Johnny and the Bomb

by Terry Pratchett

  It was a BigWob … One with Everything.

  ‘Did you nick that?’ said Yo-less.

  ‘Well, the old bloke said he wasn’t going to eat it,’ said Bigmac. ‘So it’d only get chucked away, all right? It’s not stealing if it’d only get chucked away. Anyway, it is his, isn’t it, because—’

  ‘You’re not going to eat that, are you?’ said Kirsty quickly. ‘It’s cold and greasy and it’s been in Bigmac’s pocket, for heaven’s sake.’

  Wobbler lifted out the bun.

  ‘I could eat it even if a giraffe’d licked it,’ he said, and bit into the cold bread. ‘Hey, this isn’t bad! Whose is it?’ He looked at the face printed on the box. ‘Who’s the old fart with the beard?’

  ‘Just some old fart,’ said Johnny.

  ‘Yeah, we don’t know anything about him at all,’ said Bigmac.

  Wobbler gave them a suspicious look.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he said.

  ‘Look, I can’t explain now,’ said Johnny. ‘You’re … stuck here. Er. Apparently, er, something’s gone wrong. Er. There’s been a snag.’

  ‘What kind of snag?’

  ‘Er. Quite a big one.’

  Wobbler stopped eating. It was that serious.

  ‘How big?’ he said.

  ‘Er. You’re not going to be born … er.’

  Wobbler stared at him. Then he stared at the half-eaten burger.

  ‘Am I eating this burger? Are these my teeth marks?’ he demanded.

  ‘Look, it’s perfectly simple,’ said Kirsty. ‘You’re alive here, yes, but when we first came back, something must have happened which changed history. Everything anyone does changes history. So there’s two histories. You were born in one, but things have been changed and when we got back it was into a different history where you weren’t. All we have to do is put things back the way they should be, and then everything will be all right.’

  ‘Hah! You haven’t got a shelf of Star Trek videos as well, have you?’ said Wobbler.

  Kirsty looked as though someone had hit her.

  ‘Well, er, I don’t, er, what?’ she said. ‘Er … one or two … a few … not many … so what, anyway? I hardly ever look at them!’

  ‘Hey,’ said Yo-less, brightening up, ‘have you got that one where a mysterious force—’

  ‘Just shut up! Just shut up right now! Just because the programme happens to be an accurate reflection of late 20th century social concerns, actually, it doesn’t mean you can go around winding people up just because they’ve been taking an academic interest!’

  ‘Have you got a Star Trek uniform?’ said Yo-less.

  Kirsty started to go red.

  ‘If any of you tell anybody else there’ll be big trouble,’ said Kirsty. ‘I mean it!’

  Johnny opened the door of the church. Outside, Wednesday afternoon was turning into Wednesday evening. It was raining gently. He took a deep breath of 1941 air. It smelled of coal and pickles and jam, with a hint of hot rubber. People were making things. All those chimneys …

  No one made anything in Blackbury in 1996. There was a factory that put together computers, and some big warehouses, and the Department of Road Signs regional headquarters. People just moved things around, or added up numbers.

  ‘So I watch some science fiction films,’ said a plaintive voice behind him. ‘At least I do it in a spirit of intelligent deconstruction. I don’t just sit there saying “Cor, lasers, brill!”’

  ‘No one said you did,’ said Yo-less, managing to sound infuriatingly reasonable.

  ‘You’re not going to let me forget this, are you?’ said Kirsty.

  ‘Won’t mention it ever again,’ said Yo-less.

  ‘If we do, may we be pulled apart by wild Vegans,’ said Bigmac, smirking.

  ‘No, vegans are the people who don’t eat animal products,’ said Yo-less. ‘You mean Vulcans. Vulcans are the ones with green blood—’

  ‘Will you lot shut up? Here’s me not even being born and you’re goin’ on about daft aliens!’ said Wobbler.

  ‘What did we do here that changed the future?’ said Johnny, turning around.

  ‘Practically everything, I suppose,’ said Kirsty. ‘And Bigmac left all his stuff at the police station.’

  ‘They shot at me—’

  ‘Let’s face it,’ said Yo-less, ‘anything we do changes the future. Maybe we bumped into someone so he was five seconds late crossing the road and got hit by a car or something. Like treading on a dinosaur. Any little thing changes the whole of history.’

