Heathcote and Williams had expanded their farm and we now had a few fields of livestock. Petts' market garden was coming along well. Everywhere there was business, activity and purpose.
But there was no disguising the tension that hung in the air at all times. The officers, united by their shared crime, had become a coherent unit, a tight, loyal gang who held absolute power and weren't afraid to use it. We were lucky that only one of them, Wylie, was an outright bastard. The others bossed and bullied and threw their weight around but things never threatened to get as violent as I had feared they would. Mac seemed to be restraining himself a bit, and I didn't know why. I had expected that by now he'd be using thumbscrews on a daily basis, but he mostly just shouted and threw the occasional punch. His punishment of choice was getting miscreants to run laps of the pitches before breakfast.
I think maybe he'd shocked even himself with how he'd behaved towards Bates.
He had stopped searching for Matron and the girls. With all the fuel gone our minibuses were now useless and so our search area was limited to a few miles in every direction. Horses were collected when and wherever they could be found, and a Haycox was running riding classes for the officers. I could already ride but it was not until very late in my healing that I could bear the pain of being bounced up and down on top of a galloping quadraped.
All Mac's efforts seemed to be going into securing our position and training the boys. But training them for what? I asked him and all the cryptic bastard would say was "You'll see". I was supposed to be his second-in-command but he wasn't taking me into his confidence.
And as he made his plans and preparations, so I made mine.
Norton's attitude towards me changed after I shot Bates. Although he was still jokey and conspiratorial I could sense a wariness about him. He didn't quite know what to make of me any more. I think my actions had surprised him almost as much as they'd surprised me. I didn't blame him. I was wary of myself.
My father used to wake screaming at night sometimes. I know something awful happened to him during a tour of duty in Bosnia, but he would never tell me what it was. Now I too was waking up sweating and shouting. In my nightmares Bates would scream into my face from his crucifix and Mac would stand by, applauding, as I carved our old teacher into tiny pieces, all of which grew mouths and joined the chorus of agony.
I had never had nightmares before. All the horror and death I had witnessed during The Cull, all the violence that had been done to me physically and psychologically, had never caused me a single night's sleeplessness. But the violence I had visited upon others was tormenting me. I had always believed that something awful had been done to my father; now I knew it was something awful that he had done to someone else. I realised that I hardly knew my father at all, or what he was capable of.
I was starting to realise what I was capable of, though. And it terrified me.
Nonetheless I remained focused on my objectives - gain Mac's trust, find an opportunity to betray him, find Matron and the girls, make the school the sanctuary it should always have been. I was willing to do almost anything to achieve my goals, but I couldn't do it alone.
"You've got a gun, so why don't you just shoot the bastard?" asked Norton one day as he was wheeling me around the pitches for my morning constitutional.
"What, you mean just walk up and shoot him dead in cold blood?"
"Well, duh. Yeah, that's exactly what I mean. Why not? Seriously, why not?"
"Not exactly ethical, is it?"
He burst out laughing.
"Ethical? Are you fucking joking? This from the man who shot our history teacher, the man who's accepted a position as second-in-command to a psychopath, the man who, in any court of law, would be held an accessory in the murder of those TA men? Ethical? Don't make me laugh. Is it any more ethical to plot his downfall from your hospital bed? At least if you went up and shot him you'd be being honest and direct. There's some ethics there."
"I'm not a cold-blooded murderer," was the only answer I could give him.
"Sorry mate, but you are."
We moved past the assault course. It was a collection of netting, rope and wood constructions, and a little bit of barbed wire. There was climbing, crawling, jumping, swinging and all that sort of stuff. A group of the youngest juniors were racing through it under the supervision of Wylie, who was hounding poor Rowles, throwing clods of earth at him, firing his gun off close to the boy's head to simulate being under fire, screaming at him all the time. The poor boy looked utterly terrified.
"If I shot Mac there's no telling what the other officers would do," I said. "They certainly wouldn't take orders from me. I'm just a fifth-former, remember. I may be second-in-command but I've not given a single order yet and when I do it'll only be because of Mac that they obey it. I need to get to know them, earn their respect and trust before I make a move. Divide and conquer, that's what we have to do here. I'm just trying to get through this with the fewest possible deaths."
He didn't pursue the argument, but I could feel that he and I were on tricky ground. We were still friends and allies, but I'd need to be careful not to alienate him any further. Mac tolerated my friendship with Norton, and I needed him to be my eyes and ears amongst the regular boys.
He wheeled me back to Castle in silence, but despite his reservations the next day we sat down to compare notes.
"Wylie is our biggest problem," Norton explained. "It's like he's trying to out-Mac Mac. The others are mostly content with handing out laps, the occasional slap or chores. But Wylie likes to humiliate people. He made Thackaray do ten rounds of the assault course naked the other day. The kid was a mess of cuts and bruises by the end. And he's got Vaughan sleeping in the cow shed just 'cause he didn't finish his breakfast."
"Okay, so if Mac goes then Wylie is most likely to try and take his place, you think?"
