The new computer suite had been squeezed in between two older wings of the school, filling in what had been a narrow courtyard. As they had no windows, skylights provided natural light in the corridor and in the rooms. They were notoriously hot in the summer months but in mid-December the skylights were milky white squares like undeveloped polaroid photographs waiting for something to come into focus.
‘Sir, what’s going on?’ one of the girls asked as soon as he stepped into the room.
Cam closed the door gently behind him and surveyed the students crammed in between the computer desks. No sign of Tom.
‘Is anybody here in Miss Frith’s form?’ he asked, ignoring the girl’s question.
A few students shook their heads and one or two mumbled, ‘No, sir.’
Trying to quell the rising panic he snapped into headteacher mode. He needed information and he needed to get it without alarming the students. ‘Okay. I know you’re all frightened but you’re my best chance of working out what’s going on. The police are on their way and they’ll probably want to interview all of you, staff included, but I’d like to talk to you all while we wait.’
Nods and sighs all round. Cam knew that the students liked and trusted him and the three year-thirteen tutors were all experienced teachers. He also knew that students were all more likely to be open with him and his staff than they were with the police. In his experience teenagers either became monosyllabic or nervously chatty when being interviewed by a police officer and he didn’t want to have to listen to hours of repetition and reluctance.
‘Okay,’ Cam began, perching on the edge of a desk. ‘I’ve heard that there are unknown men in the humanities block. It’s also been suggested that these men might be armed.’
One of the girls at the back started to cry. Mrs Railton went to sit next to her, soothing her in a whispered voice.
‘Did anybody see any strangers in school?’
Most of the group raised their hands while a boy who Cam recognised as a friend of Tom’s said, ‘Sir, there were at least two of them with guns. They came round the classrooms and told the teachers to let us out. One of them made us wait in the foyer and they sent us off in small groups. They kept the teachers somewhere else.’
Colin Styles nodded his agreement but seemed inclined to let the students explain what had happened – probably in shock.
‘They did. But it seems that Miss Frith and her form group are still in their room.’
A low buzz circled the room like a cloud of insects as speculation spread from student to student despite Cam’s best efforts to contain the situation.
‘Listen, guys,’ Cam said in his most reasonable voice. ‘I need you lot to stay calm. I know you’ve been through something horrific and we’ll get appropriate support for you as soon as we can, but I need to ensure the safety of everybody else in the school. If the lower-school kids hear that there are gunmen in school, it’s going to be full-blown panic. I want you to stay in here, with your form tutors, until I can send a police officer. Please, please, don’t tell any of the other students what you’ve seen – we can’t afford to have everybody panicking. And please, for the moment, phones off. We don’t want anybody to find out what’s happening until the police have assessed the situation. The last thing I need is for outsiders to turn up and end up in danger. So, no text to parents and friends. Just for a short while.’
Some of the boys looked dubious, like he was asking them to keep some sort of dirty secret, but he knew that the more reasonable ones would be able to keep them in line until he could get an appropriate adult to sit with them. He was about to try more reassurance when a knock on the door interrupted him.
Ruth Warnesford entered and scanned the crowd of students before fixing her attention on the headteacher.
‘Mr Cleaver, the police have arrived.’ The PA’s tone of voice and frightened expression told Cam everything he needed to know about whoever Cumbria Constabulary had sent to the school. They were inadequate and underprepared for a situation of this magnitude.
4
Harley Morton hunched down in his seat watching his classmates trying to contain their panic. He felt nothing but contempt for them all, even the lads. Especially the lads. He could feel the power of the armed men who stood to attention – one next to the door and one by the window – and understood completely the lure of such a life. He wanted to be the one to inspire panic and fear in others, the one to issue commands which he knew would be obeyed without question. His teachers had been no help. He’d hinted at his true nature in careers meetings and guidance sessions and the main suggestion had been that he joined the armed forces or try out for the police. As if.
He was only here because his mum had promised him a car if he passed his A-levels. She wanted him to apply for university, but he hadn’t bothered. Not now everything had changed. What was the point? He was going to earn some serious money. He wasn’t even that bothered about the car, but it kept his mum off his back if he played along. It was crap here though. He’d come to Fellbeck Academy from a small school on the coast where there had been only sixty kids in his year group and, as the eldest, he’d been the cock of the school – everybody feared him. Here he was almost anonymous, despite his efforts to stand out and kick against the