  ‘That’s daft,’ said Bigmac. ‘I mean, rivers still flow the same way no matter how the little fish swim.’

  ‘Er …’ said Wobbler. ‘There was this … kid …’

  He said it in the slow, plonking tones of someone who is afraid that he might have come up with an important piece of evidence.

  ‘What kid?’ said Johnny.

  ‘Just some kid,’ said Wobbler. ‘He was running away from home or something. To home, I mean. All long shorts and bogeys up the nose.’

  ‘What do you mean, running to home?’

  ‘Oh, he was goin’ on about being evacuated here and being fed up and running off back to London. But he followed me back into town throwing stones at me ’cos he said I was a spy. He’s probably still outside, ’s’matter of fact. He ran off down that road there.’

  ‘Paradise Street?’ said Johnny.

  ‘What about it?’ said Wobbler, looking worried.

  ‘It’s going to be bombed tonight,’ said Kirsty. ‘Johnny’s got a thing about it.’

  ‘Hah, can’t see any Germans wanting to bomb him, he was practically on their side,’ said Wobbler.

  ‘Are you sure it was Paradise Street?’ said Johnny. ‘Are you sure? Did you have any relatives there? Grandparents? Great-grandparents?’

  ‘How should I know? That was ages ago!’

  Johnny took a deep breath. ‘It’s right now!’

  ‘I-I-I don’t know! One of my grandads lives in Spain and the other one died before I was born!’

  ‘How?’ said Kirsty.

  ‘Fell off a motorbike, I think. In 1971.’ Wobbler brightened up. ‘See? So that’s all right.’

  ‘Oh, Wobbler, Wobbler, it’s not all right!’ said Johnny. ‘Get it into your head! Where did he live?’

  Wobbler was trembling, as he always did when life was getting too exciting.

  ‘I dunno! London, I think! My dad said he came up here in the war! And then later on he came back on a visit and met my grandma! Er! Er!’

  ‘Go on! Go on!’ said Johnny.

  ‘Er! Er!’ Wobbler stuttered.

  ‘How old was he when he died?’ said Yo-less.

  ‘Er! Forty, my dad said! Er! He’d bought the bike for his birthday!’

  ‘So he’s …’ Johnny subtracted in his head … ten now?’

  ‘Er! Er!’

  ‘You don’t think he was that boy, do you?’ said Yo-less.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Wobbler, finally giving up panic for anger. ‘I should have asked him, should I? “Hello, are you going to be my grandad? PS don’t buy a motorbike”?’

  Johnny fished in his gas mask box and pulled out a crumpled folder stuffed with bits of paper.

  ‘Did he mention any names?’ he said, flicking through the pages.

  ‘Er! Er! Someone called Mrs Density!’ said Wobbler, desperation throwing up a memory.

  ‘Number Eleven,’ said Johnny, pulling out a photocopy of a newspaper clipping. ‘Lived there with her daughter Gladys. I got all the names for my project.’

  ‘My gran’s name was Gladys!’ said Wobbler. ‘You mean, because he didn’t run off back to London, he’s going to die tonight and I’m not going to be born?’

  ‘Could be,’ said Yo-less.

  ‘What’ll happen to me?’

  ‘You’ll just have to stay here,’ said Johnny.

  ‘No way! This is the olden days! It’s awful! I went past a cinema and it’s all old movies! In black a
nd white! And there was this cafe and you know what they’d got chalked on a board in front? “Meat and two veg”! What kind of food is that? Even Hong Kong Henry’s takeaway tells you what kind of meat! Everyone dresses like someone out of Eastern Europe! I’d go round the bend here!’

  ‘My grandad always goes on about how they used to have so much fun when he was a kid even though they didn’t have anything,’ said Bigmac.

  ‘Yes, but everyone’s grandad says that,’ said Kirsty. ‘It’s compulsory. It’s like where they say “50p for a chocolate bar? When I was young you could get one and still have change out of sixpence.”’

  ‘I think they had fun,’ said Johnny, ‘because they didn’t know they didn’t have anything.’

  ‘Well, I know,’ said Wobbler. ‘I know about food that’s more than two colours, and stereo systems, and decent music and … and all kinds of stuff. I want to go home!’

