Nightshade

3

The first Armed Response Vehicle pulled up in front of the school with a squeal of brakes. A Firearms Officer piled out of the BMW while the driver unlocked the gun cabinet and pulled out two G36 carbines. Both men were wearing black uniforms and bulletproof vests and had Glock pistols holstered on their hips.

There were more than a hundred pupils gathered in front of the railings. ‘What the bloody hell are they gawping at?’ asked Sergeant Mickey Rawlings, though the question was rhetorical. There were a dozen adults among the crowd, presumably the teachers. Rawlings walked over and raised his hand. ‘Who’s in charge?’ he shouted.

A middle-aged man in a tweed jacket with black leather patches on the elbows walked over. ‘The head is off today and her deputy is …’ He grimaced and pointed to a body in the playground, about fifty feet away.

‘What happened here?’ asked Rawlings.

‘There’s a man in the school with a shotgun. He shot Mr Etchells and he’s walking through the school shooting children.’

‘Wait here,’ said the sergeant, then he raised both hands above his head. ‘Would you all please move down the road!’ he shouted. ‘I need you to all move well away from the school, now!’ No one moved and the sergeant wished that he could what they did in the movies and fire his gun into the air, but he knew that would be the quickest way off the force. He took a deep breath and shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Everybody move down the road now!’ he yelled. ‘There’s a man in there with a gun and you’re all at risk.’

A second ARV arrived and squealed to a halt. The teachers started herding the children down the road. The sergeant turned to the teacher next to him. ‘You’re sure it was a shotgun?’

The teacher nodded. An armed policeman ran over from the newly arrived ARV. He was Ricky Gray, a relative newcomer to the unit but an excellent shot and unflappable under pressure. He nodded at Rawlings.

‘Any idea how many shots have been fired?’ Rawlings asked the teacher.

‘Five. Six maybe.’

‘Was it a double-barrelled shotgun or a pump action?’ asked Rawlings.

The teacher frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Did it have two barrels? Or did it just have one?’

The teacher nodded. ‘Two.’

The two ARV drivers hurried over to Rawlings. The driver of Rawlings’ car was holding two carbines and he handed one to Rawlings. His name was Vic Rhodes and he’d worked with Rawlings for more than five years.

Four was the minimum for an emergency entry but Rawlings would have been happier with six. As if a fairy godmother was granting him wishes, a third ARV came roaring down the road.

‘And what does he look like?’ Rawlings asked the teacher.

‘Like a farmer. Waterproof coat and green Wellington boots.’

‘How old?’

‘Forty. Fifty maybe. I didn’t hang around to get a good look.’

Rawlings patted Rhodes on the shoulder. ‘Call in a sit-rep, Vic,’ he said, then jogged over to the car. Sergeant Tom Chisholm climbed out of the front passenger seat and nodded at Rawlings. Though he was the same rank as Rawlings he had more experience and he naturally assumed the role of Op Com – operational commander.

‘There’s another car on the way,’ said Chisholm. He nodded at the school building. ‘Heard anything?’

‘Five shots. Maybe six. There’s one casualty in the playground.’ Rawlings pointed at the body of the deputy headmaster.

A shot rang out from the school and the policemen flinched. ‘Make that seven,’ said the officer who was accompanying Chisholm, twenty-two-year-old Neil Sampson.

‘Okay, we’re going straight in,’ said Chisholm. ‘There are kids at risk, I’m not waiting for a senior officer.’

A police van was heading towards them. Sampson handed Chisholm his G36. ‘Let’s get in there,’ said Chisholm. ‘If there’s a bloody inspector on that bus we’ll be out here all day.’

The six men ran towards the school entrance, cradling their carbines.