“After them! Step on the bloody gas, Clive.”
“Yes, Fred, OK. OK.”
Clive stepped on the gas. Wheels burned rubber. The Car rushed forward.
The explosion drowned out the noise of the fireworks. The rear of The Car lifted into the air. Somersaulted down to the road in flames and sparks and shrapnel. Smoke and debris. Destruction.
And there would have been silence, if it hadn’t been for the fireworks and the ringing bells and the Auld-Lang-Syning. Quite a big silence there would have been.
John Omally’s head appeared through the garden doorway. “What the…” he said once more.
Jim’s face appeared from behind one of the mighty oak trees. Suzy’s also.
“What did you do, Jim?” asked Omally.
“I stuck a bottle of your two-week-old beer under the back wheel when I knelt down to speak to Fred. I kept one in case of emergencies. Two in fact, just to be on the safe side. I told you I had this under control.”
“Well, hats off to Mr Pooley. You’ve certainly saved the day.”
“Aaaararghooowaaghooow!”
Now, that’s a sound you don’t hear every day. Especially on one that’s just been saved.
Jim turned, John turned and Suzy turned also.
The Car turned. The Car was still intact. And The Car turned back onto its wheels.
“Oh shit!” said Jim.
“Did you say run?” asked John.
“No, but I was about to.”
Jim ran and John ran and Suzy ran.
Run, run, run.
And The Car rolled after them, keeping just behind, its engine growling and its horn going BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA, just like in the movie.
32
Glass shattered and stormed and the chamber collapsed.
Abel stepped from the wreckage and stared down at the man now cowering on the floor.
“How?” gasped Dr Steven Malone. “What?”
“There are many differences between Cain and I,” said Abel. “And one of these is that I can read your thoughts. I emptied the gas canister last night. And now I must do what must be done. Cain told you that he feared for your life. His fears were not unfounded.”
“No,” screamed Dr Steven Malone. “Get away from me. No, no, noooooooo.”
“Whoa!” went Derek. “What happened? Ouch, my bloody head!”
“The bastard played us false!” Fred’s face was most unpleasant. It was almost as unpleasant as that of the creature that now sat between him and Derek. This creature had a seriously unpleasant face. All scaly it was, with a lolling black tongue and glaring red eyes.
“Oh, shit a brick,” said Derek, staring into this face.
“You’ve grown a bit, haven’t you? I mean, pleased to meet you again, sir, I mean…”
“Shut up, Derek,” Fred roared. And a roar it was. “Keep right up behind them, Clive, don’t let them out of your sight.”
“They’re running into the crowd at the top of the street, sir.”
“Well, there’s nowhere else for them to run, is there? Mow the crowd down, Clive, mow the crowd down.”
“Like that sea shanty,” said Derek. “Mow the crowd down, Clivey, mow the crowd down. Hey, ho, mow the crowd down.”
“Shut it,” said Fred.
“We’ve got to get out of this crowd,” shouted Jim. “He’ll just drive through it and kill people.”
“Into the football stadium,” shouted John.
“Are you jesting? There’s even more people in there.”
“That car will never get through this turnstile, will it?”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
Omally shinned over the turnstile and helped Suzy after him.
Jim glanced back over his shoulder. Screams and shouts and BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA. Jim leapt over the turnstile.
On stage the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies were giving it the freeform Auld Lang Syne. Behind them the groundsman fed defunct fireworks into the mobile de-entropizer, while Norman prepared to flick the big switch and set off WELCOME TO THE YEAR 2000.
“Any particular place you’d like to go for?” Jim asked John, as they pressed into the assembled throng.
Omally pointed to the stage. “Make for the high ground,” was his suggestion.
BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA.
“This was a very bad idea.”
“But we’re committed to it now, Jim. Get a move on.”
“I’m with you. Come on, Suzy, come on.”
The Car burst through the turnstile and swept down the walkway into the stadium. The crowd scattered before it. A crowd of laughing, cheering folk, well buoyed up with alcohol and New Year jollity. They skipped aside this way and that, convinced that this must surely be some extra entertainment laid on for their enjoyment.
The crowd swarmed from the pitch up into the stands and then sat down to watch the show.
On stage the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies gaped in awe as The Car rushed towards them in pursuit of three racing figures.
“Now that is one tasty automobile,” said the lead singer.
“Split up!” shouted Omally. “I’ll meet you backstage.”
“You have an idea?” Jim huffed and puffed.
“It’s a long shot.”
“Oh dear.”
And The Car was on them.
Jim dragged Suzy to the right and John dived to the left. The Car smashed into the stage, dislodging Chocolate Bunnies, who tumbled down to the football pitch.
Norman’s finger hit the switch and the Roman candles flared up the rickety scaffolding, spelling COME TO THE EAR 20, which was a start.
The Car reversed then ploughed once more into the stage, buckling scaffolding. Up in the stands the crowd roared applause. A bit like a bullfight was this.
Norman clung to his de-entropizer. The groundsman clung to Norman.
“Was this supposed to happen?” asked the groundsman.
Back and forwards went The Car, growling and smashing and crashing. John Omally was up on the stage now, clawing his way towards Norman. Jim was climbing the scaffolding, pushing Suzy before him.
The stage slewed forwards. Marshall stacks, amps and speakers toppled and fell, mikes and drum kits, all those wonderful guitars that rock musicians rack up to make you jealous, down they came, wires and cables, sparking electrical flares. The Car backed away. Its doors opened.
Fred climbed out. And Clive climbed out. And Derek climbed out. And something really vile sort
