‘Did everyone put their bulletproof jacket on?’ the teacher asked. She was rewarded with a cheerful ‘Yes, pedagogue!’ from all her pupils. ‘Very well!’ she said. ‘Go home now. See you all tomorrow, I hope!’ Alex hauled up his rucksack and scarpered off the classroom chirping, one fleck in the merry flow of children. He rushed headlong down the stairs, snatched his helmet, put it on and made it for the school gates. He paused there, inhaled deeply. ‘Let’s do this,’ he said to himself. He leaped as far as he could into the trench ahead, tumbled round to cushion his fall and began crawling. Barely in time. Bullets swished above him. Shrill shouts erupted behind, suddenly stifled as more projectiles flew. No time to look back. Snipers. He had to clear off immediately. The trench was filthy with mud and blood, and uneasy to crawl. Bullets kept singing above him. He must be extra-careful. He wiggled left and down into a gloomy subway that led across the borough’s agora ahead. It was safe here – until they decided to shell the place, that is. He emerged from a foxhole at the cater-cornered side and sidled his way up the narrow street, hugging to the walls, until he reached an archway under which he squeezed. He paused briefly then darted along the alley past the doric columns. He felt something hit his back, but it was deflected by his jacket. He stopped at the edge of another square. So far, so good. He looked round. There was no one in sight. Home was straight ahead across the expanse of flagstones. Suddenly a distinct patter of steps behind him. He swung round in terror. But it was his neighbour and friend Irene. Alex sighed and wiped his brow. Irene trailed to him. Her breathing was labouring. She put her arms akimbo, doubled up and vomited. ‘I… can’t bear it… any more,’ she said to Alex in a wheezing voice. ‘Come on!’ Alex replied. ‘It’s just a few steps away. We’ll do this together.’ Irene gestured towards her chest. ‘Can’t breathe… I… You go! I’ll stay here until they get me. It won’t take long.’ Alex grasped Irene’s shoulders and shook her. ‘For Zeus’ sake, girl, brace up! You’re a Spartan. You MUST do it. For your family. For the city!’ Irene cast him an icy look. ‘Oh yeah?’ she said. She yanked herself free and stomped into the open. ‘No!’ Alex yelled. ‘Don’t—!’ But it was too late. She was about halfway through the square when a whizz erupted. She fell on her knees, raised her face and lifted her arms. A shadow descended on her. Alex crouched against the wall. The blast dug a small crater. Shrapnel poured. When Alex could look again, rubble littered the square and thick smoke obscured the scene. ‘That’s my chance!’ he whispered. He bolted out. There were shots in the distance, but no bullet hit him. He almost crashed into the gate. He smashed his badge against the entry sensor. The lock clicked. Alex flung the gate open and slammed it back behind him. He collapsed on to the front lawn, panting. When his heart stopped pounding, he stood up and went inside. ‘Mum!’ he shouted. ‘I’m home!’ ‘Over here in the kitchen!’ his mother replied. Alex chucked his rucksack down, took off jacket and helmet and padded to the kitchen. His mother came to him. They hugged. ‘How was your day, dearie?’ Alex shrugged. ‘Uneventful,’ he replied. ‘Except. Irene… She couldn’t make it. She was asph… Aspha—’ ‘Asphyxiated?’ ‘Yeah, that. She let them have her, just outside.’ ‘Oh!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘What a shame. Isn’t that the second child her family loses in a row?’ ‘Third,’ Alex corrected. She looked away. ‘Asthma,’ she hissed, as if to herself. ‘All their daughters have it. Crippled weaklings.’ Turning back to Alex. ‘At least she died as a brave girl.’ Alex nodded. ‘You join the shooters tomorrow, right?’ his mother added. ‘Yeah. I’m not sure what I want as a weapon, though.’ ‘We’ll talk about it when Dad comes back from the Boule tonight, okay?’ ‘Fine!’ Alex grabbed a box of shortbreads and helped himself to a glass of orange juice. He placed both on a tray and walked out of the kitchen up the stairs to his bedroom. He put the tray on his desk, took the weapons catalogue, and, sitting on the edge of his bed, began leafing through it.