Lucy threw her arms round Milo. “Don’t go,” she begged. “It’s too awful. I don’t want you to see…”
Milo’s feet and face felt numb. What had his father done? “I have to,” he said. He pushed away and walked, zombie-like, towards his friend, surely smashed to a million pieces, just like that. And for what?
Lucy was pacing in panicked circles. For a moment it seemed she couldn’t bring herself to follow, but soon enough she chased after Milo and took his hand in hers. “I won’t let you go alone.”
Milo squeezed Lucy’s hand tightly as they approached the impact site, which was completely surrounded by men in uniforms, each standing at military readiness and holding a high-tech weapon. Mr Fisher oversaw the action, standing on the bed of an armoured pickup truck parked at the edge of the orchard. A fleet of drones hovered overhead, directing beams of bright light around the scene. Fresh soil scattered out from the nucleus of the crash where a figure, half buried in the ground, was moving.
Milo’s spirit lifted. He’s alive. How?
Lucy stood on her toes, trying to see. Milo could hear Thingus moaning faintly beneath the throbbing mound of dirt.
“Mmmmrrrrrr…” The creature tried to struggle to his feet.
The sound of cocking weaponry clicked round the circle of Fisher’s men like the warning of a rattlesnake.
“Mmmmrrrrrhhhhhh…” Thingus moaned again, his voice wavering. Soil cascading from his shoulders, the fallen being stood up properly at last. Once again, Thingus had mutated into a hybrid imitation of his human friends. His trembling lips were bowed like Lucy’s. His eyes were blue, like Milo’s, and filled with tears. “Mmmuh. Mmmilo!” he called in his oscillating, ethereal voice.
“No way,” Lucy gasped. “He really is a Pretender, isn’t he?”
Other than smears of black sap on his approximated yellow rain gear, Thingus appeared to be miraculously unscathed. “Milo,” he cried, reaching out. “Halp!”
Milo started towards him, but the nearest men closed ranks, blocking Thingus from view. “Please, please let Thingus go,” he begged his father.
“Not until they show themselves,” answered Fisher.
“Who?” said Milo.
“FIRE,” barked Murl.
One of the men discharged his weapon and Thingus was hit with a jolt of electricity that coursed over his body in a cobweb of light. Another man fired a shoulder cannon that coated the creature in a thick glob of pink goo.
“NYAAAAAWWWXXX!” screamed Thingus, dropping to the wet earth like a stunned eel, twitching torturously and unable to change form.
“Stop!” Milo hollered.
“That’s enough, Fisher!” A woman’s voice rang out with all the force of a hurricane.
A silence fell on the field as all the men turned their weapons towards the orchard. The Other Mrs Stricks marched through the trees and out into the open, a few yards from the truck on which Fisher stood. Instead of her customary muumuu, she wore a crimson hooded monk-like robe that trailed on the ground behind her. The ibex, which stood as tall as her shoulder, trotted beside her, its head bowed as if poised to charge. The mischievous magpies were perched on each of its imposing horns.
“You’ve made your point, Richard.” The Other Mrs Stricks held her arms out at her sides, her palms open in a gesture of peace. Tufts of frizzy silver hair danced in the wind around her stern face.
Fisher nodded to Murl, who signalled to his men. One by one, they holstered their weapons.
The Other Mrs Stricks snapped her fingers. The magpies fluttered down to the ground, where their small bodies shimmered, expanded and lengthened in a series of airy huffs. The goat jellified, rumbling bulbously until it grew to the height and width of a tall man with a potbelly. The creatures’ hair and feathers slithered and stitched themselves into identical flowing red robes. Steve Kozlowski, Kenzo and Marietta Corbin now stood beside the Other Mrs Stricks, glowering at Fisher from beneath their matching hoods.
“Fudgesicles,” said Lucy.
Mr Fisher jumped down from the truck and approached them. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t interfere with my operation.”
“We did,” said the Other Mrs Stricks. “But you neglected to mention that your operation was not very nice.” She smiled mockingly. “Now, why don’t you do us all a favour and let the kid go?”
Fisher glanced sceptically at Thingus, who was whimpering in the foetal position. “That kid, as you call it, is being held as collateral solely because of your irresponsible and hostile acts of sabotage.”
“The only thing we sabotaged were your attempts to tear this valley to pieces,” shouted Marietta Corbin.
“Not to mention us!” added Kenzo.
“Nu Co. is advancing its interests in compliance with the letter of the law,” Fisher retorted, “and we have no intention of stopping now.”
“Well then,” said the Other Mrs Stricks, “it seems we have something of a chicken and egg problem, don’t we?”
Steve Kozlowski advanced towards Fisher, his fists clenched. Kenzo stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.
“It’s time for you and your kind to leave this valley,” said Fisher.
“That’s funny,” said the Other Mrs Stricks. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”
A look of surprise flashed across Mr Fisher’s face. “You don’t have a choice,” he insisted.
“Is that what you think?” The old woman snapped her fingers again.
ZZZZZBAKKKKCHHOWWW!
With a deafening blast, four bolts of lightning zapped down from the heavens, striking in a circle round the crowded crash site.
Milo ducked, pulling Lucy to the ground along with him.
Spooked, the security forces charged into one another, trying to figure out which way to run. The drones hovering overhead short-circuited in a spray of hot sparks, their spotlights faltering. One by one, they spun hazardously out of control. Some crashed into trees while others simply dropped out of the sky, CHONKing to the ground as frenzied soldiers jumped out of the way.
Lucy leapt over Milo as a drone, its rotor blades still spinning, smacked down in the spot she had lain an instant ago.
“Where did the lightning come from?” said Milo. “There’s not a cloud
