The Cull

by Jon Jacks

  Not that you don’t notice they’re not there, of course. But a series of empty desks, that would be too much for anybody to bear.

  Kids openly weep in the corridors. Some can’t stop bursting into tears in class.

  Everyone’s understanding, including the teachers.

  Naturally, those who survived the crash tend to be the worst.

  They’re still suffering from shock.

  Shaking. Wide-eyed. Ashen.

  Many of them are still at home, unable to attend school.

  The level crossing has been transformed into a shrine, bouquets of flowers everywhere.

  Kids congregate around it when school has finished. Some even walk out there at lunch time.

  They gather in groups, consoling each other. Remembering happier times. Times when we were all together.

  Me, I’m not a part of all this.

  I’m not allowed to be.

  I’m still regarded as being somehow responsible for their deaths.

  Like I led them out there that day on purpose. Like I arranged the stalling of the bus, the arrival of the goods train.

  Like I knew what was coming. And that’s how I managed to be saved.

  It hurts, hurts to be thought of in this way. Hurts to be excluded from the sharing of suffering and the remembering of better times.

  I miss those kids too.

  I’m horrified by the way they lost their lives.

  But if I have to deal with this hurt without the help of the other kids, then I will.

  My mum and dad and Pat are all the help I need.

  No, I’m not hard-hearted.

  I’m just…resilient.

  *

  Science is one of the easier classes.

  Well, what passes for science these days, anyway.

  You know the answers they want. I used to put up arguments against certain points, but was rewarded for my insights by fails and low marks.

  Today there’s no chance of any form of discussion. The questions come with the answers, a, b or c.

  You could get a pass by flipping a coin a couple of times. A fail by pointing out it’s a much more complex area than they’re making out.

  Still, it gives me chance to quickly flip through my paper, then make out I’m conducting a bit of research on one of the room’s computers.

  I really want to find out if there’s any progress on the murders of Jane and Gerry. And if there’s any possible link between them and the number one-hundred and fifty-three.

  Thankfully, all the reports on the murders that come up are still withholding my name. Each time, it simply refers to an unnamed student who was a witness.

  One of the shots of the abandoned car doesn’t look right. Then I realise why; it’s not the police car. It’s the car the woman abandoned.

  I wonder; did they find a Bible in the back of her car?

  I google it, but nothing comes up.

  Even when a report mentions what had been left inside the car, it’s only to say there weren’t any clues pointing to why she might have caused the accident. Or why she’d fled with her entire family.

  Wait; it says that a printed sheet had been left on the back seat.

  It says a passage had been printed off on it.

  But it doesn’t say what that passage was.

  Could it be the Biblical passage about the fishes?

  It takes a while before I find a site that highlights the passage’s content. After all that, it’s disappointment.

  It’s not Biblical; it’s a passage taken from a scientific report.

  ‘Atomic frequency comb memory with spin-wave storage in 153Eu3 +:Y2SiO5 is a very attractive candidate for a long-lived, multimode quantum memory due to the long spin coherence time.’

  Wow. Straight over my head that one. And I flatter myself that I’m intelligent?

  What was this doing in the back of her car? From what I’d read of her so far, she didn’t have any scientific background. And neither did her husband.

  She was a social worker. He, ironically, was a teacher. But he’d taught art.

  Wait!

  One-hundred and fifty-three.

  It’s right there, in the formula!

  153Eu3.

  But what does it mean?

  Does it help me?

  No.

  I’m just more confused than ever.

  *

  While I’m trying to work all this out, alarm bells ring.

  No, I mean they really do ring.

  The fire alarm.

  Miss Furrier remains calm.

  ‘Now, I want you all to leave your things and…’

  I’m not sure anyone is listening.

  They’re all looking at me.

  Even Miss Furrier is looking at me.

  Everyone is looking at me with fear and hatred in their eyes.

  *

  Chapter 11

  How can I be held responsible for a fire?

  I didn’t start it.

  I’ve been here all along.

  Do all these people really think I’m somehow bringing all this bad luck down on them?

  They’re not saying. They’re all filing out in good order. Joining the other smoothly, swiftly moving columns out in the corridor.

  It’s all well organised. There’s hardly any panic. What there is comes from individuals who are soon calmed or taken under the wing of a teacher.

  Pat!

  Pat always skips his class at this time.

  History. He’s had enough, he says, of trying to empathise with being a Tudor servant or Victorian workhouse inmate. Or writing about an important event as if he’s a modern-day journalist.

  He heads off down to the cellars instead, where he’s discovered a quiet spot where he can listen to his iPod and browse the web on his phone. No one misses him; he’s been doing it since the start of the year, so everyone assumes he’s in a different class.

  As our own little column worms its way amongst all the others towards the exit door, I drop away from it. I mingle amongst a more confused grouping where the lines aren’t quite so distinct.

  As my class safely files its way out of the door, I slip into one of the side rooms used by the school’s maintenance staff. As I’d hoped, there’s another door, one leading back into the rapidly emptying school.

