‘Nice try,’ I say as he misses the fifteenth.
‘Nice nose,’ he says.
‘Shut up.’
He grins. ‘Come on. You help me with maths and I help you with football. Stand over there.’
We work on passes first, and he teaches me to stop the ball with my foot rather than jumping over it as it comes towards me and slipping in the mud. ‘Hey, that’s like what the others do,’ I say, impressed with my efforts.
‘Well, now, you don’t want to go around doing something just because that’s how other people do it.’
‘How about doing it because it looks cooler?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, that’s a noble reason for doing something.’
Suddenly the field lights flicker off, and we’re plunged into darkness. The only light now is from a few street lamps over by the road. The sound of Mr Barrack locking the equipment away floats over from the gym. A car door slams. Then there’s silence.
The panther blinks at me through the gloom.
‘Um, Jem?’
‘What?’
I haven’t told him about the blue creatures. He seems to like it that crazy things happen around me, but I don’t want to scare him off.
‘Can you see anything over there? Just to the left of the goal?’
He peers about. Under his watch the panther yawns, gets to its feet and pads right past him to sit on the field next to me. I wonder whether I should be backing away, but instead I slowly stretch out my hand towards it. The blue light pulses through my fingers as they inch closer to its head, and a buzzing sound fills my ears…
‘Bring those balls back tomorrow, will you, lads?’ Mr Barrack yells from the other side of the field. I snatch my hand back to my side. The buzzing stops.
‘Okay,’ Jem calls, and turns back to me. ‘What am I looking for again?’
‘Nothing. Doesn’t matter.’
He shrugs and takes a shot at the goal. It soars straight in and he goes flying around the field, yelling with victory.
‘Very nice,’ I say, ‘but it would be even more impressive if there was, like, a goalkeeper or some other obstacle.’
He hoots at me, takes a run-up at my abandoned football and lobs it towards my head. I duck but it clips me on the shoulder as it passes.
The panther snarls.
‘Er, Jem?’ I say, looking nervously at the creature beside me. Visions of claw-marked corpses fill my head. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
He laughs and starts zooming about the place in his triumph, grinning at me. Then he stops, turns and runs straight at me.
Only he’s not smiling anymore.
‘JIM!’ he yells, staring wildly away to my left.
I turn. A dagger is flying through the air towards my head, glinting in the lamp light.
It’s a few feet away from me. Jem is ten yards. He’s not going to make it. It’s nice that he’s trying, but he can’t save me this time. The knife is going to bury itself in my forehead, and he’s going to be running at a corpse lying on a football field in the middle of nowhere.
I’m about to die.
As the dagger slices through the cold air before me, something warm brushes my fingertips.
Suddenly there’s an explosion right in front of me. I catch a glimpse of the dagger flinging away before I’m blown off my feet in the opposite direction. For a moment I have a magnificent view of the night sky, waves of blue light ripping across it like lightning, before I smash into the ground five yards away from where I was.
The air is knocked out of my lungs so fast that my vision goes blotchy. I try to move but all the energy has been drained from my body. It takes a few seconds before I can pull myself up into a sitting position, gasping, to look at the scene in front of me.
He’s back. The Rambler’s back. He has someone down on his knees in front of him, and jerks his own knee up into the guy’s face with a resounding crack. His victim slumps to the ground, nose broken. For one horrible second I think it’s Jeremy, but then I see Jem further away near the goal, yelling and cursing – something about a complete bastard and a right horse’s arse.
He’s safe, thank God. But then who’s the other guy?
Whoever he is, he’s a-goner. The Rambler bends over him, hands outstretched. Just as he’s about to grab him, though, the other guy kicks up into the Rambler’s chest, making him stumble back. He’s fighting back! The man jumps to his feet, and suddenly I can see who it is.
It’s Mr Barrack, my football coach. He must have heard something and come running over to help. He’s got blood all over his face, but he’s still moving, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent. I wonder whether the Rambler’s going to take off, like he did when Jem attacked him the other night, but he looks Mr Barrack up and down and stands his ground.
‘Come on, beautiful,’ Mr Barrack jeers. ‘Give us a dance.’
The Rambler snarls and launches a fierce right cross.
Mr Barrack deflects the blow and chops down hard on the back of the Rambler’s neck as he hurtles past him. The Rambler stumbles but twists around just as Mr Barrack jabs at him. The Rambler grabs Mr Barrack’s wrist and, holding it up, lands two punches to his ribs. The coach cries out, grabs the front of the Rambler’s jacket and yanks him forward into a headbutt. The Rambler stumbles back, dazed. Mr Barrack doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the Rambler, lifts him up, turns him upside-down and smashes him headfirst into the ground.
