The Cull Read online



  The Cull

  Jon Jacks

  Other New Adult and Children’s books by Jon Jacks

  The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

  The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

  A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things – The Last Train

  The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

  Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll’s Maid – The 500-Year Circus

  P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl

  Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

  Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – Seecrets – The Wicker Slippers

  Text copyright© 2013 Jon Jacks

  All rights reserved

  Thank you for your support.

  Blessed are the first one-hundred and fifty-three. For they are the very first Jasmines, who will spread their branches, take root, and suffuse the world in the glorious scent of Truth.

  The Book Of Jasmine

  Chapter 1

  ‘Sure I said I hoped she’d die! But that didn’t mean I actually wanted her to die!’

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Nobody could believe it.

  Mary Salford was dead.

  And somehow her friends seem to think I’m somehow responsible. And all because we’d had an argument yesterday.

  Hey, if having an argument with Mary made me a possible suspect for murder, that made half the school potential suspects!

  ‘It’s a figure of speech, Liz, that’s all. You know what a figure of speech is, right? Like, “Get out of my face!”’

  Jeez!

  Haven’t these girls got anything better to do than pester me about this?

  I mean, we’re all shocked, right?

  Even I didn’t hate Mary that much that I wanted her dead!

  You don’t, do you? When you say, “I hope you die”, you’re just angry; that’s all!

  You’re not really contemplating murder!

  Besides, just how do these numbskulls figure I managed to get Mary to step out into the road in front of an oncoming car?

  ‘She was upset!’ Liz screams back in my face.

  Obviously, Liz doesn’t understand everyday expressions like ‘Get out of my face!’.

  ‘Mary wasn’t thinking straight! That’s why she wandered out into the road!’

  Wow, so that’s it?

  That’s how Mary’s friends think I’m responsible for her death?

  Not because they think I somehow pushed her out into the road.

  Not because they think I was secretly driving the car that sent her flying back onto her own lawn.

  No no; they think I’m responsible because I’d upset her so much she was walking around in a daze!

  ‘Since when was Mary upset by what anyone said to her, Liz? And if being upset was a reason to wander out in front of a passing car, I think Mary would have an awful lot of deaths on her hands, wouldn’t she?’

  Mary was Miss Sarcasm par excellence.

  She could hit you bang centre where it hurt most. Hit you with a comment dripping with acid. One that would burn away at your very core for days afterwards.

  Like, ‘Hey, Jaz; is that your idea of makeup. Or have you just taken up professional boxing?’

  Yeah, that’s what our argument had been about.

  So, Rest In Peace, Mary.

  It will certainly be a lot more peaceful around here without you.

  *

  How did I get into an argument about makeup?

  It sounds like I’ve got one heck of a short fuse, right?

  But look, Mary had been ribbing me for ages about a number of things, right?

  That’s how she does – well, how she used to do it.

  She had that knack of knowing just which parts of you to tweak. And she’d know it no matter who she was talking to.

  A tweak here. A tweak there.

  A push of this button. Then that button.

  Pulling this nerve. Putting this nerve on edge.

  It was an enviable skill, I’ll give her that.

  She was testing your tolerance. Seeing how much you could stand before you cracked.

  If you were really stupid, you’d take it to a physical level.

  Big mistake.

  You’d be flat out on the floor before you knew it.

  Me, I stuck to the snappy come back.

  She respected that.

  Saw it as a game.

  A game she’d always flatter herself that she’d won whenever you finally parted.

  *

  Truth is, Mary’s comment about the makeup had really stung.

  How come?

  Well, I’d be the first to admit I’m not the most attractive girl around.

  But, you know, I always try and do my best with what I’ve got. As you do.

  Every ‘miracle’ beauty product that’s advertised, I’m a sucker for.

  It’s crazy, I know. I should know better.

  But, see, I don’t go letting anybody fool me that being attractive isn’t important.

  Sure, I’d like to buy into the theory. The theory that there’s no great advantage in being attractive.

  If everybody bought into the theory, that would be just great, wouldn’t it?

  Experience tells me, though, that no one’s buying into it.

  Not unless, of course, you’re already stunningly gorgeous. In which case, when you’re twittering away that being attractive’s no great shakes, it’s up there with some rich prat making out money isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  Then you get those poor things right out at the other end of the scale. Those who seem to be under the delusion that if they just keep repeating the mantra, well, everyone will start to believe them, won’t they?

  If only, eh?

  Thing is, if they really believe what they’re saying is true, what’s the problem?

  The guys they fancy will be the ones no one else wants anyway, right?

  Me, I reckon life runs a whole lot smoother for you if you’re blessed in the looks department.

  Does stating the obvious make me a bad person?

  In many people’s eyes, it probably does.

  In my eyes it makes me a bad person.

  There are intelligent kids out there who suffer heartache and worse simply because of their looks.

  Then there are others who just breeze through life purely because they’ve got great bone structure.