  Keeping a careful eye out for any malingerers, I make my way to the stairwell leading down into the cellars.

  I can already smell smoke.

  This isn’t any drill.

  This is a real fire.

  *

  Even down in the cellars, you can still hear the urgently ringing alarm.

  Pat, though, is merrily shaking his head to some happy beat emanating from his headphones.

  He smiles in surprise as he sees me approaching. He slips off his headphones.

  The smile immediately disappears, replaced with a worried frown.

  ‘Is that the fire alarm?’

  I nod.

  ‘Yeah; it’s no drill either.’

  He sniffs the air.

  ‘Smoke! Where is it? Where’s the fire?’

  ‘I don’t know. But we’d better get out quick. Everyone else has already left, I reckon, so–’

  I both jump and instinctively duck as something nearby cracks loudly. Thick, black clouds of smoke rush towards us, like they’ve just been released from confinement.

  ‘Over there! Look!’

  Pat points off towards the rear of the cellar. Even through the increasingly thick smoke, I can see the flickering orange and red glow of leaping flames.

  I grab hold of Pat’s hand.

  ‘Quick! We have to get out of here!’

  *

  Chapter 12

  The smoke swells and undulates around us as if it’s alive.

  It’s hard to see where we’re heading. The smoke makes everything indistinct. Our eyes are weeping, stinging.

  We’re choking, gasping for air. Even though we’ve got our faces covered with our
hands.

  We know we’re supposed to get to the floor, where the air will be clearer, more breathable. But if we did, we’d be dead anyway. The flames are moving rapidly, rushing towards us like we’re in a race.

  A race to the death.

  Behind us, everything the flames touch cracks, explodes. Becomes yet another part of the hungry, ever-growing fire.

  We can feel the heat on our backs. Our necks burn hotter and hotter as the flames advance.

  ‘Where are we? I can’t see where we’re going anymore!’ Pat splutters. He gasps, he weeps.

  We’re going nowhere, I realise.

  We’re losing the race.

  *

  We keep on running, agonisingly barging into things in our way that we don’t see even as we knock them aside.

  Ahead of us now, it looks like there might be a door.

  Perhaps even the door to the stairwell.

  There’s a light there, glinting at us now and again through the swirling smoke.

  Suddenly, like a cat that had been toying with us, the flames erupt out of nowhere with a whoosh right by the door.

  They surge upwards, crackling and spitting against the ceiling.

  Charred timbers and beams crash down, the flames hungrily licking along their lengths.

  A wave of dust, soot and smoke sweeps towards us, enveloping us, shrouding us in its thick cloak.

  We cough, choke, gag, unable to prevent the cloud’s poisonous breath flooding into our lungs.

  ‘Jaz, I can’t…can’t…’

  Pat’s hand slips from mine.

  He crumples to the floor.

  ‘Pat!’

  I bend down towards him, lie with him. Hold his unconscious body close.

  I’ve brought Death down on us all once more.

  And this time, I’ll be his victim too.

  *

  Chapter 13

  I’m no longer choking, gasping for air.

  I’m breathing naturally, easily.

  Am I dead?

  I touch my chest, almost expecting my hand to pass through it as if I’m already a ghost.

  I look about me.

  The fire is still raging around us, still feeding hungrily off the cellar and its contents.

  But I can’t feel its heat.

  The booming and cracking is subdued, like I’m hearing it through water.

  As I rise to my knees, I’m almost expecting to see myself leaving my body behind, my soul floating upwards to hover above it.

  I look down at Pat. He’s still unconscious.

  I hope he’s unconscious.

  I hope he isn’t dead. Hope he hasn’t breathed in too much of the toxic fumes.

  ‘Pat! Pat, wake up!’ I shake him gently. ‘Something odd’s happening!’

  ‘He’s still alive.’

  I whirl around, wondering who’s spoken.

  ‘What? Who said that?’

  ‘I did.’

  The hazy, unclear silhouette of a man appears amongst the surrounding fire and smoke. The harsh, dancing light of the flames gives him an unearthly glow.

  He approaches calmly, languidly, untouched by either the flames or the falling timbers.

  It’s not the fire that makes him glow. He shimmers with his own light.

  A glorious, luminous white.

  It’s the angel.

  *

  Chapter 14

  The angel smiles.

  Smiles as you’d expect an angel to smile; beatifically.

  ‘Who…who are you?’

  ‘You would have died. I had no choice but to reveal myself.’

  ‘Died?’

  ‘So it is written in this world.’

  ‘And Pat? Is…is he…?’

  ‘He has passed out, that’s all. The smoke. It’s for the best; he shouldn’t see me. I would have preferred that you didn’t see me either. But one of you needs to be conscious to make the final part of your journey.’

  Pat’s prone body rises up from the floor, hovering above the ground like some elaborate magician’s trick.

  ‘Journey?’

  Does he mean…as in our final journey?

  He smiles, even chuckles.

  ‘Your journey to safety, of course! Obviously, I can’t be seen taking you both outside.’

  ‘What of the other children? Can they be saved too?’

  ‘They are already saved. None have died.’