  They all looked at Johnny.

  ‘You got us into this,’ said Yo-less.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘It’s your imagination,’ said Kirsty. ‘It’s too big. for your head, just like Sir J …’ She stopped. ‘Just like I’ve always said,’ she corrected herself, ‘and it drags everyone else along with it. I don’t know how, but it does. You got all worked up about Paradise Street, and now here we are.’

  ‘You said it didn’t make any difference if the street got bombed or not,’ said Johnny. ‘You said it was just history!’

  ‘I don’t want to be history!’ moaned Wobbler.

  ‘All right, you win,’ said Kirsty. ‘What do you want us to do?’

  Johnny shuffled the papers.

  ‘Well … what I found out for my project was that … there was a big storm, you see. The weather got very bad. And the bombers must’ve seen Blackbury and dropped their bombs anyway and turned around. That used to happen. There was … there is an air-raid siren. It was supposed to go off if bombers were near,’ he said. ‘Only it didn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  The folder shut with a snap.

  ‘Let’s start by finding out,’ said Johnny.

  It was on a pole on the roof in the High Street. It didn’t look very big.

  ‘That’s all it is?’ said Yo-less. ‘Looks like a giant yo-yo.’

  ‘That’s an air-raid siren all right,’ said Kirsty. ‘I saw a picture in a book.’

  ‘How d’they work? Set off by radar or something?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not been invented yet,’ said Johnny.

  ‘Well, how then?’

  ‘Maybe there’s a switch somewhere?’

  ‘It’d be somewhere safe, then,’ said Yo-less. ‘Somewhere where people wouldn’t be able to set it off for a laugh.’

  Their joint gaze travelled down the pole, across the roof, down the wall, past the blue lamp, and stopped when it met the words: ‘Police Station’.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Yo-less.

  They sat down on a bench by a civic flowerbed, opposite the door. A policeman came out and stood in the sunshine, watching them back.

  ‘It’s a good job we left Bigmac to guard the trolley,’ said Yo-less.

  ‘Yes,’ said Johnny. ‘He’s always been allergic to policemen.’

  Kirsty sighed. ‘Honestly, you boys haven’t got a clue.’

  She stood up, crossed the road and began to talk to the policeman. They could hear the conversation. It went like this:

  ‘Excuse me, officer—’

  He gave her a friendly smile.

  ‘Yes, little lady? Out in your mum’s clothes, are you?’

  Kirsty’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Johnny, under his breath.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Yo-less.

  ‘Well, you know you and “Sambo”? That’s Kirsty and words like “little lady”.’

  ‘I was just wondering’, said the little lady, through clenched teeth, ‘how that big siren works.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry your head about that, love,’ said the policeman. ‘It’s very complicated. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Look for something to hide behind,’ said Johnny. ‘Like another planet.’

  Then his mouth dropped open as Kirsty won a medal.

  ‘It’s just that I get so worried,’ she said, and managed a simper, or what she probably thought was a simper. ‘I’m sure Mr Hitler’s bombers are going to come one night and the siren won’t go off. I can’t get to sleep for worrying!’

  The policeman laid a hand on the shoulder of the girl who had left Blackbury Karate Club because no boy would dare come within two metres of her.

  ‘Oh, we can’t have that, love,’ he said. He pointed. ‘See up there on Blackdown? Well, Mr Hodder and his very brave men are up there every night, keeping a look-out. If any planes come near here tonight he’ll ring the station in a brace of shakes, don’t you worry.’

  ‘But supposing the phone doesn’t work?’

  ‘Oh, then he’ll be down here on his bike in no time.’

  ‘Bike? A bike? That’s all?’

  ‘It’s a motorbike,’ said the policeman, giving her the nervous looks everyone eventually gave Kirsty.

  She just stared at him.

  ‘It’s a Blackbury Phantom,’ he added still further, in a tone of voice that suggested this should impress even a girl.

  ‘Oh? Really? Oh, that’s a relief,’ said Kirsty. ‘I feel a lot better for knowing that. Really.’

  ‘That’s right. There’s nothing for you to worry about, love,’ said the policeman happily.

