Don't Breathe

way to the back of the room and the last few rows. Here he told the students to go to the first and second floors and the staffroom.
‘What about learning support?’ A boy asked. ‘There are usually a couple of classes there and, even if there aren’t, some of the staff might be around.’
Christ! Cam hadn’t even thought about the specialist unit that he’d been so proud to secure funding for a couple of years ago. Some of the most vulnerable kids may well be in there. Kids who wouldn’t understand the break in their routine and would potentially be difficult to persuade to leave the safety of the school.
Then he remembered what Ruth had said when she’d printed the registers out. There was a trip today and they’d already left. It was the annual Christmas visit to the bowling alley in Carlisle and nearly all the SEND students would be on it.
‘Good thinking,’ he said to the student, in his most reassuring tone. ‘But I think most of the SEND kids are on a trip. Could four of you go and check. Give one of the notes to anybody you find there. And make sure you check all the rooms.’ Glancing across at Raynor, Cam could see that he’d completed his task and was waiting for further instruction.
‘Okay,’ Cam said, clapping his hands together twice. ‘You all know where you’re going. Tell the staff that you don’t know anything beyond what’s in the note and make sure that they know it’s urgent. Students can take bags and coats – it’s not a fire drill – but we need to clear the site as quickly as possible. Off you go.’
He watched the whole group file out of the common room before turning to Jack Raynor. ‘We’ve got a group of armed men on site, Jack,’ he said.
Raynor glanced around the room as if expecting to see a gunman burst from one of the corners.
‘They’re in the humanities block holding one class hostage. Tom’s in there.’
Raynor reached out and placed a firm hand on Cam’s shoulder. ‘What can I do?’
‘Get out to the front of the school and try to make sure that the evacuation goes smoothly. We’ll need to…’
‘Mr Cleaver!’ The uniformed policeman burst through the door to the common room his face flushed, eyes bright. ‘I need you to come back to reception immediately. We’ve had contact from one of the men in the classroom. He’s asking for you.’

7
Annie Bainbridge lunged at Harley, hardly aware of what she was doing. All she could think about was stopping Tom from getting hurt and all she could see was blood.
‘What have you done? What the fuck have you done?’
She could hear that she was screaming but she didn’t seem to be able to get herself under control. Tom was hurt. Tom could die. She didn’t care about the armed men; she didn’t care about the rest of the people in the room. She cared about Tom and she hadn’t even told him how she really felt. Her mum had given her permission to take the day off, to go shopping, have a break as it was so close to Christmas, but Annie had needed to see Tom. They’d argued and it had all been her fault. She’d needed to make things right between them.
‘Annie, get back!’ She felt hands on her upper arms, holding her back, pulling her away and swung round to see Miss Frith’s frightened face close to her own.
‘Annie! Let me get through. I need to see what’s happened.’
She took a step to the side, wanting to look at Tom’s injuries, to see how badly Harley had hurt him but she was terrified. At least, if she didn’t look, she wouldn’t know, and she could pretend that everything was all right. But how could everything be all right? The whole class was being held hostage by three armed men and Tom Cleaver had just been stabbed.
Pale faces all around her. Some she trusted, some she loathed but she knew them all. Yet not one of them was trying to help. They were all just sitting there, not even looking at her, or at Tom.
‘What’s wrong with you all?’ she yelled. ‘Somebody do something. Get some help.’
And then she turned fully round and saw what her classmates were looking at. All three men had shouldered their rifles and were pointing them at Harley Morton and Tom Cleaver.
‘Put the knife down!’ Larry yelled. Harley was staring down at his hands as if he’d just noticed them and wasn’t convinced that they belonged to him. In his right hand the knife trembled and Annie watched, horrified, as a drop of blood formed on the tip of the blade before dropping to the floor.
Harley’s eyes drifted from his hands to the barrel of Larry’s gun and back again.
‘Drop it!’
His fingers relaxed and the blade glinted in the weak sunlight as it slid onto the table. Larry gestured to Mo, who dashed forwards and knocked it onto the carpet. ‘Somebody get some tissues or something, I’m not touching that. Who knows what the kid might have. I’m not getting AIDS for nobody.’
‘Fucking pussy,’ Larry hissed. He elbowed his companion out of the way and grabbed the knife by the handle. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’
Harley reared back as flecks of Larry’s spit sprayed his pale face but he didn’t respond.
‘Jesus. Sit back down and don’t fucking move. And you, teacher, back to your desk.’
Harley’s legs seemed to buckle under him as he collapsed into the nearest seat, trembling, his eyes wild and unfocused. Miss Frith kept her eyes fixed on Tom as she backed away, clearly reluctant to leave him alone.
‘What about Tom?’ Annie asked. ‘He’s hurt. We need to get help.’
Both men were looking at Larry, and Annie could see that they were panicking. This hadn’t been part of the plan, she realised. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. The guns were intended to subdue the class,