Hamish and the WorldStoppers
Page 15
‘I couldn’t go any further,’ said Dexter, still quite shaken. ‘I was too scared.’
He hung his head in shame.
Hamish patted Dexter on the back and then looked at Alice.
‘Underneath that cottage is where we’ll find our families,’ he said.
Now there was just the small matter of the WorldStoppers themselves.
The Final Countdown
On that fateful Friday morning, feeling he’d prepared as much as was humanly possible, Hamish Ellerby closed the door of 13 Lovelock Close for what he hoped would not be the last time ever.
One more Pause, he thought. One more Pause in which to change everything.
‘SHADDUP!’ he heard, as he clicked the door closed behind him. ‘YOU LITTLE PIPSCRIMPERS! I’LL WALLOP YOUR LOLLOPS!’
In the garden next door, Mr Ramsface had a cruel and twisted look across his chops. He was chasing his children around the garden with a hosepipe, which was furiously spurting ice-cold water all over the place.
But this was not a fun game. The children were soaked already and running around in circles, confused.
‘Dad!’ they were shouting, unaware their father had been processed by the WorldStoppers. ‘Stop it!’
‘YOU LITTLE SMERKS!’ he yelled.
Behind him, Mrs Ramsface appeared. Hamish was relieved. She’d stop him. She’d talk some sense into him.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she started pelting the kids with tennis balls and bags of flour.
‘YOU WABBLING LITTLE RETCH-BEANS!’ she shouted. ‘YOU NASTY OLD DINGLES!’
‘Mummy!’ shouted little Billy Ramsface. ‘For the love of Giant Squid, stoppit!’
There was a tense atmosphere in town too.
Madame Cous Cous was putting up a sign outside her International World of Treats and barking at it.
THIS SHOP NO LONGER SERVES:
CHILDREN · FRIENDS OF CHILDREN
GROWN-UPS · ANIMALS (especially CHICKENS)
GROWN-UPS DRESSED AS ANIMALS
(especially CHICKENS)
FRIENDS OF GROWN-UPS DRESSED AS ANIMALS
(especially CHICKENS)
As Hamish rounded a corner, he watched in quiet astonishment as Rex Ox wrestled with Tyrus Quinn on a street corner.
Children cowered in Shop Til You Pop, their faces pressed up against the glass, wondering what on earth was going on outside.
By the newsagent, the poster for the Starkley Post read:
Over to one side, the Postmaster had set her post office trolley on fire and was pointing at it, laughing maniacally. She’d left a trail of opened presents behind her on the street, which mingled with torn-down flyers for Fairground Friday.
Frau Fussbundler appeared to have given up going to school as well and was outside the butcher’s arm-wrestling with Mr Longblather, who was dressed as a furious chicken (though no one quite knew why).
And everywhere – everywhere – was the sound of meanness.
Getting louder, swirling through the air like a whirlwind, picking up anger and spreading it across the town.
Things were reaching crisis point.
‘In less than twenty-four hours, the Final Event is due,’ said Alice, addressing the Pausewalkers. ‘We have one Pause left to stop it ever happening. It’s our last chance to bring our families back.’
The kids were all sitting around the ice-cream van, the flashing blue light reflected in their eyes.
Hamish felt an incredible surge of warmth towards Alice. Throughout all this, she’d always been there for him. Like a guardian. And he, he hoped, had always been there for her. They were a good team. Everyone had a lot to be proud of.
‘You should all have received a temporary tattoo by now.’
Hamish looked at his own arm. It read: UP! United Pausewalkers!
‘This is so you can immediately recognise another Pausewalker,’ she said. ‘Because tonight things could get messy. At around half past eight – at sunset – there will be a Pause. When that happens, Buster will stop the town clock.’
Buster raised his hand.
‘But if literally everyone is at the fair and I’m all alone in the middle of town, how will I know if the world has stopped? I mean – it’ll just be me. All on my own. With nothing to look at to see if it’s stopped!’
Alice realised Buster had made an excellent point. That may well have been the first time ever.
‘We’ll turn on the light at the top of the rollercoaster,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘You’ll be able to see that from where you are and then you’ll know for certain that the world has stopped. The rest of you – when the Terribles arrive, do not scream. Do not run. Do not even move. Do nothing at all, until Hamish gives you the signal. And then – cause as much chaos as possible!’
Hamish looked out at the kids in front of him. They seemed scared.
Hamish realised he was too.
But he also knew one thing: he was going to get his family back.
At 8 p.m. as the light began to fade, the children started to make their way to the fairground.
A huge crowd of Starkley residents was already heading towards it. The Processed mixed with the remaining Normals, making for an unusual atmosphere.
‘Outta my way,’ a Processed would say.
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry,’ a Normal would reply.
‘Shuddup, beanbag face,’ a Processed might reply.
‘Well, there’s no need for that,’ the Normal would say back.
‘Well, there’s no need for YOU!’ the Processed would snap.
Hamish stood by the rollercoaster and kept his eye on everybody as they walked in. He guessed that maybe ninety per cent of the grown-ups had now been processed. Tonight would be the night the Terribles would want to finish the job.