Jeepers. I didn’t know teachers could do that.
Now the Rambler’s lying stunned on his back. Mr Barrack is on top of him in an instant, his hands around the Rambler’s neck. I think I’m about to watch a man being strangled to death right in front of me when the Rambler’s outstretched arms fly up and clap Mr Barrack’s head between his palms. Mr Barrack screams out in pain, they roll, and suddenly the Rambler is on top of him instead, fighting for control.
‘Hey!’ Jem yells from the sideline. He’s holding the dagger up. It must have flown towards him when the explosion went off. He leans back and throws it with all his might straight at the Rambler’s head. I have a chilling moment of satisfaction in thinking that this murdering bastard is going to be killed by his own weapon.
My satisfaction turns to horror as the Rambler snatches the knife out of mid-air, twirls it in his hand and slams the glinting point down into the chest of my coach. There’s a sickening, sucking sound as the knife buries itself and Mr Barrack gasps in surprise and pain. A salivary globule of blood falls out of his mouth onto his chin.
The Rambler climbs to his feet and looks down at the corpse, back stooped. His shoulders heave up and down as he breathes heavily through his nose.
Then he turns to me.
He walks towards me, slowly. He’s in no hurry. He knows that in my present condition – probably in any condition – he can take me. Jeremy can’t even help me now, not without the weapon he just gave away. The Rambler is still clutching the blood-stained knife in his right hand, and I can see his fingers flickering over it as he readjusts his grip.
He stands over me, and for the second time in the space of a few minutes, I know I’m going to die.
He leans down and holds out his empty left hand, palm up.
‘Are you alright?’
Chapter Seven: The Rambler
I’ve taken his hand before I realise what I’ve done, and he pulls me to my feet. When my knees start to collapse he moves his hand to my elbow and holds me up. His grip is tight, and I start to wonder if you can kill someone by crushing their joints.
‘And you?’ He turns to Jem, swinging me around so we’re both facing him. We’re also facing Mr Barrack, whose limbs are half tangled, half splayed all over the pitch. A murderer has me by the elbow, and I don’t think he’s letting go any time soon. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yeah,’ Jem says, staring at Mr Barrack. ‘Yeah, I’m… Wow. He is dead, isn’t he?’ He edges up and prods the body with the toe of his football boot. Then he looks up at the Rambler in awe. ‘You killed
a teacher.’
‘Outside of school hours. Doesn’t count.’ He lets go of my arm and goes to do his own inspection of the body. Now would be a good time to run away. Now would be perfect. I take a step away and – plonk! I’m back on the ground again. Did I just faint? So much for running away. I look around to see whether Jem’s coming to my rescue, but he’s squatting next to the corpse, looking over it like it’s a science exhibit.
‘Straight to the heart, huh?’ he says conversationally to the Rambler. ‘Solid.’
‘Yeah, but it makes a complete mess,’ the Rambler replies as he runs his hands down the sides of the dead body. ‘I would have gone for a broken neck but I didn’t have the right hold.’ He rolls the body onto its side and the head lolls towards me, blood dripping out the mouth, eyes rolled up so far that all you can see is…
‘Mneh –’
And there goes my lunch. They both look over at me puking my guts up. ‘As if we didn’t have a big enough mess to clean up,’ the Rambler snaps. ‘What’s your problem?’
What’s my problem?
‘There’s a dead… And you killed… And he’s just…’ I’m pointing at Jem now. ‘What the hell’s going on here? You’re supposed to be my best mate, and you’re standing around having a chat with the guy who just threw a dagger at my head.’
Jem’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding. He walks over and gives me a hand up. ‘No, he didn’t,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t him who threw the dagger at your head. It was Barrack.’
‘What?’ I look down at the dead man in front of me. I’m suddenly aware of the clamminess of my forehead – I think I’m going to faint again. ‘But he’s a teacher. Why would he want to kill me?’
‘Maybe because you suck at football,’ the Rambler says. He walks to the edge of the field and grabs a handful of dirt, then comes back and sprinkles it over the sick and the blood. Then he grabs Mr Barrack under the armpits and hoists him up. ‘Grab the legs.’
‘What?’ I back away. ‘I’m not touching him. He’s all dead, and he tried to kill me.’
The Rambler gives me a contemptuous look. ‘Well, considering his deadness, I don’t think he’s going to succeed now, do you?’
When I don’t come forward to lend a hand he drops Barrack back onto the field with a sickening thump and marches up to me.
