‘Let's get to it,’ said Zyra, as she took off.
Tark and the princeling followed.
‘Praise be to the Designers,’ whispered Grace as they left. ‘And their ingenious creations.’
20: Invasion
Tark, Zyra and Princeling Galbrath ran out through the back door of the library, into the parkland. As they approached the concealed SUV, they saw smoke billowing out from its open bonnet.
‘Crap!’ cursed the princeling. ‘Someone's gotten to it.’
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The sound was coming from the bushes next to the car.
‘Oh no,’ said Zyra.
Crack. Crack.
‘Oh yes,’ said the man in the grey suit, stepping out into the open. ‘Times to go back to school with Mr Cracker.’
‘Makes us.’
‘Oh, my pretty-pretty, I intends to.’ The Cracker pulled back his jacket and drew a sword. He sliced the air with it and smiled. ‘I intends to.’
He suddenly lunged, not at his opponents, but at the nearest tree. As the shimmering steel stabbed at the trunk, sparks flared. A charred hole gaped in the side of the tree.
The Cracker bared his yellowed teeth. ‘Gives up?’
‘Nots a chance,’ said Zyra, drawing her knives and taking up a defensive stance.
‘I was hopin’ you'd say that.’
‘Don't!’ shouted Princeling Galbrath. ‘If you touch the sword with your knives, the charge will kill you!’
The Cracker attacked Zyra who deftly sidestepped the blade.
‘I'll deals with you soon enough.’ The Cracker glared at the princeling.
As Zyra put away her knives, Tark picked up a fallen tree branch that was about the length of a sword.
The Cracker made another lunge for Zyra. Princeling Galbrath hissed and waved frantically at Tark to get his attention and pointed at the duck pond. Ignoring him, Tark tried to come around behind the Cracker. But the thiever saw him and rounded on Tark. Tark jumped back, the blade barely missing him.
Zyra crouched down and scooped up a handful of dirt. The Cracker turned to her and she flung the dirt into his face. With grit in his eyes, the Cracker staggered back, screeching in anger.
Tark took the opportunity to lash out at him with the branch, smacking his legs from behind.
The Cracker fell to his knees, one hand rubbing at his eyes while he slashed the sword wildly about him. Tark and Zyra both scrabbled back.
With the Cracker distracted, Princeling Galbrath raced over to Tark. ‘Get him into the pond!’ he hissed.
‘Wot?’ Tark looked at the princeling as if he were a raving lunatic.
‘The pond,’ Galbrath repeated. ‘The water will conduct the energy from the sword.’
The princeling didn't have the opportunity to explain any further, as the Cracker was on his feet again and charging at Tark. The princeling dived out of the way as Tark raised his branch defensively.
The sword connected with Tark's branch. The branch shattered, throwing Tark to the ground.
Glancing briefly at the princeling, Tark scrambled to his feet and took several backward steps in the direction of the pond. ‘Oi, Cracker,’ he called. ‘Ya useless git.’
Zyra stooped down, grabbed a small rock and took aim.
‘Don't,’ said the princeling. ‘Let Tark handle this.’
Zyra raised an eyebrow, but held back and watched.
Tark backed away from the Cracker, continuing to throw taunts. The Cracker stumbled after him, eyes streaming, face beetroot-red with rage. Reaching the edge of the pond, Tark stopped.
‘So, Cracker, ya snivellin’ toe-rag,’ Tark goaded. ‘How many times is it that ya've been bested by a 16-year- old girl thiever?’
With a snarl, the Cracker charged at Tark, who dropped to the ground and kicked out with his leg. The Cracker tripped, stumbled forward and plunged headlong into the pond. With a raucous quacking, most of the ducks made it into the air before the sword electrified the water.
Energy crackled across the surface, frying two ducks and one thiever.
For a moment, everyone was still and silent.
‘Wow!’ breathed Zyra eventually. ‘How'd ya do that?’
‘It wuz ’is idea.’ Tark pointed to the princeling.
‘Water conducts electricity,’ said Princeling Galbrath, staring at the duck carcasses floating in the water alongside the face-down, spread-eagled corpse. ‘My late uncle's personal chef used to make an exquisite duck casserole.’
Tark looked at Zyra and shrugged. ‘Now wot?’
Zyra gave the Cracker a final glance, then looked around, hands on hips. She pointed to the tall grass behind the playground on the other side of the library. They would have to cross open ground in order to reach it.
They made it undetected and once safely concealed, they peered out at the street. The once quiet suburb was now filled with panicked people, police wielding swords, and a variety of elements that did not, under any circumstances, belong in Suburbia — cowboys lassoing a steer; an overturned carriage with a distressed horse still attached; a group of bikini-clad women with a volleyball. A peculiar shimmering effect, like a heat haze, came and went, giving these suburban intruders an unreal quality.
Overhead, a bomber plane came roaring into view, attracting everyone's attention. It too was shimmering in and out of solidity. As it neared the library, the bomb bay doors sprung open and a dark, oblong object plummeted towards the building below. Seconds later, the library erupted into flame, a geyser of heat shooting up into the air and incinerating the plane that had initiated the destruction.
The force of the explosion shattered shop windows and knocked people to the ground. Thick black smoke billowed out over the street and parkland, as chunks of debris rained down. Princeling Galbrath slowly got to his feet, legs shaking, and stared out at the devastation.
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Not the library.’
‘Wot?’ yelled Zyra, her ears still ringing with the sound of the explosion.
The princeling shook his head sadly and turned away.
Through the smoke and debris appeared a cluster of bedraggled people carrying pitchforks, machetes and burning torches. They looked around, then pointed to the tall grass where the princeling stood. With cries of ‘kill ’em all’, ‘burn ’em’, and ‘flush ’em out’, they made their way to the edge of the grass and hurled their torches at it. The dry, yellowing grass
Giving up any attempt at concealment, Tark, Zyra and the princeling fled. They made it to the rear of a set of shops and hid behind a dumpster.
The princeling tried the nearest door that swung open at his touch. He stuck his head inside the shop then waved the others in.
The cramped storeroom was filled with cardboard boxes, stacked in haphazard towers that looked like they might topple over at any moment. A television sat atop one of the boxes. It showed scenes of destruction and violence as police clashed with suburban residents, looters raided shops and gangs fought in the streets. The three of them gaped at the television. Then the scene changed to show an advancing army of Roman soldiers.
Zyra reached out and turned up the sound.
‘… forces are gathering on the outskirts of Suburbia,’ said the announcer's harried voice. ‘Invasion is imminent. The police are outnumbered and otherwise engaged.’
The television showed a close-up of the soldiers with their raised shields. Zyra shrieked and pointed. The design on the front of the shields was a stylised silhouette of a bloated face.
‘The Fat Man,’ said Tark.
‘I tolds ya,’ said Zyra. ‘Didn't I?’
