bothering them, and I did my best to resolve disputes and sort out any issues. I think I was approachable and fair. You could hear laughter in the corridors of Castle again, something I never heard when Mac was in charge. I relied on Norton and Rowles to let me know when and if I got things wrong, and they weren't shy about knocking me down a peg or two when necessary.
As my wounds healed I continued exercising my leg and found that my limp became much less marked. My cheek did scar slightly from Baker's ring, and Norton joked that it made me look like an Action Man. Within a couple of months I felt as fit and healthy as I'd ever done.
None of this stopped the nightly visitations of the dead keeping me awake, of course.
And there was still no sign of my dad.
I went three whole months without picking up a gun.
Felt good.
Couldn't last.
The Woodhams farm was about two miles south-west of the school. A collection of outbuildings and oast houses around a Georgian farmhouse, it was inhabited by ten people who'd moved down from London after The Cull. They'd found the place empty, moved in and started running the farm, which boasted a huge orchard and fields devoted to fruit production, including grapes and strawberries. Mrs Atkins met them at Hildenborough market and they'd extended an invitation for Green and the theatre group to visit their farm for the weekend. The boys would put on their show and in return they would put the boys up, feed them, and let them bring back some fruit for the rest of us. Lovely. What could possibly go wrong?
Jones was one of our new recruits. His parents were dead but he'd been living in Hildenborough ever since The Cull. He was a good pianist, so Green had recruited him for the revue, and he'd fitted in well. Green's troupe had left for the Woodhams place in a horse-drawn cart, so when Jones came staggering through the front gate after midnight the duty guards raised the alarm.
'I'd just played the opening chords of After Fallout when there was a knock on the door,' he told us. 'Ben Woodhams got up to answer it, we heard a struggle at the door and then a gang of men burst in wearing balaclavas and waving guns around. Green put up a fight and he got hurt pretty badly. I managed to slip out in the confusion and I've been running ever since. It's about two hours or so now. You need to hurry!'
Me, Norton, Jones, Rowles, Haycox and a new kid called Neate, who fancied himself a soldier boy, were dressed, armed and saddled up within ten minutes. There was no moon and we rode blind to the edge of the farm, but we could see flickering candle light around the edges of the curtains.
'There are seven boys and ten adults in there,' I said. 'Jones reckons there were four or five gunmen, that right Jones?'
He nodded.
'We've got no idea what's going on in there,' I continued. 'They might just be looting the place, they might have decided they like the look of it and want to move in, they might be doing any number of things. Our advantage is that they don't know we're coming, so we should have surprise on our side. The hostiles are dressed all in black and had balaclavas on.'
'Why?' asked Norton.
'What?'
'Why were they wearing balaclavas? Were they afraid of CCTV or what? Doesn't make sense.'
'I don't know. Probably just for effect.'
Norton didn't look convinced.
'Haycox and Neate, you cover the front door,' I said. 'I don't want you to shoot any of the hostiles unless necessary. If they make a run for it let them go. But if they try to leave with hostages I want you to fire off some warning shots and force them back indoors. We need to try and contain them.
'The rest of you are coming with me. Everyone was in the living room when they were attacked, and that's at the front of the house so we're going in the kitchen door at the back. We go in quietly and cleanly, and we keep an eye out for sentries. We use knives until such time as they become aware of us, after that you can fire at will. Don't take any chances, but only kill if you have to. Jones knows the house so he and I will take point. Questions?'
'Just… be careful everyone, all right?' said Norton. 'I don't like this at all. Something doesn't feel right to me.'
I smirked. 'Corny line!'
'I'm serious.'
We left the horses a safe distance away and approached on foot, knives drawn. There were candles burning in the kitchen but there was no-one inside. The door wasn't locked and it didn't creak. So far so good. The room still smelt of roast beef. I looked greedily at the pile of dirty plates as I tiptoed around the large wooden table. The interior door was open a crack. It led into a corridor that ran to the front door. A number of rooms opened out of it to the left and right, and at the far end there was a staircase on the left.
I couldn't hear any voices and I couldn't see anyone. Gesturing for the others to stay in the kitchen I pushed the door gently and got lucky again: no creak. The hallway was carpeted so I took a chance and walked to the living room door, which was ajar. I leaned in and listened. Total silence. I was just about to try the other doors when I heard a small cough from inside and then someone shushing the cougher.
They were in a remote farmhouse, after dark, no-one expected or likely to arrive. Why would they be trying to keep so quiet?
I heard a small creak behind me and to the left. There was someone on the stairs. Suddenly I felt the world shift around me and I realised that I wasn't the hunter at all. I was the prey.
This was a trap.
There was a slim chance whoever was waiting on the stairs hadn't seen me. Without looking up at them I backed away towards the kitchen as slowly and quietly as I could.
And then another noise, this time behind me. Someone opened a door between me and the kitchen and stepped out into the hallway. I spun to see a black-clad man looking straight at me. He was wearing a balaclava and carrying a sawn-off shotgun.
He opened his mouth to shout a warning as I lunged forward. Normally I would have drawn my gun, told him to freeze. But something odd was going on here and I felt cornered and threatened. I wasn't inclined to take any chances. I led with my knife. I slapped my left hand over his mouth and shoved the blade up between his ribs as hard as I could, lifting him onto his toes with the force of the thrust.
I felt hot blood spurt out across my hand as I stared into the eyes of the man I was in the process of killing.
It wasn't a man, it was a boy. I recognised him. It was Wolf-Barry.
There was no wall behind him and he toppled backwards. I tried to follow him down, to maintain the silence, but I was overbalanced. We fell backwards together and as we hit the floor his shotgun went off, blowing two big holes in the plaster ceiling.
Dammit, this always looked so easy in the movies. I felt reassured that I wasn't a practised and professional killer – I didn't ever want to be that – but fucking hell, it would have been nice not to screw it up just this once.
I saw the eyes of the boy I had just killed begin to glaze over. I had a sudden memory of the first time I'd met him, in IT lab three years earlier. I remembered he'd made some joke about the headmaster, but I couldn't recall what it was. It was funny, though. I thought he was funny. And now I'd stabbed him through the heart without a second's hesitation.
I felt everything I'd achieved in the last three months evaporate in an instant. Who had I been kidding? This was my life now. Not cricket and plays and lessons, but killing and bleeding and dying. I was a fool to ever hope otherwise.
With both barrels fired and a knife in his chest, Wolf-Barry was no longer a threat, and since our cover was well and truly blown there was no longer any need for stealth. I rolled off him, trying to draw my gun as I did so, but I was tangled up and couldn't pull it free. A man came down the stairs swearing loudly, and as he turned the corner into the hallway someone behind me fired twice. Both bullets found their mark and he jerked backwards, two holes in his chest.
There were shouts from the living room; Green shouting 'In here!' and a woman screaming. But no-one came out of the door.
