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'We should have the whole day,' I said.

'Unless it gets colder,' said Gillian.

'Of course. Unless it gets colder. If it snows, we'll know.'

'You'll all report to my office after Assembly,' said Mr Carker. 'To get the Cane. Six strokes. I don't care if you are Girls. This behaviour can't be tolerated. It's barbarous.'

John pointed the gun at the Head.

If they allowed Capital Punishment in schools, that infraction would earn the Chop.

'There's no School today,' said John. 'No School, ever.'

Some kids cheered.

All the children gathered around, and some of the teachers. Having a gun was like holding the conch in Lord of the Flies (which we're reading in English Lit). Everyone had to pay attention.

'There's an Emergency,' announced John.

'Everyone should get home,' said Gillian. 'Before it gets cold again. And stay indoors. Keep the heating on full blast. Make your parents listen, if you can. Look after yourselves, if you can't.'

Even the kids who didn't like Gillian much were listening. Everyone had seen and heard things that worried or puzzled them. Now someone was talking sense.

'This is unprecedented,' said Mr Carker. 'To Assembly, everyone.'

'People have been killed,' said Gillian. 'Look.'

The Head stood over the corpses, but the sight didn't fit into his idea of the world. A massacre was no reason to disrupt the time-table.

'Anyone who leaves School grounds in lesson-time will get a Detention.'

A stuttering dread ran through the crowd. DT, DT, DT.

'I am prepared to Detain the whole school,' said Mr Carker.

A gasp. I wanted to scream. Why was anyone still taking the Head seriously? He wasn't even wearing the gown of authority he put on for Assembly, just an old mackintosh and wellies.

'I think Gillian has the right idea, Mr C,' said one of the newer teachers, a youth with a beatnik beard who took Art. 'Last night, there was a riot in town. The army are all over the streets. The wireless is off the air. There were no papers this morning. It's like the Blitz.'

'You're dismissed,' snapped the Head.

'Beats being killed, Daddy-O,' said the teacher.

'We should call the police, John,' announced Wendy Coburn, after some thought. 'And an ambulance.'

'The phones are dead,' said John. He'd sat three desks away from Wendy for four years but she'd probably never talked directly to him until now. 'It's best you get home.'

Wendy thought it over and agreed. When she moved for the main gates, her entire clique went with her. That left a hole.

'Detention, Coburn,' shouted the Head.

Wendy, with her spotless attendance record, hadn't earned so much as a single Line in her whole School career. She flinched, but kept walking, working out a route for her group, to drop everyone off at their homes in strict order, picking up waifs and strays and stragglers.

Then, everyone started leaving.

The only children who'd turned up were the ones who lived close enough to Coal Hill to walk. The buses and the tube were probably stopped. Mr Carker tried to issue more orders, but nobody paid attention. He kept shouting 'Detention', and even 'it's the Cane for you'.

'Go home, Crusty,' said Gillian, not unkindly.

Following Wendy's example, knots of children formed into big parties for safety, with teachers nominally in charge, and set out for their homes. Mr Carker joined one group of Year One kids and was whisked off, 'infants' tugging at his arms.

In the end, we were left alone. Me, Gillian, John. And Captain Brent.

'Johnno,' he snapped, staring down his son, holding out his hand.

There was a long moment of eye contact between them. Meekly, John gave his father back the gun.

Gillian yelped in outrage at John's stupidity. Captain Brent put on the safety and holstered the gun.

With a hole through it, the snowman was like a Henry Moore sculpture.

'Good shooting, Johnno,' the Captain approved. 'You're finally getting your eye in. I knew R.O.T.C. would whip the dreaming out of you, get you into proper shape.'

Gillian pointed to her