The Deadly 7

by Garth Jennings

  “You weren’t supposed to rip the whole thing out!” protested Nelson, who was now trying to keep the van on the road and off the pavement.

  “Whatever,” growled Stan, clearly embarrassed, and threw the hand brake over his shoulder.

  Crush jumped into the space where there had once been a hand brake and laid his head on Nelson’s leg.

  “Honk.”

  “Thanks, Crush,” said Nelson. “Just don’t wriggle around or I might crash.”

  “Turn right onto Lemington Road,” repeated the voice in the leg, and Nelson did just that. He wasn’t going very fast and was hunched over the steering wheel like a crazy old lady, but in his head all he could think was, Oh my God! I am driving!

  * * *

  Exactly one minute and sixteen seconds after they had left Uncle Pogo’s house, the orange car that belonged to Nelson’s neighbor Hilda Mills came racing past them. The small battered vehicle dragged its exhaust against the tarmac, like some kind of cruel punishment for being a useless exhaust pipe, screeched around the corner, drove up onto the pavement, and smashed into the front wall of Pogo’s garden. For a moment it just sat there crumpled against the bricks and debris, hissing steam like a kettle. Then the driver’s door opened. But it wasn’t Hilda who got out; it was the great hulk called Brian. For a moment Brian stood in the glow of the security light, like a visitor from another planet, before he began walking up the path toward the front door.

  By the time Brian had broken into the house and found it to be empty except for a sleeping Uncle Pogo, Nelson and his monsters were already on the highway and halfway to Heathrow Airport. Unfortunately for Nelson, he had left a clue to where they were going: the computer on Pogo’s desk was still showing the last thing Nelson had been searching for—flights from Heathrow to Brazil.

  * * *

  “For Heathrow Terminal 5, take the next exit,” said the GPS, as if this was a perfectly simple thing to do. However, for Nelson it meant swinging the steering wheel to the left and swerving slowly across two lanes in order to head down a ramp toward a roundabout. The monsters howled with excitement, extracted as they were from the bit of Nelson’s little soul that secretly loved mayhem. Nelson had gotten used to the levers—they were easier to use than the go-cart he had driven once on vacation—but it was the other cars on the road that were his concern. He was going slower than everyone else, which provoked a lot of honking of horns.

  “Are we nearly there yet?” moaned Spike, and his answer came in the form of a 747 roaring overhead.

  “At the roundabout take the third exit,” said the navigation system.

  For Nelson, entering the roundabout was like entering a giant game of bumper cars. Sweat poured down his back and glistened on his forehead. He’d pulled his hood up so that no one would notice that an eleven-year-old boy was driving a van by himself, but that was making him hotter still.

  “You missed the turn, you idiot!” bellowed Stan.

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t help having you lot shouting at me, you know.” Nelson’s voice wobbled. His mouth was so dry you could have lit a match on his tongue, and he didn’t dare take a hand off the wheel to wipe his brow for fear of crashing. The monsters cackled and scoffed as Nelson drove round the roundabout again, waiting for the GPS to tell him which exit to take. Unfortunately the instructions were interrupted by the ringing of the phone in Pogo’s false leg.

  “Oh no! I don’t know where to go. Which one is the third exit?” said Nelson in his new stressed-out voice.

  “This is Pogo. I’m sorry I can’t take your call at the moment, but please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get right back to you … Beep!” went the answer machine in the false leg and then a voice that Nelson knew began to speak.

  “Pogo? Mate, it’s Doody. Look, sorry to call you in the middle of the night, but I’m in the Westminster labs and, well, we found some blood on one of them things you discovered, the table with all the needles, so I wondered if either you or that little nephew of yours had fallen on it. It’s just that the blood is fresh, so I wanted to check that you was all right and not hurt or nuffin’. All right. Call me when you wake up, yer lazy so-and-so—Beep.”

  Nelson was getting dizzy from all these laps of the roundabout and was desperate to be told which exit to take.