  It might seem strange calmly conversing like this while the fire surges and ebbs around us.

  But the angel’s glow has expanded into a glimmering ball of white light. It holds back the flames as if they’re taking place in another dimension, incapable of touching or harming us.

  We’ve already started moving towards the door. It falls away on its hinges.

  We unhurriedly mount the steps, Pat’s sleeping body remaining perfectly horizontal.

  ‘Who are…are you?’ I realise he still hasn’t answered my first question. ‘Why do you keep on rescuing me?’

  Is he an angel?

  It’s impossible to tell if he has wings or not. The shimmering light suffusing his body is so intense that it’s painful to study him closely for too long. I can only stare directly into his face, the light sparkling around the edges of my vision.

  ‘As I have already explained, I’m someone granted no choice but to reveal myself to you, because you continue to endanger yourself. To reveal myself is bad enough; to explain more is worse.’

  ‘But why me? Why rescue me, but not the others?’

  ‘I’ve rescued your friend – twice.’

  ‘But not the others.’

  ‘No other children have been harmed today.’

  ‘But what about the bus? Why didn’t you help them?’

  ‘I cannot help everyone. That is not the task set me.’

  ‘Task?’

  ‘To help bring the Truth to those who live in lies. But I have told you enough, I believe.’

  We’ve already passed into the corridors lying beyond the doors at the top of the stairs.

  The fire still rages here, but not as strongly as it does downstairs. Even so, it would be impossible to walk through this spitting, snarling inferno if it weren’t for the protective ball of light.

  ‘How am I a part of your task? And Pat? How do we fit into this task of bringing truth to everyone?’

  ‘At first, your friend aids your development.’

  ‘My development? I still don’t understand!’

  ‘You provide us with the Book.’

  ‘Book? What book? I honestly don’t know of any book you might mean!’

  ‘I am forbidden from telling you more of the Book. You have to discover the Book for yourself, for all things to be as they should be.’

  ‘How can I find it if I don’t know what I’m looking for?’

  ‘You will know. You will find it.’

  ‘Can’t you at least tell me what type of book it is?’

  ‘So many questions! That’s good, yes that’s good!’

  We’ve reached a corridor that doesn’t lead anywhere except towards other rooms leading off from its sides. A blank wall blocks its end.

  There’s no immediate route outside.

  The angel sees the disappointment on my face.

  ‘Firemen are already entering via the doors. This will be your way out.’

  With the simple raising of an arm, he causes the end wall blocking our exit to explode outwards. In the same move, he extinguishes the flames nearest to us.

  The ball of light rushes back into him, increasing the intensity of his own glow.

  ‘You can make your own way from here, I believe.’

  Slowly, Pat drops to the floor alongside me.

  ‘If you cannot manage with your friend,’ the angel continues, ‘you will have time to alert your friends outside. There will also be time to send someone back in here to aid him before the fire regains its strength.’

  He gives me the beatific smile again. He beg
ins to back away from me, to shimmer like sparkling water.

  He’s preparing to leave, to vanish as he did last time.

  ‘Wait! What does one-hundred and fifty-three mean?’

  Why I’m asking him this I don’t know.

  Perhaps because I’m taking it for granted that angels must to be all-knowing.

  Perhaps because I’m desperate and can’t think of any other way to arrive at an answer.

  I’m rewarded for my urgent curiosity with the beatific smile once more.

  ‘Blessed are the first one-hundred and fifty-three. For they are the very first Jasmines, who will spread their branches, take root, and suffuse the world in the glorious scent of Truth.’

  ‘Jasmines? But there’s only one of me!’

  ‘So there is; for now.’

  ‘An angel? Are you an angel?’

  Pat speaks groggily as, still dazed, he regains consciousness.

  ‘Ahhh.’

  The angel sighs as if both disappointed and wryly amused.

  Then, in a sudden, violent twinkling of white light, he vanishes.

  *

  Chapter 15

  The damage to the school wasn’t anywhere near as bad as everyone had originally feared it would be.

  It was thankfully confined to a relatively small section too.

  And, of course, there wasn’t a single loss of life.

  No one knows how the fire was started yet.

  No one suspects me.

  Well, no one suspects that I physically started the fire. I was in class when the alarm was raised.

  Even so, every pupil, every teacher, eyes me suspiciously.

  Like I’m working in collusion with Death himself.

  Like I brought all this bad luck down on them all.

  Sure, I was the one that almost died this time.

  Yet I’d survived, hadn’t I?

  Miraculously too.

  The way the fire had oh-so conveniently blasted a hole in an otherwise solid wall, enabling me to escape.

  The way I’d managed to drag an unconscious Pat through a blazing inferno. Without either of us even suffering a singed hair.

  Yeah, it’s hard to explain, isn’t it?

  *

  Me and Pat, we should have got our stories straight before we’d talked to anyone.

  We didn’t have to admit that Pat had been unconscious, the smoke he’d inhaled knocking him out.

  (Thankfully, he hadn’t breathed in too much; he’s been given the all clear.)