I make to stand but I feel a boot on my shoulder, pushing me down. Then knees in my back and a hand on the back of my head, pushing my face into the gaping wound in the back of one of the dead snatchers. I gag.
"Who the fuck are you?" says a voice that I don't recognise.
I don't reply. The hand pushes my face deep into the gore. I feel my cheek scraping against a jagged edge of shattered bone. Christ, this guy's got a huge hole in him. That new sniper rifle is vicious.
"I won't ask again."
"I'm Jane Crowther. Pleased to meet you," I say, trying not to get blood in my mouth.
"You're sure this is her?" he asks. "She shut down Olly's supply line?"
"Yes, boss," I hear Bookworm reply.
"So what are you?" asks the man in a thick Scottish accent. "Some kind of vigilante?"
"Just a concerned citizen."
"Who goes around massacring people."
"Who goes around rescuing children from kidnappers."
He snorts, derisively. "We're not kidnappers, miss. We're saving these kids. Aren't we boys?" There's a chorus of muted giggles, although one guy looks uncomfortable, as if offended.
"Saving them from what?"
"Eternal damnation. Apparently."
"It doesn't do to mock the Abbot, boss," says the uncomfortable one, threateningly. The boss nods, suddenly serious.
"You're right, of course, Jimmy," he says solemnly, then winks at me, humouring his colleague. "Anyway love, we've got you and your two blokes. How many more of you are there?"
"Enough."
He shoves my head hard into the wound and suddenly I can't breathe, my mouth and nose blocked by soggy meat. He literally rubs my face in it, then lets go and stands back. I fling myself backwards, gasping for air, scrabbling away from the obscene mound of carcasses. I catch a glimpse of the children, huddled in the corner of the hall, watching wide-eyed, before I kneel and throw up, heaving long and hard until there's nothing left and I feel wretched and hollow.
I'm still kneeling there with my eyes closed, trying to quell the stomach spasms, when I hear his voice in my ear, speaking softly.
"Finished?"
I look up at him, and am surprised to see how handsome he is. I spit a potent mix of vomit and blood into his matinee idol blue eyes. He just laughs and backhands me, sending me sprawling.
As I lie there, waiting for a bullet to end me, I hear Bookworm say "I reckon Spider will want to talk to her," and my vision blurs, my blood feels like ice in my veins, my head swims and I begin to tremble.
He's alive.
"What did you say?" I rasp, eventually.
"I said our boss will want to talk to you."
"His name. You said his name."
"Yeah." Bookworm sounds confused.
"What was his fucking name?" I yell.
"Spider," says Movie Idol, curious in spite of himself. If his reaction is anything to go by, I must have gone as white as a sheet.
"Spider," I say. "Spider." And then I can't stop saying his name, it pours out of me in a hysterical flood of jumbled syllables. "Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider. Spider…"
He slaps me again and I fall silent. I barely even know where I am. All I can see is that face. All I can hear is that voice. All I can feel is the sick ache in my stomach as my brother looks down in surprise at…
"Yes," I say quietly, rising to my feet. "Yes, I think he will want to talk to me. I certainly want to talk to him."
Movie Idol narrows his eyes and smiles. "You got history with the big man?"
I nod.
"Fine, you just bought yourself a ticket to London." He turns to address the gaggle of gunmen. "Put her and the kids in the lorry."
Two guys step forward and herd us towards the fire escape. As I step outside I hear Movie Idol giving a final order.
"Oh, and kill those other two fuckers."
I try to turn and protest, but the tide of children sweeps me out into the playground.
There's nothing I can do.
We're herded through the playground and out the front gate into the street. Two big container lorries are waiting. Both have their rear doors open, revealing hordes of terrified children huddled together for warmth. There are six men with guns standing around the trucks, both preventing the children from running and keeping an eye out for attack. Every one of them is a plum target for a good sniper, but for some reason Lee isn't taking the shot. Suddenly I feel guilty — the only thought I've spared for Lee since the Rangers attacked has been to worry about his mental state; it hasn't occurred to me that he might be lying dead in one of these houses.
I turn to look back at the school, where John and Tariq are being executed, and I curse myself for being such a fool. Who the hell did we think we were to come charging in here and take these guys on? We're… Christ I don't know what we are but we certainly aren't soldiers, or even police. It's ironic that we managed to take out the entire US Army two years ago, but now we've been undone by a bunch of child snatchers in lorries.
Our escorts chivvy us into the back of the foremost lorry. As I step up to the ramp I slip in a pile of what smells like human shit. There are no seats in here, and a couple of buckets sit by the doors, empty but reeking of effluent. This must be the kids' toilets, and they've just emptied them in the street. The smell of unwashed bodies, open toilets and fear is overwhelming.
"Sorry it's a bit cramped," says the snatcher next to me, sarcastically. "But your man wrote off the third lorry, so we've had to shove its cargo into these two."
The mass of kids shuffle up to make room for us new arrivals. Just as I sit down I hear two muffled shots from inside the school.
I sit in that lorry, surrounded by despairing children who I am powerless to help, leaving behind two dead friends and a missing lover, on my way to be reunited with the cruellest sadist I've ever met, and I begin, to my shame, to cry.
As the lorry doors swing shut I catch a glimpse of Bookworm leaving the school, scurrying to the rearmost lorry, waving to his boss at the front to tell him the job is done. Then the doors close with a heavy bang and we're plunged into darkness.
Chapter Six
"I'm not your enemy."
The Ranger didn't waver for an instant. "I said drop it."
We stared at each other for a moment, as I considered my options and he got ready to skewer me. I dropped the gun and kicked it over to him.
"Useless at close range anyway," I said.
He looked down at Guria's body and I saw the shock on his face.
"But he's…"
"Just a kid. Yeah. Shot him anyway, though, didn't you."
"Never. Not to kill, anyway. Did he move just before he was hit?"
I nodded.
He flashed me a look I couldn't quite interpret then backed onto the landing and gestured me downstairs.
Five minutes later we were in the kitchen of another house, further down the street, where the Rangers had regrouped. The other four kids were there too, rounded up like I was.
As I entered the house one of the kids — I think his name was Wallis — said: "Hey, Sir, where's Guria?"
I just shook my head and let my captor push me down on the floor, where I sat cross-legged.
"So they call you Sir, do they, Son?" said a tall Irishman who seemed to have taken command. "Fancy yourself a General do you? Like it when children call you Sir? Make you feel important?" He was barely holding in his anger, leaning down, getting in my face, trying to provoke me.
"No, I just find that it helps maintain classroom discipline."
He pulled back his arm to slap me around the face, but one of his fellows grabbed it and pulled him back. He shook the guy off, but composed himself.
"Two of my friends are dead because of you."