and everything.'
'Don't. Care.'
'I had to! I didn't enjoy it. Honest. I didn't enjoy it all. Really.'
'Not an excuse.'
'What… what are you going to do to me?'
'Haven't decided yet. I reckon it's a choice between shooting you in the back of the head or crucifying you. Do you have a preference?'
His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, snivelling and moaning.
I knelt down beside him and whispered in his ear.
'I'm inclined to crucify you myself, but it's time-consuming and a bit of a drag. Probably easier to just shoot you. What do you think?'
'I'm sorry, all right?' he cried. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry!'
I yelled into his ear as loud as I could: 'I don't care!'
He cowered against the wall.
'Choose!'
'Oh God.'
'Choose!'
'Please, no, I'm sorry, please.' He buried his face in his hands and curled up into a foetal ball, wracked with sobs.
'Fine,' I said. 'A bullet it is.'
I grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. He made a half-hearted attempt to resist, so I kneed him in the balls. Then I herded him down the corridor and out the front door. He could barely walk for pain and terror.
I kicked him down the steps and he sprawled in the gravel, clawing for purchase. He tried to get up, but the best he could manage was to crawl away on all fours. I sauntered after him. When he reached the grass I planted a foot in the small of his back and he collapsed onto the turf.
'Kneel,' I said.
He let out a cry of anguish and scratched at the dirt.
'Kneel!'
I bent down and grabbed him, pulling him up until he was kneeling in front of me. The second I let go he toppled sideways. I kicked him in the ribs as hard as I could.
'Kneel, you pathetic little shit.'
I pulled him up again and this time he stayed in position. He shuddered and shook, gasped and wept.
'This is pretty much the spot where you executed that helpless, unarmed man, isn't it? Kind of fitting you should die here too.'
He started to beg.
'Please, oh, God please don't. Please don't.'
'Is that what she said, huh? Is that what Matron said?'
I pressed the hot muzzle of the gun against the nape of his neck. He screamed.
'Is it?'
I let him sweat for a good minute or two before I pulled the trigger.
After all, he didn't know I'd used all my bullets.
'Was that necessary?' asked Norton, as we watched Wylie limp out of the school gates. I gestured to the faces pressed against the windows of the school behind us.
'Yes.'
I looked at the faces of the boys before me. They looked so tired. They hadn't slept all night and they'd marched three miles expecting to go into battle. In the end they'd only been shot at from a distance before being threatened by a bunch of fear-crazed adults, but it must have been terrifying for them, especially the little ones.
It wasn't just the events of the past twenty-four hours, though. These were boys whose lives had been calm and orderly before The Cull. They'd lived every day according to a rigid timetable set down for them by distant, unapproachable grown-ups. They'd played games and sat in lessons, pretended to be soldiers on Fridays and occasional weekends. They'd eaten set meals at set times and known months in advance exactly what they'd be doing at any given day and time.
Of course there had been bullies, beatings and detentions, but unless Mac was the bully in question it never went too far. And Matron had always been there to give them a hug and put a plaster on whatever cut or bruise they'd received.
But for the past few months things had been very different. They'd seen their parents die and had run back to the one refuge they could think of. They'd hoped to find safety in the familiar routine of St Mark's. Instead they'd killed men in combat, seen their teachers and friends die before them, been bullied and abused, subject to the whims of a gang of armed thugs who'd ordered them about day and night. They'd been trained for war and had learnt to live with the expectation of their own imminent deaths.
I was looking at an entire room of young boys with post-traumatic stress disorder. And I was supposed to lead them.
I didn't have a clue where to begin.
'Mac's dead,' I told them. I had expected some response; a few cheers, perhaps. But all I could see were dead eyes and dull faces.
'As his second-in-command I'm in charge and things are going to be different around here. Right now I want you all to get some sleep. Leave your guns at the door and go to bed. There'll be cold food available in the dining room for anyone who wants it, but your time is your own until tomorrow morning. Just… relax, yeah?'
I waited for them to leave, but they just sat there. I looked at Norton, confused.
'Dismissed,' he said.
'Sorry. Dismissed.'
As the boys got up I added: 'Oh, and no more army kit, all right? You can wear your own clothes from now on. We'll collect the uniforms tomorrow and they can go back in the stores.'
The boys shuffled out in silence.
When they'd gone I was left alone with Norton, Mrs Atkins and the remaining officers: Wolf-Barry, Pugh, Speight, Patel and Green.
'Gather round everyone,' I said.
They all came and took chairs at the front. I sat down too.
'You all saw what happened to Wylie earlier, yes?'
The officers nodded.
'Good. You were meant to. Mac would have shot him, but I let him go. That's the difference between me and Mac; I'm not so keen on killing. But I want to make it perfectly clear to you that I will see you dead and buried if you disobey a direct order from me. Understood?'
The boys mumbled and nodded.
'In which case I want you all to pile your guns in the corner and sit back down.'
They did so.
'Good. Rowles!'
The door opened and Rowles entered, holding a rifle. The officers flashed me confused glances.
'What's going on?' asked Wolf-Barry, suddenly nervous.
'You're leaving,' I said. 'All of you. Right now.'
'You what?' said Patel.
'I said you are leaving. Now. Out the gate and don't look back. I don't ever want to see any of your faces on these grounds again. Ever. 'Cause if I or any of the other boys see you inside these walls again we will shoot to kill without hesitation. Understand? And count yourselves lucky. I've fantasised about killing each and every one of you in all sorts of creative ways. But there's been enough death for one day, I don't think I could stomach any more.'
