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Baz flinched at the sight, but couldn’t turn away. Preacher John’s presence was overwhelmingly powerful, impossible to ignore.

“We allowed criminals to walk free and spared them the rod of justice, yet we prayed to God to save us from their evil ways. We put ourselves in the hands of moneylenders, yet we prayed to God to deliver us from our debts. We brought famine into the world, and then blamed God for it, even as we stood with our begging bowls held out to Him. And now we reap what we have sown. God’s fury upon us all. Hymn number seventy-one. All rise.”

Up again, a hurried rustling of pages, and Taps began to play.

“
Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us
O’er the world’s tempestuous sea...”

Baz was carried along as though hypnotized. He stood up, sat down, mouthed unfamiliar words from the book he held in his hands, and all in a kind of trance. He was so transfixed by the figure before him that the psalms and the hymns and the prayers became just background noise.

“... and the Lord said, 
I will
 destroy 
man whom I have created from the face of the earth: both man and beast and the creeping
 thing
, and the fowls of the air for it repenteth me that I have made them!”
Again and again the preacher banged his fist on the lectern, so that dust and dirt floated down from the underside to land on the toe-caps of his shiny shoes.

“
Gird up your loins like a man
. These are God’s words to Job. We must act as men, not as whipped puppies. And we must look to the Old Testament in order to regain His grace. For I tell you this: God has not changed. The God that looks down upon me and speaks to me is the same God that looked down upon Job, aye, and Jacob and Moses and Abraham. And he demands the same of me as he did of them. Worship! Sacrifice! Not the feeble whimperings of a lost child, but the actions of a man!”

By now Preacher John’s slicked-back hair had dried. It circled his head like a fiery halo, a burning bush, so that he might have stepped from the pages of the very book that lay before him. His high glistening forehead looked solid enough to batter down the walls of Jericho.

“Men have died, and have always died, for the greater glory of God. Where there are great leaders, those who speak directly to God, there will be those whose lives are sacrificed in order that His word be obeyed. So will I build my altar to Him. And so will I make my sacrifice to Him, whatever He sees fit to ask of me, even to my own. Rejoice then, my sons, that we have been spared the coming of this second flood, and be glad that the good Lord has given us meat and shelter. But understand this: while the floods remain we’ve not been forgiven. God may ask for more of our blood before he draws the waters back into the fountains of the earth, and we must be prepared to pay in blood. Now let us pray.”

Then everyone leaned forward and bowed their heads. As Baz closed his eyes, he felt that a spell had been broken, that he’d been released at last, though the dark-suited figure still filled his inner vision.

“We thank you, God, for this day. We thank you for the harvest you bring to our nets, and for the comforts you deliver to us. We beg only for the chance to earn your forgiveness. Show us how to atone for the sins of the world, O Lord, that we may live in your good grace once more. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Preacher John closed his Bible. “Hutchinson, Steiner, stay behind as usual to receive your duties for the week. The rest of you, dismiss. Go and take some of God’s good air. Isaac, I’ll speak to you directly.”

“Quick, then. Let’s grab the swipes while we’ve got the chance.”

Freed from the assembly hall, the boys hurried out of the main entrance, Amit leading the way. They rounded the corner of the building towards where the washtubs stood.

“Who’s got the bags and the spoons? Robbie? Got the tin-opener?”

“Yeah, all here.” Robbie pulled two or three scrunched-up carrier bags from his pocket.

Several pairs of hands delved into the filthy water of the first washtub. Out came a dozen or more tins, dripping wet, and these were quickly put into two of the carrier bags.

“Come on, then. Don’t hang about.”

Baz and Ray followed as the boys ran towards the part of the school building that had collapsed. They began stumbling across piles of rubble, broken window frames, upturned desks – a landscape of devastation. Baz looked up and saw the remains of what had once been a spiral staircase, now partially exposed on the outside of the building. Its metal railings were kinked and twisted as though they had been made of coat-hanger wire.

“Where are we going?” Baz was out of breath.

Jubo pointed vaguely. “Up to da sports center. But we goin’ da back way, so they don’t see us.”

“How do we...?”

But Jubo was forging on ahead. There was a dirt lane beyond the mounds of rubble, overgrown by hedges and nettles but still just passable, and this rose in a steep winding pathway to the playing fields.