  “Take the third exit for Heathrow Airport,” said the navigator, and finally, after ten torturous laps of the roundabout, Nelson steered the van in the correct direction.

  “I hate roundabouts,” he muttered. Even though there were a lot of cars on the road that approached the airport, they all moved more slowly now and it was easy to stay in just one lane and follow the signs. They entered a tunnel that filled the van with orange light and the monsters marveled and cooed at the effect it gave.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” said Pogo’s leg as the van emerged on the other side, and the monsters cheered, but the truth was that they hadn’t quite arrived yet. There were various buildings to choose from, and Nelson had no idea where to go. Arrows and signposts seemed to multiply in front of him like some kind of baffling card trick. He slowed right down, but a car behind him honked in frustration before pulling up alongside them, winding down a window and shouting something rude at Nelson. Nelson kept looking straight ahead and just hoped the angry driver could not tell he was a kid. Hoot had been flying low enough to hear what was going on and decided to show his support by doing what birds do best, which is pooping on car windshields. If Hoot had been a normal-sized bird the driver would not have had cause for alarm, but Hoot was the size of a dog and his glittering golden poop was as large as a cow patty, which meant that when it hit the windshield the driver screamed and had to make an emergency stop.

  “I don’t know where I’m going, and you are not helping me!” said Nelson through clenched teeth, but this altercation had forced Nelson to stay in his lane, which actually turned out to be a good thing as it led directly to the terminal for flights to South America.

  * * *

  Nelson stopped the van with one of the front wheels up on the curb just before it hit a suitcase belonging to a family who were unloading luggage from their car.

  He turned off the engine and sat back in his seat. Only now did he realize he had been in a tense, hunched position ever since they’d left his uncle’s house. They weren’t even out of the country yet, but Nelson felt as if he couldn’t possibly go any farther, and had it not been for a traffic warden approaching he would have happily stayed in the van for at least another twenty minutes, just to get his breath back.

  “Oh, great, now we’re going to get a parking ticket,” said Spike in his usual monotone, as Nelson quickly scrambled over the seats to stay out of sight.

  Once the warden had passed, Nelson and the monsters jumped out the back doors. Nelson kept his hood up and looked around to check that no one had noticed anything peculiar, but luckily for them, the airport was busy with flustered people in a rush to catch their plane, just like they were.

  “What are we gonna do with the van?” said Nelson, but none of the monsters were listening. Miser had stolen the trolley from the family next to them, and the rest of the monsters were all loading the trunk onto it. “Uh-oh, Nelson’s gonna drive again,” cackled Stan, and all the monsters piled on.

  “Excuse me, that’s our trolley,” said the mother of the family at the next car.

  Nelson looked awkward and opened his mouth, but words did not come out.

  “Tell her to get lost,” grunted Stan, but the best Nelson could come up with was a squeaky “Sorry!” as he pushed the trolley as fast as he could into Terminal 5 of Heathrow Airport, with the monsters laughing at him all the way.

  THE GOOD NEWS, THE BAD

  NEWS, AND THE FIREBALL

  First the good news:

  The good news was that a British Airways flight bound for Brazil was due to depart in exactly one hour and fifteen minutes.

  * * *

  And now the bad news:

&nb
sp; Nelson had no money to buy a ticket, and even if he did have the money, he hadn’t thought to drive home and get his passport, and even if he had had the money and the passport, there was no way a boy of his age would be allowed to travel on his own without the proper paperwork and a chaperone. They definitely hadn’t thought this through.

  * * *

  What about the fireball?

  That doesn’t happen yet. But it will. Soon.

  * * *

  “Well, we’re stuffed,” said Spike, who had been made to walk alongside the trolley to avoid pricking his fellow monsters.

  Nelson didn’t answer Spike, but he knew he was right. They were stuffed. He looked around and spotted Hoot perched on a huge illuminated billboard for a men’s fragrance, which suited Hoot nicely, as he sat there admiring the perfect blond hair of the gentleman in the advertisement beneath his golden claws.

  “If anyone could see what I can see, they would totally freak out,” said Nelson to himself, and this made an idea pop into his head like a slice of golden toast popping up from a toaster.