"For sure. The rest of them are much of a muchness except Green, who sits at the other end of the spectrum. He's the whipping boy, the runt of the litter. They've started giving him nicknames."
"Like?"
"Gayboy. Bender. You know the kind of thing. Limpdick is a popular one."
He looked at me significantly until the penny dropped.
"Oh man," I whispered. "You think that..."
He nodded. "Couldn't get it up is my guess."
"And that makes him vulnerable. They'll resent the fact that he's not as guilty as they are and they'll hate him for it. Plus, you know, he is kind of a poof."
"You should see him directing Our Town. I think he wants to play Emily himself. He's got Petts doing it. Says if boys dressed as girls were good enough for Shakespeare then it's good enough for us."
I considered this intelligence.
"Right then, we attack on two fronts," I said. "I try and get Mac to see Wylie as a threat, and foster Green's resentment of the others until he's ready to turn."
"And while you're doing that what do I do?"
"You need to sound out the others, but do it subtly. We need to identify those boys who are coming off worst and use that to get them on side. We need officers of our own who can be ready to move when an opportunity presents itself."
Norton grinned. "Finally we have a scheme."
"And a plot."
We shook hands.
"Marvellous," said Norton. "I think we just increased our chances of being crucified by about four hundred per cent."
After three weeks of rest I finally took to my pins and started walking with a stick. I would always have a pronounced limp, but I began a programme of exercise designed to help build the leg back up to strength.
On the day I walked again Mac asked me to join him in his quarters. He had moved into the headmaster's old flat. As I knocked on the door and waited for him to let me in I noticed that he'd added a lot of locks to the door. Just like a leader - caution takes the place of ease and soon, inevitably, paranoia takes the place of caution. I hoped I'd be able to hurry that process along a little.
H
e opened the door and gestured me inside with a smile.
"Take a seat," he said. I looked around the living room where I'd fought Jonah and was relieved to see that Mac had replaced the furniture; I didn't fancy sitting on the stain of half-dissolved headmaster. I slumped into the plush upholstery gratefully. I couldn't remember when I'd last sat on a sofa; it felt like the height of luxury.
I was expecting to be offered a cup of tea or something, but instead he opened the drinks cabinet and poured a couple of large whiskies. He handed one to me and then sat opposite, regarding me thoughtfully.
"I don't think you like me very much, Lee," he said eventually.
Oh.
Fuck.
Play innocent? He'd never buy it.
Make a joke out of it? He'd see straight through that.
Okay. Play it straight. Be serious but not confrontational.
I met his gaze. "What makes you think that?"
He shrugged. "Instinct and observation."
He sipped his drink. I did the same. I felt like I was playing poker.
I don't know how to play poker.
"I think Bates was right, you see," he continued. "I think you think you're better than this. I catch you, sometimes, looking at me and I think I can see you changing your expression, trying to hide the look of contempt before I notice it."
"Don't be daft." I laughed, all matey. He didn't smile.
"I'm many things, right? But I'm not daft." There was an edge of warning in his voice, but he didn't seem like he was about to get angry. Not unless I said something really stupid. I held up my hands and mimed innocence.
Mac leaned forward. "Thing is, you're right not to like me. I'm a cunt. A total and utter bastard and I don't care who knows it. I'm a murderer and a rapist, and that's just for starters. I shoot first and ask questions later. I'll fucking slaughter anyone who gets between me and what I want, I don't care who they are. And I enjoy being in control of things. I like bossing people around, giving orders, laying down the law, playing the big man.
"But the thing is, Lee, it's the only thing I'm good at. I have a talent for it, see. Ask me to do maths or English, paint a picture or play the piano and I'm a fucking retard. But give me a situation that needs some muscle, a bit of ruthlessness, and I'm your man.
"And the one thing The Cull did, the one great, beautiful, brilliant thing that The Cull did, is it handed people like me the keys to the fucking world.
"There's no rozzer to haul me in for GBH, no magistrate to hand me an ASBO, no judge to send me to the Scrubs. There's only one law now, and it's not who's got the biggest gun - it's who's bastard enough to use it first. And I am.
"And so are you, I reckon."
All I could manage was "Eh?"
"Oh, don't embarrass yourself by playing innocent. You shot Batesy."
I tried to keep a stoney face, give nothing away. But there was no point.
"Yeah," he said, studying me, "I thought so."
This was not going well.
"Now you might think I'd be angry at you for that. And I was for a bit. But then I got to thinking. You probably did it coz you wanted to put him out of his misery, right?"
I didn't make a sound.
"Right?" There was that note of danger again.
I nodded, never breaking eye contact.
"Merciful. Heroic, even. But that doesn't change the fact that you killed him. Shot him dead in cold blood. However you dress it up, you're a killer now. Just like me. And I like me, so I like people like me, yeah?"
Again, I nodded.
"The others are just followers, thugs, pussies who feel hard when they're around a big man like me. But I reckon you've got a bit more spine than that. I reckon you've got a bit of backbone. You went behind my back, deliberately did something that undermined what I was trying to do. That took guts, especially with that leg of yours. I like guts. But I do not like people who fuck with me.
