"I'll handle this," says John.
But I've seen the way he handles things, and I'm not prepared to let him screw this up. This calls for diplomacy, not violence.
I'm out of the cab and walking before he can stop me.
The middle of the five men raises his bow, notches an arrow, draws the catgut back slowly and sights on me as I step into the road.
"Put your hands above your head and get on your knees," he shouts.
I put my hands up, but start walking towards them. I figure the last thing they'll be expecting is politeness, so as I approach I smile and say: "could you keep the noise down please, we're trying to stage an escape here."
I can see this throws him, and he doesn't try to stop me approaching. I stop about three metres in front of him, hands above my head, ensuring that my body language is as passive as possible. His arrow is still pointing straight at my head, and now the two men either side of him are aiming at the cab of the minibus behind me.
He cocks his head, inviting me to explain.
"At a guess, you're Rangers," I say. "From Nottingham, yes?"
He gives me nothing.
"My name's Jane Crowther, I run a school called St Mark's. You may have heard of us."
The man shakes his head once.
"Right, well, your boss invited me to send an envoy up to you last week. One of my people is talking to you guys in Nottingham right now."
He shrugs; what has this got to do with him?
"I imagine you're here to take down the snatchers and rescue the kids," I continue. "Thing is, we just did that. Or at least, we got the kids out of the building and into the minibus. Most of the snatchers are still inside, asleep. And the longer we stand around here making noise, the greater the chance of them waking up and starting to shoot at us. So can we please, please take this discussion elsewhere?"
He considers me carefully, then gives a tiny nod.
"Crossroads. One hour," he says to his men. Then he gestures for me to walk back to the bus. "I'll be right behind you," he growls. His men peel off and begin heading back into the shadows. I turn on my heels, but before I can start walking there's a sharp report, a dull impact, and a grunt. Instinctively, I drop to my knees and draw my weapon. I don't even need to look behind me to realise that the leader of the Rangers is slowly toppling backwards — I felt the spray of blood and brains splash across the back of my neck.
I can see Lee leaping out of the minibus cab while his father jumps across to the driver's seat and prepares to pull away.
But I'm confused. I scan the walls of the primary school and can't see anyone at all. The snatchers must still be in bed or, more likely, reaching sleepily for their guns now they've heard shooting. And then I process the fact that the blood hit the back of my neck. The bullet came from the other end of the road. I drop and roll, coming up facing the other way. I can see two Rangers bolting for cover in the terraced houses on either side of the road, and two more dragging their leader away by his wrists.
I'm totally exposed, a sitting duck, and I still can't see the shooter.
"No! Don't!" shouts Lee as he runs towards me. He dives sideways as an arrow comes whistling past me, meant for him. One of the Rangers is shooting at him.
"Dammit," I yell. "We didn't shoot your boss!"
And then I realise, with a sinking feeling, that we did.
"Guria, you fuckwit, where are you?" yells Lee as he staggers to his feet and scurries for cover.
I see a Ranger take aim at the minibus cab and I have no choice. I send two rounds past his head and force him into the doorway of the nearest house. I've just confirmed to him that we're the enemy. No going back now.
Before I can get to my feet and run to join Lee, there's a snapping noise and gravel spatters my cheek. Someone else is shooting at me. I'll be dead if I stay here another second, so I just get up and run as fast as I can for the nearest doorway, the frame of which splinters as I race through into the rotting terrace. Those bullets are coming from the other direction, which means the snatchers have woken up and decided to join in. I crouch inside the hall of the ruined house, trying to work out what to do.
I've got a kid gone rogue with a sniper rifle, misguidedly trying to protect me. There are at least four highly trained Rangers who now want to kill all of us. And there's an angry group of child-rustlers taking potshots at us from behind a big brick wall. Lee and I are trapped in houses on opposite sides of the street, there are four other armed children cowering in houses somewhere, and worst of all a minibus full of kids is smack bang in the middle of the crossfire. Would the snatchers shoot them rather than let them escape? I hear the engine revving. John isn't sticking around to find out. The minibus goes roaring past the house I'm sheltering in, making a break for it, getting the kids to safety.
The moment they're past I risk leaning out and sending some bullets back towards the snatchers. I get a vague impression of three of them lined along the wall. None of the Rangers are anywhere to be seen. I think only one of them is on this side of the street, which means three others are opposite me, with a clear shot if they want to take it.
There's nothing I can do here except get myself shot. Time to go. I race through the house, past an overturned sofa thick with fungus, through a burnt out kitchen, out the back door, down the old brick-walled yard, past the shed which used to be an outdoor toilet, and through the gate into the back alley.
Before I can get my bearings I hear the unmistakeable sound of a car crash.
Just for a second I catch myself wondering whether any day has ever gone completely to shit so quickly. But the answer, of course, is yes. Once.
Right — stop, think, prioritise.
Lee can take care of himself. Guria and the other four should have the sense to make their way out of the area, if they can avoid the Rangers. I have to worry about the minibus, because if John's wrapped it round a lamppost they could be injured. That's where I'm needed.
I run down the alleyway, away from the school, towards the ominous sound of a blaring car horn.
As I run, I expect to see a Ranger step out ahead of me, or hear one of the children calling for me to stop, but an eerie silence has fallen, broken only by that horn. The back alley is cobbled, with a gunnel running down the middle of it. I race past countless wooden yard gates, some hang off their hinges but most are still bolted shut. As I reach the far end of the alley I pass a row of garages and then I'm out into the street, skidding to a halt and trying to make it back into the alley without being seen. Because the minibus has driven head first into the grille of an enormous lorry, the first of a convoy of three, all boasting huge spray painted red circles on the side like some kind of logo. The street swarms with angry men carrying big guns.
I finally manage to stop about two feet away from a man who has his back to me. I take a step back; he hasn't heard me. I turn, planning to creep back into cover… and I'm staring down the double barrels of a sawn-off shotgun.
So there I stand, watching the steam from the ruined minibus curling into the air behind the head of this gunman, trying to think of something to say. But he finds his tongue first.
"Well fuck me slowly with a chainsaw," he drawls. "Look who it is."
"Oh great," I say when I've caught my breath. "And I didn't think today could get any worse."
He smiles, turns the gun around and slams the stock into my face.
The world goes black.