  * * *

  To everyone in the airport, this is what Nelson’s trolley looked like:

  And to Nelson, this is what his trolley looked like:

  Nelson could see past the line of people waiting to have their bags scanned to the departure lounge where the plane was getting ready to board. It was only about thirty meters away, but with all that security, it might as well have been a thousand miles.

  “Can you make me invisible like you?” whispered Nelson to the monsters.

  “Don’t be daft,” was Stan’s response, and the other monsters snorted.

  “You go in ma belly!” shouted Nosh excitedly, pointing to his bulging stomach.

  “Actually, fatty’s got a point,” said Spike.

  “What? You think I can hide in your belly?” said Nelson, who really hoped the answer would be no.

  “Ya! I hide you, Nelly-son. I hide you in ma big fat belly and we all go on da plane!”

  “And I would be invisible?” said Nelson nervously.

  “While it is true you will be invisible inside Nosh’s ample gut, you would have very little time before Nosh’s belly incinerated you,” said Miser.

  “How long?” said Nelson, and Nosh shrugged.

  “It depends on the size of what he has eaten. The bigger the meal, the longer he needs to generate the fire. My estimate would be around three minutes at best.”

  “Three minutes?” said Nelson thoughtfully. “That might be enough time to get through security. Then we can think of something else. And you can definitely spit me out before your stomach catches fire?”

  Nosh nodded eagerly.

  “But what if he enjoys the taste of you, Master Nelson? Self-control while snacking is hardly one of Nosh’s strong points,” hissed Miser as his tentacles picked the pockets of a businessman who was staring at the departure board right behind them.

  All the monsters looked at Nelson and waited eagerly for his response.

  “I think … it’s quite likely … Nelson will … be cooked alive,” yawned Puff, proceeding to lick his paws with his blue tongue.

  Nelson bit his lower lip and looked up at the departure screen. Their flight was already boarding.

  Without thinking, Nelson’s right hand pressed down on his chest and felt the pea-sized stone against his skin. That reassuring wave washed over him once again.

  “Honk! Honk! Honk!” Crush squeezed Nelson’s legs together and Nelson patted his head.

  “Thanks, Crush. I really don’t want to do this…” said Nelson, which was another way of saying, “But I have no choice.”

  The monsters cheered to show their support and, in a rather unsettling way, Nosh began to salivate and drool at the idea of eating a human. Nelson pushed the trolley to a quiet space beneath a staircase where the only people around were asleep on their luggage due to their flight being delayed.

  Nosh didn’t need asking again; he simply opened his mouth as wide as a sleeping bag and Nelson climbed in. If any of the people around them had happened to wake up at this point, they would have seen the top half of a boy floating in midair.

  This is what it looked like.

  “Okay, we only have three minutes to get through security before Nosh’s gut goes up in flames, so you lot better go like a rocket or I’m going to be roasted alive and we’ll never save Celeste,” said Nelson, and instantly regretted saying her name, as apart from Nosh (whose mouth was full at the time), all the monsters howled in pain.

  The stench coming up from Nosh’s belly was as foul as a bin that had been left unemptied all summer long, but Nelson knew this was no time to be squeamish.

  “I shall keep count of the time,” said Miser, climbing back onto the trolley.

  “I say, they have a marvelous range of grooming products in that shop over there. They even have a lotion that could cure you of those awful warts, my dear Miser,” said Hoot, who had fluttered down from his perch.

  “Hoot, we’re going for it, so stay close and … good luck,” said Nelson, and he took off his back-pack and jacket and squatted down inside Nosh’s vast mouth, which snapped shut around him like a giant clam.

  “Hooooonk!” cried Crush, hopping up and down on the spot next to Nosh.

  “Go!” shouted Stan, and off they went.

  “One … two … three…” counted Miser as Nosh, now swollen to almost twice his normal size, rolled onto the trolley and together the rest of the monsters pushed it as fast as they could toward the departure gate.