As they entered the fairground and smelled the popcorn and petrol and acres of candyfloss, the kids all spread out as agreed. They plastered on fake smiles and laughed out loud so that anyone might think they were just normal children, enjoying the fair, rather than members of a highly-organised and elite Pause resistance unit.
Hamish kept his eye on The Explorer. Someone turned up the music as light became dark.
‘8.25,’ he whispered to Alice. ‘Five minutes to go.’
More and more grown-ups arrived and walked through the big brass gates to the fair. Soon they were jumping on the rides and bickering over who was first in the queue.
Grown men shouted at each other as they purposefully tried to crash the dodgems into one another. Women threw balls at a coconut shy with all the ferocity of a Wimbledon tennis star serving a record-breaking shot.
‘8.28,’ whispered Alice, and Hamish cast a look around the fairground to make sure everybody was in position.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m going to test the rollercoaster light so that Buster knows when to stop the clock.’
She moved to the small control room by the side of the rollercoaster and flicked the switch.
‘Did that work?’ she said, looking up.
‘Try it again,’ said Hamish.
She flipped the switch.
But the little red light at the top of the rollercoaster stayed dark.
‘It’s broken!’ she said, flipping it again, up and down and up and down and up again. ‘It must have got knocked by that Terrible the other night!’
She put her hands to her mouth in horror.
‘The light! The signal! What time is it?’
Hamish checked his watch.
‘8.29!’ he said, panicking.
‘If Buster doesn’t see the signal and stop the town clock then this whole thing is wasted! The Terribles will come and just grab everyone and they’ll be able to see how much time they have left and take them all. What do we do? What do we do?’
Hamish’s mind raced.
This couldn’t all be for nothing. This final chance, this last attack!
He spun around.
‘There! Look!’ he said.
‘Come on!’
Hamish and Alice raced to the tent and pulled out every single firework they could. Big ones, small ones, enormous ones, ones shaped like candles, ones shaped like rockets, ones with little spinny windmills on the front.
‘We need to set them off,’ said Hamish. ‘We need to set them all off!’
With incredible speed, Hamish and Alice started sticking them in the ground.
‘We’re not supposed to be touching these!’ she said. ‘We’re ten!’
‘We’re not exactly supposed to be Earth’s only defence against dreadful rampaging monsters either!’ said Hamish. ‘Now quickly – we only have about thirty seconds until the Pause!’
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ yelled a man, striding towards them. ‘GET AWAY FROM THOSE!’
‘There!’ shouted Alice. ‘That’s all of them!’
‘A match! We need a match! Where are we going to get a match?!’
Wait!
Hamish felt in his back pocket and pulled out a small box.
BELASKO.
Of course! The matchbox from his dad’s desk!
He poured out the sunflower seeds he’d put there days earlier and found a match.
‘YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!’ screamed the man.
Quickly, Hamish struck it against the box and held it out in front of him.
As the first firework began to fizz, he lit the next. And the next. And the next.
‘I’M GOING TO GET YOUR MUM AND DAD!’ shouted the man.
No, thought Hamish. I am.
And, as the first firework fizzed and popped and pirouetted into the air, Hamish kept going, lighting and lighting and lighting, until waaaaaaay up in the air, the first firework EXPLODED, lighting up the night sky . . .
Another firework BOOMED as three more whizzed off into the air . . .
Then another . . .
Then six more . . .
BOOM!BANG!
BOOM!BOOM!
And all was still.
The Pause had begun.
Hamish and Alice looked up into the night sky.
Six huge, stunning, colourful explosions hung still in the air.
Trails of what looked like falling stardust frozen in the blackness, illuminating the ground below, as perfectly Paused grown-ups stared up at their sparkling, glistening wonder.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Alice, watching them sparkle, and, for a second, they could have been anywhere at all.
A perfect silence stretched right the way across Starkley.
No one moved.
And then each and every Pausewalker stiffened as the quiet thunder began.
‘Assume your positions!’ yelled Hamish and the PDF sprang into action.
The Terribles were coming. And they were coming fast.
Showdown
‘Has everyone done it?’ yelled Alice. ‘Has everyone changed a watch?’
‘I’ve changed four!’ shouted Grenville.
‘I’ve changed six!’ said Venk.
‘PPPs are distributed!’ yelled Elliot.
‘Which ones are PPPs again?’ asked Clover, confused. ‘Are they like the PPPs or more like the PPPs?’
The thunder of hooves was getting louder and louder and LOUDER.
Alice looked up at the sky full of fireworks.
‘I hope Buster realises,’ she said, almost under her breath.
‘Buster is smart,’ said Hamish, reassuring her. ‘Buster will realise we had to change plans. He’ll see that the fireworks have stopped in mid-air. He’ll work out that the Pause has started. I guarantee it!’
Across town, by the clock, Buster was staring up at the little light on the rollercoaster and scrunching up his nose.
That was weird. Why wasn’t it on?
It should be on by now, he thought.
He looked up at the clock. Yes. That little red light should definitely be on by now.
Buster yawned.
