I rise from my chair. My stomach is full of butterflies because I know that what I am about to do puts everything I have worked to create here at risk. But I've mulled it over long enough. It doesn't really matter who these bastards are or why they're capturing children, they're expanding their area of operations and getting bolder. Sooner or later they're going to learn our location and pay us a visit. I don't intend to sit here waiting for them to arrive.
John's instincts are sound. It's time to take direct action.
"So that's where we're going," I say. "I want everyone out front this time tomorrow, full kit and arms. If these fuckers have a place of business, I think we should pay it a visit." I fold my arms and strike a resolute pose, accidentally kicking over my cold nettle tea as I do so.
"That's gonna stain," says Lee with a smile.
When the meeting's adjourned, the inner circle all head back to their allotted tasks. Lee is working in the garden today, Jack is doing an inventory of the armoury, Tariq is teaching creative writing to a classroom full of impressionable teenage girls who hang on his every word. John teaches PE and survival skills, but has a free day. He stays in his seat until the others have left, then leans forward earnestly.
"Good move, Jane," he says.
"But?"
"I want to set clear chain of command in the field. We've not gone looking for a fight in a long time and I want to be sure everybody knows how things work."
"I've told you before John, in here I'm the boss. But in the field you're in charge."
"And you'll have no trouble taking orders from me?" he asks, slightly dubious.
"None. You're a soldier. I'm a… I dunno what I am. I used to be a doctor, then I was a matron. Now, I suppose I'm a headmistress. Either way, you've more combat experience and training than all the rest of us put together. It's only right that you take charge when we're in action."
He nods, biting his lip. I can sense an unasked question.
"Do you think they're ready?" I ask eventually.
He shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine," he replies. "Jack's pretty nimble on his leg. He's not going to win any 100 metre sprints, but he'll be fine. Tariq can still shoot straight and the claw's a nasty weapon if needed."
"And Lee?"
He pauses, trying to frame his question correctly. "The limp's almost imperceptible, his arm doesn't have full movement, but again, it's not a handicap. Physically, I think he's as healed as he's ever going to be."
"But psychologically?"
"He worries me."
"Still? It's been two years since Salisbury."
"But he won't talk about it. Anything that happened between The Cull and Salisbury is off limits."
"And that bothers you?"
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"No," I say firmly. "He wants to move on. I've told you everything I can about what happened during the year Mac was in charge, and Tariq filled you in on events at Salisbury. You know the facts. He was so angry all the time but it's faded now. He's calmer."
"I think that's got more to do with you than anything else," says John eventually. I just smile and he doesn't pursue the point. "Anyway, I want you to keep an especially close eye on him while we're out there. PTSD can manifest in unexpected ways. He's been fine here, it's true, but this is a sheltered environment and somewhere he feels safe. I was worried when he started going on field trips, but they've all gone smoothly. My point is he's not been tested. It's just possible he may fall to pieces the first time someone takes a shot at him. Or worse, see red and fly into danger without a second thought."
"I will, but I think you're worrying over nothing." It's a complete lie. Everything he's just said I've been thinking too. If I could think of a way to keep Lee out of danger, I'd take it. He's earned the break. But he'd be insulted and would insist on coming anyway so in the end it would probably do more harm than good. "Not exactly a crack squad of elite forces are we?" I say with a smile. "A one legged boy, a hook-handed man, a partially deaf limping potential headcase and a matron."
He sits back and crosses his arms. "Took out the whole US Army didn't we? I reckon a bunch of kidnappers won't be too much trouble."
But we both know it's bravado.
"While I've got you alone, John," I say hesitantly. "Are you… I mean… me and Lee… is it?"
"Not my business," he says firmly. "He's 18."
"You don't mind, though?"
"That's irrelevant."
"Not to me."
He sighs heavily and his shoulders sag. For a moment the mask slips and I can see concern on his face. But it's not an unfriendly look.
"Honestly?"
"Honestly."
"All right then," he says. "I think you're gorgeous and clever and the best possible thing that could happen to my son right now."
"I hate to say this again, but… but?"
And then he says something that in one fell swoop fucks me up more than I could have imagined possible.
"Jesus, Jane, you don't half remind me of his mother when she was your age."
He rises from his chair, puts a hand on my shoulder for a moment, then leaves.
I sit there for on my own a long, long time.
God, I could kill a cuppa.
I worry about the perishability of rubber.
We've got a huge great pallet of condoms that we lifted from an abandoned warehouse. I remember when we found them, back on a scavenging trip when Mac was still in charge. I insisted we bring them along. At first Lee got a bit embarrassed — he was fifteen, after all — and then a bit annoyed.
"Why the hell would we want them?" he asked me.
I told him he'd understand eventually. I think he thought I was making fun of him, but I was beginning to worry about a residential school full of teenage boys and girls and the difficulty of stopping them shagging like rabbits every time they were out of a teacher's earshot.
Once I was in charge, I organised sex education classes and then made the condoms available to any child who wanted them. No age limit, no questions asked. Simply put, the alternative was lots of teenage mums. I may favour home births, birthing pools and all that jazz but if there are complications I've not got the kit to deal with them.
In post-Cull England, childbirth was once again almost certain to become a big killer of young women. I felt sure that sooner or later we'd hear of a communal birth centre being set up somewhere; it was inevitable. But until then, I wanted to keep pregnancies to a minimum, and sex ed. and free condoms seemed a pragmatic approach.
We've only had one unwanted pregnancy so far and thankfully the birth was textbook. Sharon from Bournemouth has a little boy called Josh and she's not telling anyone who the father is, although everyone knows it's a spotty little tike called Adrian.
This baby did something I'd not expected. It drew us all closer together, unified the school. Josh somehow became communal property, raised not by Sharon, although I ensured she remained primary carer, but by the school as a whole.
The first time he crawled was during breakfast. He took off down the aisle between the tables to a huge round of applause and cheers from the assembled kids. Clearly, he's meant for the stage.
It was a special moment.
As the common room fills up for the evening's DVD I think of Josh and the effect he's had on us. What would the school do if he were taken? I don't mean if he died. It would be awful, but we're all familiar with death by now, and another reality of post-Cull England was that infant mortality was going to soar to… well, to the kind of levels seen in pre-Cull Africa. Death happens, you get over it, you move on.
I mean if he was snatched, spirited away, never to be seen again. It doesn't bear thinking about.