  Nosh’s eyes watered at how delicious Nelson tasted. To make matters worse, it was almost ten minutes since he had last eaten so he was extremely hungry again.

  For Nelson, this would be one of the most disgusting things that ever happened to him in his life. It was not only sticky and smelly inside Nosh’s guts, but there were all sorts of gross sloppy things that flopped against him like rotting wet sausages.

  Despite most people in the airport being entirely preoccupied with their own travel, a luggage trolley speeding across the terminal all by itself was a jaw-dropping sight.

  “… thirty-five … thirty-six … thirty-seven…” counted Miser as the trolley reached top speed.

  The monsters were pushing it so fast that they were able to knock out of the way like bowling pins any luggage or people in their path.

  “Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk! Hooonk!” went Crush, out of his mind with worry for Nelson.

  “… fifty-eight … fifty-nine … Two minutes remain—hurry!” shouted Miser, as the trolley smashed into the barrier that should have stopped anyone without a ticket from passing through to the departure gate. Nosh rolled off the trolley and straight into a young couple busy taking off their jackets, watches, and shoes in preparation for the security scanners. People being knocked over by invisible forces isn’t something that happens every day, and of course it provoked huge amounts of panic, screaming, and general rushing about.

  “… one minute, twenty-two … one minute, twenty-three … one minute, twenty-four…” said Miser, his voice getting louder in order to be heard above the pandemonium they were leaving in their wake.

  Nelson had no idea where he was or how long they had left. Being inside Nosh’s stomach was like being in a washing machine made of rancid meat. Meanwhile the monsters were rolling Nosh along like you would if you were trying to make the biggest snowball you could possibly make.

  “Two minutes!” shouted Miser, who for the first time looked extremely concerned. Nosh’s eyes were starting to glaze over in preparation for his belly igniting like a booster rocket.

  There was only one obstacle left to get Nosh through, and that was the metal detector, which stood like an empty doorway between the monsters and the rest of the terminal. Unfortunately, with Nelson inside him, Nosh was too big to roll through and became jammed right in the middle of the device. Security guards had no idea what was going on.

  They tried to walk through the apparently empty scan
ner to assist the passengers who had been knocked to the floor, but they were unable to pass, as if some kind of force field was stopping them. Of course, it wasn’t a force field; it was a monster with an eleven-year-old boy in its belly.

  I suppose this is what it must feel like to be a Scotch egg.

  Nelson suddenly felt a great surge of heat all around him and a new smell joined the stink: it was smoke. Nelson wanted to cry, “Let me out—he’s going to blow!” but time had already expired.

  “… Two minutes, fifty-six … fifty-seven … fifty-eight … fifty-nine … Time’s up,” said Miser, turning away to avoid seeing Nosh’s head burst into flame. But Nosh was holding on like someone who needed the bathroom very badly and knew if he could just wait for a few seconds more he might not have to do it in the middle of a room full of people.

  “Stand back!” yelled Stan, before charging at Nosh like a bull at a fat matador.

  BANG!

  Not only did Stan succeed in sending Nosh flying forward, he also caused Nelson to be spat out of Nosh’s slobbery great mouth, accompanied by a ball of fire.

  * * *

  (It would take an eagle-eyed security man called Jim Tindle watching the CCTV tapes back later that same day to see a brief glimpse of a boy appearing in midair as a fireball erupted behind him. Of course, the footage would be examined over and over again, and in the end it would be concluded that this must have been a glitch on the camera, as boys don’t just appear out of thin air, and no one really liked Jim Tindle anyway.)

  * * *

  Chaos erupted as flames engulfed the security gate and passengers who had been knocked to the floor by invisible monsters got tentatively to their feet.

  Nelson had landed clear of the madness and only a few feet away from the entrance to the shop selling duty-free perfume. He quickly picked himself up off the floor and realized he was completely covered in slobber. The slobber might have been disgusting, but it seemed to have saved him from being singed by the flames. Luckily, no one was looking at Nelson, as everyone was much too busy watching the fire that had broken out in the security hall.