  ‘I’ll just go off and play with my dolls, I expect,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘That’s a good idea. Have a tea party,’ said the policeman, who apparently didn’t know withering scorn when he heard it.

  Kirsty crossed the road and sat down on the seat.

  ‘Yes, I expect I should have a party with all my dollies,’ she said, glaring at the flowers.

  Yo-less looked at Johnny over her head.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Did you hear what that ridiculous policeman said?’ said Kirsty. ‘Honestly, it’s obvious that the stupid man thinks that just because I’m female I’ve got the brains of a baby. I mean, good grief! Imagine living in a time when people could even think like that without being prosecuted!’

  ‘Imagine living in a time when a bomb could come through your ceiling,’ said Johnny.

  ‘Mind you, my father said he lived in the shadow of the atomic bomb all through the Sixties,’ said Kirsty. ‘I think that was why he wore flares. Hah! Dollies! Pink dresses and pink ribbons. “Don’t worry your head about that, girlie.” This is the dark ages.’

  Yo-less patted her on the arm.

  ‘He didn’t mean it … you know, nastily,’ he said. ‘It’s just how he was brought up. You people can’t expect us to rewrite history, you know—’

  Kirsty frowned at him.

  ‘Is that sarcasm?’ she said.

  ‘Who? Me?’ said Yo-less innocently.

  ‘All right, all right, you’ve made your point. What’s so special about a Blackbury Phantom, anyway?’

  ‘They used to make them here,’ said Johnny. ‘They were quite famous, I think. Grandad used to have one.’

  They raised their eyes to the dark shape of Blackdown. It had loomed over the town even back in 1996, but then it had a TV mast.

  ‘That’s it?’ said Kirsty. ‘Men just sitting on hills and listening?’

  ‘Well, Blackbury wasn’t very important,’ said Johnny. ‘We made jam and pickles and rubber boots and that was about it.’

  ‘I wonder what’s going to go wrong tonight?’ said Yo-less.

  ‘We could climb up there and find out,’ said Johnny. ‘Let’s go and get the others—’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Kirsty. ‘Think, will you? How do you know we might not cause what’s going to go wrong tonight?’

  Johnny hesitated. For a moment he looked like a statue. Then he said:

  ‘No. If we start thinking like tha
t we’ll never do anything.’

  ‘We’ve already messed up the future once! Everything we do affects the future!’

  ‘It always has. It always will. So what? Let’s get the others.’

  Chapter 10

  Running Into Time

  There was no question of using the roads, not with the police still looking for a Bigmac who, with a wardrobe of costumes to chose from, had chosen to go back in time wearing a German soldier’s uniform.

  They’d have to use the fields and footpaths. Which meant—

  ‘We’ll have to leave the trolley,’ said Yo-less.

  ‘We can shove it in the bushes here.’

  ‘That means we’ll be stuck here if anything goes wrong!’ said Bigmac.

  ‘Well, I’m not lugging it through mud and stuff.’

  ‘What if someone finds it?’

  ‘There’s Guilty,’ said Kirsty. ‘He’s better than a guard dog.’

  The cat that was better than a guard dog opened one eye and yawned. It was true. No one would want to be bitten by that mouth. It would be like being savaged by a plague laboratory.

  Then he curled into a more comfortable ball.

  ‘Yes, but it belongs to Mrs Tachyon,’ said Johnny, weakly.

  ‘Hey, we’re not thinking sensibly – again,’ said Kirsty. ‘All we have to do is go back to 1996, go up to Blackdown on the bus, then come back in time again and we’ll be up there—’

  ‘No!’ shouted Wobbler.

  His face was bright red with terror.

  ‘I’m not stopping here by myself again! I’m stuck here, remember? Supposing you don’t come back?’

  ‘Of course we’ll come back,’ said Johnny. ‘We came back this time, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but supposing you don’t? Supposing you get run over by a lorry or something? What’ll happen to me?’

  Johnny thought about the long envelope in his inside pocket. Yo-less and Bigmac were looking at their feet. Even Kirsty was looking away.

  ‘Here,’ said Wobbler suspiciously. ‘This is time travel, right? Do you know something horrible?’

  ‘We don’t know anything,’ said Bigmac.

  ‘Absolutely right,’ said Kirsty.