In a few minutes the boys were all gathered at the rear of the sports center building. A quick glance around to make sure that they hadn’t been followed, and they emptied out the two carrier bags onto the ground.

“What did we get in the swipes then?”

“Ten... eleven... thirteen, I make it.” Dyson crouched down beside the pile of tins, counting them. “Means we’ve got one each and some spares for next time. Let’s give ’em a swill, then, and put them in the sack. Whose turn for Santa?”

“Me,” said Jubo. He reached behind the nearest water butt and produced a black plastic bin liner.

The boys sat round in a circle, and it was apparent from the trampled-down patch of bare earth that they had visited this spot many times. Jubo put all the tins in the sack, shuffled them around a bit at his feet, then passed them out to the group one by one.

“Merry Christmas, Taps. Merry Christmas, Gene...”

This was obviously another little ritual. As each boy received his gift from ‘Santa’, he looked at the end of the tin to see what he’d got.

Baz studied the numbered code. Mincemeat? Yes, he thought so. Savory mince. Too much on its own, and he didn’t feel much like eating in any case.

“Merry Christmas, Amit.”

“I already told you about twenty million times,” said Amit. “I’m Muslim. We don’t do Christmas. Rats,” he added. “I got friggin’ tomatoes.”

“Ha, ha! Bad luck.” Dyson taunted Amit by waving his tin at him. “Beef curry, mate. Go, Santa!”

“Share mine, if you like.” Baz felt that he owed Amit a favor. “I don’t think I could eat a whole tin of mince. We’ll mix the two together. Be like a spag bol.”

“Yeah? OK, then. Thanks.”

“Have some of mine as well,” said Ray. “Look – I got spaghetti. Be even more like a spag bol then.” He glanced across at Baz and pulled a face. It seemed that Ray didn’t feel hungry either. The thought of what was hanging over them would ruin any appetite.

“Yeah, come on. We’ll just do the sharing thing again.” Robbie was up for it too. “Gene?”

“All right,” said Gene. “I don’t mind. But we’ve got no saucepan here to mix it all up in, only spoons.”

“Well... we can just put the tins on the ground and take a bit of each, can’t we?” said Baz. “Like tapas, or sushi.”

“Tapas?” said Jubo. “
Sushi?
 Ey – you rankin’ me? What kind of life were you leading, guy?”

Baz shrugged. “Dunno. Normal, I s’pose. We used to eat out sometimes, that’s all.”

“Yeah, we eat out too. Pizza Hut and KFC.”

Everybody laughed.

“Tell you what, though. I could kill a pizza right now.”

“Yeah. Or a kebab...”

“Fish and chips...”

“Proper Christmas dinner, with all t’ trimmings...”

“Don’t! You’re killing me!”

“Let’s face it,” said Amit. “Anything’d be better than this crap.”

But it was kind of fun to dip spoons into one tin and then another, and to share everything around. At least it gave a bit of variety, and Baz had the impression that the others might have liked to join in if Dyson would swallow his pride.

But Dyson said, “God, it’s like watching a chimps’ tea party. Your guts are going to be worse than ever on that mixture.” He took a spoonful of curry and made an elegant show of chewing it slowly and carefully.

“Yeah, yeah.” Amit changed the subject. He looked across at Baz and said, “So what did you reckon of Preacher John? Told you he was nuts.”

Baz thought about it for a moment. “It was scary,” he said. “That bit at the end... with the sacrifices and everything. What was all that about?”

Amit shrugged. “Dunno. He’s getting worse, though. He really believes that the floods and everything are a punishment. From Allah. God, whatever.”

“Yeah, well, we already know that,” Robbie said. “But he’s never said anything about sacrifices before. I didn’t like it...”

“Nah, it’s just Bible talk,” said Dyson. “It doesn’t mean he’s gonna start killing people. Not us, anyhow. That’d be mental.”

“Wish somebody kill that Preacher John, man,” said Jubo. “Wish somebody kill the whole lot o’ them.”

“Blow their heads off.”

“Yeah. Steiner, Hutchinson, Isaac... those other tossers.” Amit grabbed an imaginary machine gun.

“Line ’em up against a wall, grab their guns off ’em and: 
duh-duh-duh-duh
...”

“I’d start with Steiner. 
OK, Steiner
, I’d say...”

“
You freakin’ pervert... “
Robbie joined in.