  Course, I’m not saying this is an ideal state of affairs!

  It’s ridiculous.

  It’s unfair.

  But that’s how it is.

  So get over it.

  It isn’t helping anyone to try and pretend it isn’t really like that.

  Because it means no one’s facing up to the facts.

  Me, I’ll admit right up front that most of my own personal suffering comes from lusting after guys who, to be honest, are way out of my league.

  And, of course, they wouldn’t be out of my league if I was even half-decent looking.

  So for me, when it comes to light reading, it’s the magazine articles on clever makeup shading. Brightening up your hair with tints. Getting the dress that makes the most of some curves and hides the others.

  All invaluable stuff.

  Then again, it was thanks to one of these articles that I ended up with a face way too heavy on the blue eye-shadow and yellow blusher.

  Yeah, what was I thinking, right?

  Mary, you’d got me dead to rights on that one.

  Oops, sorry; it’s just a figure of speech, okay?

  *

 
‘Jaz! Jaz!’

  It’s one of the kids from the lower years; Josie, Jolie, or something like that.

  What’s she want?

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You’re wanted in the headmistress’s office. I think the police are there!’

  The police?

  You’re kidding me!

  Crap!

  Surely the police don’t think I had anything to do with Mary’s death?

  What the heck’s Liz been telling them?

  *

  Chapter 2

  ‘Now Jasmine, I need you to be perfectly honest with me on this; did you have an argument with Liz and her friends when classes ended for the lunch break?’

  Miss Pollitt says it all calm and nicely. The tone she’d use if she were asking a five-year-old if she’d seen a nasty man hanging around the playground.

  Me, I’ve been sat in an oversized chair placed directly in front of her desk.

  You know, like I’m some poor guy who’s just about to be told his firm’s downsizing. He’s surplus to requirements. They’re going to have to let him go.

  To add to all the scenarios my mind’s conjuring up here, there’s a sternly glaring policewoman standing behind Miss Pollitt. Her arms folded like she’s ready to march me off to the cells. Her expression hard, unforgiving, like her patience has already run out.

  All this because I said I hoped Mary would die?

  ‘Please miss; I know what all this is about.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, I know Liz thought I was involved in Mary’s death, bu–’

  ‘Mary’s death?’

  She sounds surprised. She swaps a quick, puzzled glance with the policewoman.

  You ask me, the policewoman’s frown says she reckons I’ve just blurted out something tantamount to a confession.

  ‘Well, yes miss. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?’

  ‘No Jasmine; it isn’t about Mary’s unfortunate accident.

  She glances the policewoman’s way once more, this time like she’s asking permission to continue.

  The policewoman gives an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

  Miss Pollitt pauses. The way people pause when they’re preparing to say something they’re not going to find easy to say.

  ‘Jasmine…Jasmine…you were the last person to be seen talking to Elizabeth, Sarah and Zoe, yes?’

  ‘The last?’

  ‘Jasmine, I’m afraid…afraid that Liz, Sarah and Zoe have all died in a suspicious car crash.’

  *

  What am I? Some kind of Jonah?

  I came out of the office in a daze.

  This was getting crazy!

  Mary. Then Liz, Sarah and Zoe.

  All girls I’ve had an argument with. Then whhooomphh, they’re all suddenly meeting their maker.

  No wonder the police are a bit suspicious!

  Especially as it turns out that the car Liz’s mum had picked them up in had been tampered with!

  ‘Where were you this morning? Can you prove you were in class all morning?’

  The policewoman hadn’t bothered with any of Miss Pollitt’s niceties.

  She was hoping, no doubt, that I’d fess up to skipping most of the morning’s classes. Right after Automobile Maintenance and Sabotage.

  She was way heavy on the hints that she understood why I might have done it.

  That I was the bright kid gone frustrated, gone bitter, gone wrong.

  Well, I’ll give her two out of three for that one.

  Frustrated, tick.

  Bitter, tick.

  But murder? Multiple murder?

  And we’d have to add the perfectly innocent Mrs Salford to the tally too. And all because she’d picked her daughter and her friends up for lunch.

  What on earth would I want to kill her for?

  Like dad says, there’s only one way you can trust people in authority these days.

  You can always trust them to get it completely wrong.

  *

  One thing that the cop missed out on her list was bright kid gone feeling betrayed.

  Back in the lower school, I was seen as a bright kid.

  One with ‘a sharp, inquisitive mind’, as they always liked to put on the reports.

  Now, come parent’s night, when all the parents get to meet the teachers, I’m the kid with the ‘unfortunately sharp tongue’.

  Somewhere along the line ‘inquisitive’ was also transformed into ‘prying’. Or ‘seems to be getting her information from dubious websites’.

  Yeah, thanks Miss Believe-everything-the-state-tells-me.

  I love the web!

  It tells me stuff I’d never pick up from the newspapers. Still less from the TV news. From our lying, thieving politicians.

