Ignoring any further argument, Cam keyed in the code that allowed him to pass from reception into the rest of the school. As he pushed open the door to the dining hall, the bell went for first period and a steady hum grew as students started to make their way to lessons. Cam picked up pace and nearly ran into two members of the site staff.
‘No time to explain,’ he gasped. ‘Stop any students from getting to the humanities block. Keep them well away. Put them in the dining hall.’
Trusting his staff to do as instructed, Cam jogged round past the PE changing rooms and through the corridor that split the art department from the drama studio. The door at the end of the corridor gave him an excellent view of the humanities block, enabling him to take stock of what was happening without being seen.
The history and geography departments had been housed in a dedicated suite of rooms for five years – paid for by a combination of government funding and donations from parents and local businesses. As it was the newest part of the school, it had been decided that it would be best suited to the sixth form for registration and lunchtime activities – they could probably be trusted to keep it pristine. As he surveyed the front of the building, Cam was thankful for that decision. If the block had housed lower-school forms, he might have been looking at up to 200 students being held hostage. He knew that year twelve were in assembly which left the four year thirteen groups in the building, with their form tutors and any humanities staff who didn’t have a register to take. Possibly eighty seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds and four or five adults. It could have been much worse.
‘Sir?’
Cam turned to see a year-seven student staring at him with a puzzled expression.
‘What?’
‘Sir, I can’t remember how to get to my maths room.’
Cam took a deep breath. ‘Which room?’
‘M7.’
‘M7 is in… is in…’ his mind was blank. He couldn’t picture any of the rooms in the maths department. He couldn’t picture any of the rooms in the school apart from the humanities block.
‘I’m busy!’ he snapped. ‘Go to student services and ask.’
The girl’s eyes welled up with tears, but Cam didn’t care. He didn’t have time for this.
‘Go! Now!’
The girl turned and ran down the corridor, her oversized school backpack banging the backs of her legs as she stumbled down the steps at the far end.
Cam approached the door at the end of the corridor, trying to make out anything unusual about the humanities block. There was a dribble of students still crossing the playground towards the main hall – year eleven boys, Cam thought – their casual, loping strides indicating that they’d not sensed anything out of the ordinary.
The headteacher shifted his gaze to the main door of the new block. Was there a dark figure just inside the doorway? He couldn’t be sure from this distance. Cam slid his mobile phone out of his pocket, keeping his eyes fixed on the door a hundred yards away across the playground, and dialled the school reception.
‘It’s me,’ he said, cutting across Ruth Warnesford’s cheery greeting. ‘Any sign of the police?’
‘Penny said ten minutes. Apparently they’re coming from Workington. Can you see anything?’
Cam explained how he’d had students diverted away from the humanities block to the main hall, but he couldn’t see anything to support Donna’s note.
‘Have the sixth formers left registration?’ Ruth asked.
‘Not yet. There’s no movement in the humanities block. It looks like all four form groups are still in there.’
As he spoke, he saw the door open and a group of students appear. There were around ten of them, a mix of boys and girls. They walked slowly through the door almost as if they were hypnotised, and then crossed the playground towards the main school building.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Some of the students are coming out. Get somebody over to the main hall to meet them.’
The first group were followed by another, then another. It looked like whoever was in the building was letting the students go in small numbers. Cam hung up the call and watched as another dozen students crossed the playground, the ones in front breaking into a jog as they approached safety. Cam was baffled. Why take over part of the school and then let everybody go? It didn’t make sense.
Another group was set free – this time much smaller – and Cam was relieved to see that it was made up of members of his staff. Was that everybody? Was the building empty? Only one way to find out. Cam turned and ran back through the corridors making his way to the hall. The police could wait – he needed to see who had been released.
The main school hall was full to capacity with lower-school students and sixth formers as Cam pushed his way through to the doors that faced out on to the playground and found the small group of staff that had just come across from the humanities block. There were four of them, all pale and disorientated.
‘What’s going on?’ Cam demanded, marching up to Colin Styles, head of geography. ‘Is anybody still in there?’
Styles looked at him, his eyes struggling to stay fixed on Cam’s face. He ran a hand through his dark red hair and looked around. ‘I… I don’t know,’ he stammered. ‘Two men in ski