“Yeah! 
OK, Steiner, you freakin’ pervert. Let’s see how tough you look with
 this 
pointing at you!
 Then – 
Boof!
”

“Right in the nuts.”

“Ha! Yeah. The ginger nuts!”

Amit made a leap for Robbie and the two of them rolled around the dusty patch of earth in mock struggle. It was clear that Amit was the stronger of the two, and in a few moments he was kneeling astride Robbie’s chest. He put an imaginary gun to Robbie’s forehead.

“
And now, Mr. Steiner... you die!
”

“Aargh! Gerroff me, you freak!”

Dyson looked up from his tin. “It’s all very well 
saying
 it, Amit. But you couldn’t actually do it.”

“Could if I had a gun,” said Amit. “
Badoomff!”
He fired his weapon and then rolled sideways, apparently thrown off balance by the powerful recoil. His slaughtered victim sat up and rubbed his nose.

“Know how to use one, do you?” Dyson said.

“What’s to know? You point it and pull the trigger.”

“Huh, it’s not like it used to be in the movies, Amit. What’re you going to do – run around and shoot the lot of ’em? You’re crazy.”

“So how would you do it then?”

“Wouldn’t even try,” said Dyson. “And nor would you if it came down to it. You couldn’t do it – not actually kill someone. Don’t think any of us could.”

“I could.”

Everyone turned towards Ray. He was sitting with his legs tucked under him, staring down at the palms of his injured hands, and there was a bitterness in his voice that stopped all other conversation.

“You give me a gun,” he said, “and show me how to use it, I’d kill ’em all.”

Dyson looked at him for a few moments longer, before putting another spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Listen, Ray,” said Gene. “Try not to worry too much about later on, OK? The hole, I mean. As long as you don’t panic, you’ll be all right. And at least you’ve been warned, yeah? At least you kind of know what to expect. Eat something, and drink some water. It’s better to have something in your stomach to begin with.”

Nobody spoke for a while.

“So how long before we have to go down?” Baz felt like a condemned prisoner waiting for execution.

Robbie shuffled backwards towards where the grass grew thicker. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand, and yawned. “Couple hours or so yet. They’ll sit around the sort room and drink together for a while. Then they’ll come out looking for a bit of fun. It’s better if you just make it easy for ’em – don’t try to run away or anything.”

Another spell of silence. Baz looked up at the sports center, squinting against the hazy brightness of the sky. “I can’t believe there’s nowhere better that we could all hide,” he said. “I mean, what if they couldn’t find any of us for the whole day and we didn’t turn up till night time? What would they do?”

“I already told you,” said Amit. “There’s nowhere to go. The main stairway’s totally collapsed, so you can’t get up into the building. And the only other stairs are through the divers’ bit, so nobody’s gonna be daft enough to try that. I think they might be blocked off anyway. The sports center’s all locked up. Forget it.”

“What about the back stairs?” said Ray.

“Huh?”

“You know, the, er... that spiral staircase thing. You can see a bit of it where the wall’s come away. Round the back of the building.”

“Oh, that. Yeah. Don’t even know where it goes to. But if it’s round the back then it must start somewhere down in the divers’ bit, and so who’s gonna go looking for that?”

No answer.

“Just imagine, though’ – Robbie came back to the earlier subject – ‘if it 
was
 only us here. No divers, no Preacher John, no capos. Be great, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Dyson’s voice was dismissive. “Till the food ran out. What then? We don’t know anything about diving.”

“We could learn,” said Robbie. “Bet I could. Or we could, I dunno... grow stuff, maybe.”

“I used to have an allotment.” Enoch joined in the talk – a rare thing for him. “My old man did, anyhow. He used to take me up there with him. I liked it.”

“There you go,” said Amit. “Enoch could grow us some spuds. Problem solved.”

“Problem solved? Ha. I don’t think so.” Dyson’s was the gloomy voice of reason again. “There’d be a bit more to it than that. You’re dreaming.”

“Why don’t you butt out, Dyson?” Amit sat up and leaned forward. “OK, so I’m just dreaming. But maybe we shouldn’t be just dreaming. There’s trouble coming, that’s what I reckon, and it’s starting to scare me. The divers aren’t pulling in anything like the amount of food they used to. That boat used to come back full of tins, but not anymore. What’s gonna happen to us once the salvage runs out?”