I managed to stave off unconsciousness, and rolled the wounded woman off me. She was still alive, but she was out for the count. I decided the time for taking prisoners had long passed. I put one in her head to finish her off.
I had just got to my feet when I heard a tremendous explosion and a sustained volley of gunfire. It sounded like it came from the front of the school.
They’d blown the doors.
The sounds of battle overhead grew more intense. We were being overrun. I turned and ran into one of the side chambers. I picked up a box of grenades and a kit bag. I shoved as many of the bombs inside as I could, then I nipped into the next chamber along. I strapped two machine guns across my shoulders, put another pistol in my belt, and shoved as many clips of ammunition as I could carry into my pockets. I was carrying more hardware than Rambo.
A Rambo with bugger all muscle tone, gangly arms — one of which was useless — a mild case of acne, a broken nose, a head that felt like a punching bag and a system full of unknown drugs. Still, I had lots and lots of guns.
“Rock n’ Roll!” I yelled, cocked my machine gun, and went running up the stairs. Straight into somebody’s fist. My nose cracked once more and I went tumbling back down the stairs to the bricks.
“This,” I said wearily as I lay there, “is getting repetitive.”
“Don’t worry,” said a familiar voice. “It’ll all be over soon.” Mac was standing at the top of the stairs, shaking the fingers of his good hand. At least hitting me had hurt. He looked down at me and sneered.
I tried to bring my gun to bear but Mac was too fast for me. He was down the stairs before I could gather myself and he kicked the pistol from my grip. Then he stamped on my good hand. Even above the sound of the battle overhead, and my own shout of anger, I heard yet another bone crack.
Didn’t feel it though. Really, really good drugs.
There was a stutter of machine gun fire from the top of the stairs. A Blood Hunter stood there, shooting back into the corridor, guarding the cellar door. At all costs I had to stop them taking possession of the armoury. I wanted to reach for a grenade, but even if my free hand had been working and I could pull a pin I’d only succeed in blowing the entire school sky high, taking everyone with it. Not an option.
Mac stood above me, gun pointed straight at my face.
“I really want to shoot you in the head, Nine Lives,” he snarled. “You have no idea how much I want to shoot you in the fucking head.”
“Be my guest.” I screwed my eyes closed, waiting for the impact.
“But that would be no fun,” he said. “I mean, orgasms are great, but they’re so much better after a little foreplay, don’t you think?”
“Shoot me or shag me, Mac… make your mind up.”
He ground his foot on my hand. I could feel jagged edges of bone scraping against each other in my little finger.
The screams and gunfire from above were intense now. I imagined the Blood Hunters pouring through the front door, slicing and shooting the boys, smearing themselves in fresh blood and bellowing their victory.
“It’s all over, Lee. There are too many of us. I’ll be back in charge of the school within the hour. Maybe I’ll celebrate with another crucifixion. What do you think?”
“Not very original,” I replied. “You want to supersize it. How about a flaying, perhaps? Or maybe a dismemberment? Surprise me.”
He squatted down on top of me, and leaned forward until my broken nose was almost touching his stubby little burnt wreck of one.
“I will, Lee. I promise you that. Now get up and dump the hardware.”
He stood up and let me rise, keeping his gun on me as I let the weapons and ammunition drop to the floor.
“Now we wait for the commotion to die down so I can go claim my prize,” he said.
“What about David?” I asked. “Won’t he have something to say about you taking control?”
“David’s my problem. Let me worry about him. You worry about me, Lee. Worry about what I’m going to do to you, Norton and that little shit Rowles, and anyone else who survives the fight. There’s gonna be a bleeding tonight.”
There was something different about Mac, and it wasn’t just the injuries and the missing hand. He was taking real joy in the destruction happening above. He seemed more feral, less in control. His one good eye sparkled with barely concealed madness, very different from the power hungry thug I’d known before. He used to be unpredictable; now he was just plain scary.
“Mind if I sit while we wait?”
Mac opened his mouth to reply, but a burst of gunfire from the doorway silenced him. I saw the Blood Hunter by the door struggling with someone, heard a bone-crunching snap, and a man’s lifeless body tumbled down the stairs to land at our feet.
“Yeah, why not,” said Mac, ignoring the corpse. “Pull up a box of grenades. Let’s bond.”
I turned into one of the side rooms, looking for something to sit on.
“On second thoughts,” said Mac. “Let’s not and say we did.”
Something hit me on the back of the neck, hard, and the world went black.
As I lost my grip on my senses the last thing I heard was Mac laughing. It was the insane cackle of a triumphant madman.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I SPLUTTERED AS the water poured down my face. Ice cold, it brought me round instantly. I was lying flat on my back on wooden boards. I wiped my eyes and looked up to see Mac standing above me. I could see cloths and pulleys suspended high above him; I was lying on the stage in the school assembly hall. I could hear lots of other people moving around, the hall sounded full.
“Wakey, wakey, Nine Lives,” he said. “Shake a leg. Rise and shine.”
I put my hand to the floorboards to lift myself and found that my little finger was twice its normal size. It had a sharp point of bone sticking out of it above the knuckle. The drugs were wearing off, so when I put pressure on that hand it hurt. A lot. I gasped and gritted my teeth. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much pain I was in. I suspected the drugs were still dulling a great deal of it; my broken arm still felt okay. As long as I didn’t do anything stupid, like throw a punch, I’d be fine for a while. I used my elbow to lever myself up into a sitting position.
The hall was to my left. Along one side all the surviving boys and girls, and the men who’d been fighting with us, were lined up. They were kneeling with their hands on their heads. I scanned the crowd and breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted Rowles, Norton and Mrs Atkins, all safe and sound. Green was there too. There were about thirty surviving children and ten men. Bob was not among them, but Mrs Atkins’ new man, Justin, was. Guards stood over them with guns and machetes, making sure they didn’t try anything. The wooden balcony that ringed the hall on three sides was empty. There were roughly sixty Blood Hunters in the room, each and every one of them glistening with the very freshest blood. They were all staring at the stage. At me. Nobody was speaking.
“Show time,” said Mac, with a grin.
I had two options. Stay silent and risk letting them know how terrified I was, or take the piss and try to appear confident.
“Go on then,” I replied. “Do us a dance. Show us your jazz hands. Oh, sorry, forgot. Jazz hand.”
His grin didn’t waver. “Get up.”
As I did so I saw that David was sitting behind us on the stage, on his throne. He looked as immaculate and unruffled as ever, apart from where my knife had ripped the fabric of his suit.