  You’ve probably guessed by now I’m not a great admirer of authority.

  Too right.

  Rules are there for a reason, agreed?

  So if you’ve got a good enough reason, ignore them.

  As far as I’m concerned – although I’m really sorry about Mrs Salford and Liz and everyone – the police might as well go whistling up the wall before expecting any help from me.

  *

  ‘I’m going to have to take you down the station, Miss!’

  The voice behind me is gruff, authoritative.

  I whirl around, shocked and angry.

  ‘What? Are you kiddi – Pat! You stupid prat!’

  Patrick Everet, grinning like he was surrounded by his usual little harem of hanger-ons.

  ‘Wow! Your face, Jaz! I’m glad I’m not a cop. You’d probably have taken my head off just with that evil glare of yours!’

  ‘Evil glare?’ I glare evilly at him.

  He raises his hands in mock surrender.

  ‘Okay, okay; angry glare then. I bet that really made your day, didn’t it? Being called to the headmistress’s office, and the police are waiting there for you! I bet you just couldn’t wait to give them whatever help they wanted, right?’

  ‘Word gets around quick in this school, doesn’t it? In this case, Pat, there’s not much to be joking about; Liz, Zoe and Sarah have all been killed in a crash involving Liz’s mum’s car.’

  ‘Jeez! Yeah, I heard some sort of rumour about that. But I’d thought that’s all it was; just a rumour.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It’s real enough. Thing is, it doesn’t look like it was an accident either. Someone had tampered with the brakes.’

  ‘You’re kidding me! Why? Why would anyone want to kill Liz or her mum?’

  ‘Or Zoe or Sarah. Beats me too.’

  ‘You’re not telling me the police were talking to you about that? Surely they can’t think you sawed through the cable or however it’s done these days.’

  ‘I don’t think a brake cable’s even visible these days, is it? Don’t modern cars have underbellies or whatever you call them?’

  ‘Hnm, now if I was the detective interviewing you, I’d have to say, “But how did you know it was a modern car, Miss Hopley? And how did you know the brake cable is sealed behind an undersill?”’

  ‘And if you were the detective interviewing me, I’d tell you you’d just infringed my rights, accusing me of a crime without a caring adult being in attendance. I’d also slip in a mouthful about the police being an army of occupation, forcing the undemocratic views of our self-appointed elite upon us.’

  ‘Hah, I can see the police are really going to get an awful lot of help from you, Miss Chez Guevara!’ Pat chuckles. ‘Obviously, Miss Pollitt hasn’t told them yet about the problems you have with authority!’

  ‘Oh, she’s probably told them all right; that’s probably why I’m prime suspect number one.’

  ‘Do you reckon it might have been Mrs Salford’s old man? You know; trying to knock her off so he can move his Asian mistress in? But his plans have all gone horribly wrong?’

  ‘I reckon what’s all gone horribly wrong here, Pat, is the warping of your imagination
by whatever you’re watching on TV these days!’

  He laughs. That deep-throated laugh that has all the girls giggling in embarrassed pleasure.

  I laugh with him.

  Like we’ve already forgotten we’re talking about the deaths of three innocent kids and a mum here.

  *

  Chapter 3

  Next morning, the school’s going all out to make sure no one’s going to forget we’re talking about the deaths of three innocent kids and a mum here.

  And we’re not going to be allowed to forget that laughing and having fun doesn’t fit in with mourning their passing.

  Morning assembly is all tearful speeches, reminding us how wonderful Liz, Zoe and Sarah were. And how we’re all going to really miss them.

  The audience, too, is all tearful kids.

  You wouldn’t believe how many of them are suddenly making out they were the very very very best friend of Liz, Zoe or Sarah.

  So they’re particularly affected by their sad loss.

  Wow, the amount of friends you suddenly gain when you’re dead is truly amazing!

  Me, I’m just the opposite,

  People couldn’t give me a wider berth if I were carrying an infected rhesus monkey around on my shoulders.

  It’s like I’m death personified. On the lookout for any possible candidates to wave my scythe over.

  It’s quite funny seeing all these kids stumbling over their feet, trying to make sure there’s someone between them and me.

  They all gawk worriedly at me, then suddenly avert their gaze, like I could zap their life away just by meeting their eyes.

  Jeezus!

  Give me a break!

  *

  More or less the same thing happens when we’re boarding the bus taking our class out on its field trip.

  By field trip, I mean the sort of walk in the woods that will somehow be turned into a lecture on climate change. You know; how all the glorious flowers we’re picking to be neatly pressed when we get back to school will all soon be gone. Unless we all start going to bed early to save electricity.

  Even so, everyone looks forward to these trips. They’re the perfect opportunity to lark around. To get as far away as we possibly can from the teachers.

  Today, however, I reckon everyone sees it as the perfect opportunity for me to strike them down dead. Somewhere out amongst the wilds of farthest Forthingham Wood, where no one will know they’re missing until it’s too late.