"So that leaves me with a choice to make."
We stared at each other.
"Let me guess," I said eventually. "Kill me or promote me."
He inclined his head in agreement, leaned back in his chair and took another sip of whisky. Then he reached out his right hand, placed the drink on the side table and lifted the Browning that had sat there throughout our conversation, a silent threat. He placed the gun in his lap but kept hold of it, his finger resting gently on the trigger.
"What do you think I should do, Lee?"
I said nothing.
He lifted the gun, put it back on the table, and lifted his drink again.
"See, you took a risk and made a difficult decision because you thought it was the right thing to do. If I can convince you that helping me is the right thing to do then I reckon you and I will be quite a team. But I have to convince you, not threaten you into it. If I threaten you then you'll just say what I want to hear and I won't know if I can really trust you.
"So let me give you my sales pitch. After all, I was supposed to be going into advertising. If you don't like it you can walk - sorry, limp - straight out the main gate. I won't stop you."
He leaned back in his chair, took another sip of whisky and settled down to give me the hard sell.
"When I first arrived back here Batesy took me into his office and he gave me a little lecture. All about history, it was, which was his thing. He said to me that if you look at the history of primitive civilisations, then the same patterns keep appearing again and again. Farms clump together into villages. Then these villages get to know other villages and gradually they clump together and you get tribes. But tribes ain't democracies. No-one votes for the leader. The person who's in charge is the hardest bastard around and that's that.
"Now, if you don't like your tribal leader then you can challenge him, and there'll be a fight, and the winner is leader. It's a simple system. Everyone understands the rules. And it works. It works fucking beautifully. That's why it was the same all over the world.
"Democracy is a luxury. You can only manage it if your society is fucking loaded, well off, organised, stable, got a good infrastructure. But until your society has got that stuff, tribalism is the best way to run things coz it gives the most people the best chance of survival. And that is the only thing that matters - survival. The leader is chosen on merit, on strength. People like strength. They understand it.
"Now Batesy reckoned, and I happen to agree with him, that The Cull has left us in situation where we have to go back to tribes. We haven't got electricity, running water, gas. Fuck, we haven't even got much agriculture to speak of. Small, strong groups is the only way for people to rebuild. And strong groups need strong leaders. And that's me.
"You see Batesy's problem is that he convinced me he was right. And of course once he did that I realised I had to replace him. I knew he wasn't hard enough to lead. A tribe led by him would never be strong enough to keep everyone alive.
"So I replaced him. I crucified the poor sod coz it was the most dramatic thing I could think of. I sent a strong message by doing that:
"I am the leader.
"I am strong and ruthless.
"Fuck with me and I'll kill you.
"And that, Batesy said, is how you establish yourself as the leader of a strong tribe. He knew that was the truth, he knew that kind of demonstration was necessary, but didn't have the stomach for it.
"I did, and I do.
"But it's because I do that I'm the right man to lead this tribe. A tribe led by me has a good chance of survival when it meets other tribes that might want to take us on. I'm these boys' best chance of staying alive. I'm convinced of that.
"Are you?"
Maybe I was.
Dear God, the mad bastard had a point.
It hadn't occurred to me for a second that he'd have anything so evolved as an ideology. I'd just assumed he was a power-mad psychopath. But here he was talking what sounded horribly like sense. Brutal, nasty and dangerous, but logical.
"No," I said. "Not entirely."
He leaned back and took another sip. He gestured with his head for me to continue. I took a deep breath and plunged in.
"Bates may have been right about the tribe thing. I dunno, I was never really into history myself. But it sounds plausible. And if he was right then, yeah, strong leaders are probably a necessary evil, for a while anyway.
"I didn't think much of Bates as a leader. He was bloody useless, frankly. He froze whenever anything difficult happened, and that was dangerous for everyone. He was a liability.
"I don't think crucifying the poor bastard was the answer. But all right, that's done now, and you're leader. Let's ignore what you did to get the job, the question is what are you going to do now you've got it?"
I paused; I needed to phrase this right.
"What I want to know is this," I said. "Do you intend to use the same level of cruelty to hold onto your position as you did to get it?"
"If I need to, yeah," he admitted. "But I don't think I will. I only need to get nasty if there's anyone who looks likely to challenge me. And I don't think there is. I can lay off a bit. Already have done."
"Yeah, I've noticed. I must admit I was expecting things to get really bad when you took control but that's not happened."
It was so weird talking openly to him like this. I was still half sure that this conversation was going to end with a gunshot, but he'd left me with no choice but honesty and I was committed now. Still, I didn't need to be completely honest.
"Look, Lee, I've got the job now," he said. "I'm going to toughen these boys up, and my officers are going to help with that. But I have to get the balance right, make sure I don't piss them off so much that I lose them. I've got their obedience, but I need their loyalty and their respect. And I know that's going to be difficult for me. Not my strong suit.
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