Oh, he thought, absent-mindedly. Look at the pretty fireworks.
‘They’re nearly here!’ shouted Hamish, as the noise of the approaching horde grew. ‘Adopt your PPs!’
‘What are our PPs again?’ whispered Clover. ‘Our Pretty Pickles? Our Picnic Pimples?’
‘Your Pause Pose!’ said Venk. ‘Do your Pause Pose!’
And as Venk froze like a statue, staring up at the fireworks and grinning an enormous, joyful grin . . . the smell wafted into them, around them, through them.
That putrid, rancid, unbearable stench, like a cloud of foul and rotten damp. Each and every Pausewalker noticed their nostrils flare as it hit them. Some held their breath. Others breathed it in and felt their eyes well up.
The thundering had stopped.
You might think that was a good thing.
But that was not a good thing.
That meant they were here. Creeping in from the shadows, sneaking in and taking stock . . .
Hamish felt one before he saw one.
It was behind him, trailing one bony finger from the small of his back to the nape of his neck, its nail just strong enough to break a little of his skin.
He could feel he wanted to shiver.
But he mustn’t.
He mustn’t.
The Terrible moved around him now, until it was facing him.
It towered above him and, as it began to move its face down towards his, Hamish could sense dozens more moving into the fairground.
Finally, the beast was at eye level.
His heart lurched as Hamish twigged something . . . He recognised it.
It was the very same Terrible that had been at his window that night.
And the Terrible obviously recognised him too. That was why it had tried to make him shiver. It wanted to prove that Hamish was a Pausewalker.
It raised one finger into the air, then did the most awful thing it possibly could.
It started to slowly slide it into Hamish’s nostril . . .
Back at the clock, Buster definitely thought something was wrong.
That little red light had not come on. It was just sitting there, doing nothing, high up on that rollercoaster, under all those pretty fireworks.
Those fireworks that were just hanging there.
Like fireworks do.
Buster yawned again. Man, The Beast needs feeding, he thought, tapping his tummy.
Wait – fireworks? Hanging?
That’s not what fireworks do!
Oh, dear.
Oh, dear me.
It’s the last Pause!
Buster scrambled for the clock.
Hamish counted all the ways that this was absolutely, definitely the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to him as the Terrible’s finger slithered out of one nostril and started to slide painfully up the other.
There were about a thousand ways that this was absolutely, definitely the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to him.
He could feel that cold, smooth finger now behind his eyes, feeling for his brain.
And yet, somehow, Hamish remained absolutely still.
Still, because he had to.
For Mum.
For Jimmy.
For Starkley.
For his dad.
The Terrible cocked its head and moved its dreadful face closer to his. Hamish could see his own reflection in its enormous bug eyes, the way you might see your own when you look into an old scratched spoon.
He could also see Alice, off to one side, lit by the fireworks, and not moving a muscle.
Other Terribles were having the time of their lives. They were playing catch with some grown-ups, tossing them back and forth, while another used a cat as a hat and giggled.
By the dodgems, poor Robin had to stand completely still while one particular Terrible began to drape worms across his head, like a sort of worm-wig. Robin’s eyes were as wide as they could get – because worms! – but that boy did not m
ove. Even when the Terrible began to squish the worms down and rub them in, all the while smiling a Terrible smile. Robin could feel their wet little bodies slippering and slathering around on his skull. He had to fight with everything inside him not to whimper and flee.
Come on, thought Hamish, desperate to get on with this, desperate to stop these things from treating his friend that way. Come on!
And then . . .
Stomp . . . Stomp . . . STOMP. . .
This was it.
The WorldStoppers were arriving.
But Hamish was not prepared for this.
Two giant WorldStoppers strode into the fairground and began to laugh a deep, guttural, spine-jangling laugh . . .
They looked at the entire population of Starkley, together in one place, and they could not believe their luck. They clapped their hands together, palm juice splittering and splattering everywhere, and they cried out in glee.
And a moment later, perhaps summoned by the joy . . .
STOMP.
STOMP.
STOMP.
The Terribles turned to face the noise. Some of them kneeled to welcome it.
Hamish quickly looked at Dexter, who looked back at him and nodded, scared.
The WorldStopper General was coming.
Two enormous trees bent sideways as a beast the size of three buses crashed its way into the fair. Its huge hands were the size of cars and it flung an entire Super Swinging Viking Boat out of its way to make room. A throng of angry, wet Requines galloped in behind it and circled the frozen people of Starkley. They stood, sinister and muscular, and whinnied.
‘GOOOOOOD,’ it roared, the noise vibrating through the town.
‘THESE CHILLENS BE GIVING ME A MINDGRAIN.
YOU GEDDUM.’
Hamish’s heart was in his mouth. He had never – ever – imagined the WorldStopper General to be so . . . grenormous!
So . . . enormassive!
So . . . big.
Vast glumps of spittle flew through the air, whistling past the kids and splattering on the rides and stopped-still grown-ups.
‘ALL OV THE CHILLENS!
AND YOU GEDDUM!’
Whatever it had said, it was clear that the Terribles were about to obey.