‘Listen, kid,’ he says. ‘We don’t have time to muck about. We’ve got a dead body in the middle of a school football field and, thanks to your little light show, probably another dozen live ones converging on us. We have to dispose of him, and we have to do it now.’ He turns his head to look at Jem. ‘Is there a furnace in this school?’
Jem nods. ‘Down in the basement. Under the science rooms.’
‘That’s our destination, then. We take the body, we destroy it, we get out. All without being seen – you’re not ready to meet the people who are after us.’ He glares at me. ‘So I suggest that you grow a pair, and grab a leg.’
In the end Jem grabs the legs and I grab the footballs. It’s really tricky, carrying them both at once. Especially since my hands won’t stop shaking.
We’ve reached the shadow of the school buildings before I realise that I’m not just shaking from shock – I’m freezing. I must have left my jumper down on the football field. I look over my shoulder, wondering whether I should run back and get it, and a chill that has nothing to do with the December weather runs down my spine.
There are figures standing on the field now. About half a dozen, dark and shadowy. I can’t tell whether they’re talking or looking for something, but they weren’t there twenty seconds ago.
‘Um, guys?’ I say softly. Jem grunts with the effort of looking around with Mr Barrack’s ankles tucked up under his armpits, but then falls silent, staring out at the people in the gloom. The Rambler doesn’t even bother looking up.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he whispers. ‘Is there a back entrance to this building?’
‘Yeah, round to the right,’ Jem murmurs back. ‘It’s longer, though. Have to work our way through the primary school.’
‘It’ll have to do,’ he says, hefting the body up higher into his arms. ‘Quiet, now.’
We edge our way round the building, in full sight of the people on the field for most of the time, except for the shadows. I don’t take my eyes off the dark figures, but they don’t seem to be looking this way.
‘Who are they?’ I whisper, once we’ve rounded a corner and found ourselves in a play area at the back of the primary school, out of earshot.
‘They’re Hoarders,’ the Rambler replies.
‘What are Hoarders?’
‘They’re the bad guys.’
‘Informative, thanks. I picked that up, actually.’
The Rambler ignores me. ‘Which way?’ he asks Jem.
Jem nods his head at a door down a walkway. ‘That door there. Might be locked, though.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘But why are they after me?’ I ask, trying to catch the Rambler’s eye as he lugs the body towards the door. ‘Why are they throwing daggers at my head?’
‘I don’t know,’ he grunts. ‘They’re not supposed to know you’re the One.’
‘The One?’ What’s he on about? ‘The one what?’
‘The one who was foretold.’
‘You know, you’re not really good at the A part of Q&A, are you?’
‘And you’re not good at any part of shut the hell up and dispose of the body.’
He’s glaring at me now, and he’s stopped walking. I know this tactic – Mum uses it all the time when she’s angry, the ol’ stop-and-glare. I think I’ll put the questions on hold for a few minutes. Mum doesn’t normally pack a knife and some serious jujitsu moves.
We hurry over to the door and I’m wondering whether the Rambler’s going to treat us to a lock-picking lesson or just charge straight through it, like he did with my window, when he reaches a hand into Mr Barrack’s pocket and pulls out a set of keys. ‘Come on, make yourself useful,’ he says, waving them at me.
I put the footballs down on a bench, grab the keys and try them out on the lock. The third key turns, and I hold the door wide for Jem and the Rambler to bring their cargo in.
‘Okay, down this corridor to the main office, then take a right,’ Jem says. ‘We might want to hurry it up, though, because Thursday night is –’
Some lights flicker on down the hall and we hear voices headed our way.
‘– cleaning night,’ Jem finishes.
‘Out of the corridor,’ the Rambler says, and we all dive through the nearest doorway. Jem drops Mr Barrack’s feet and closes the door on us just as lights flicker on outside and the sound of a floor polisher starts up.
I can’t see a thing in here. I try taking a step forward but walk straight into some shelves. Something clatters to the floor. There’s a clicking sound and a little light flares up. The Rambler has produced a lighter from somewhere and is holding the flame up to the shelves surrounding us, full of bottles and buckets and brooms. It looks like we’re in the cleaners’ cupboard.
My heart is thumping.
‘Can I go home now?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t feel well.’
‘Quit complaining,’ the Rambler says, ear to the door.
‘Well quit giving me things to complain about, then, mastermind,’ I snap over the sound of the polisher. ‘Dead teacher on our hands? Let’s carry him around the school a bit, shall we? Hiding from cleaners? Let’s all jump in the broom cupboard – brilliant. They’ll never look for us here.’
‘Shut it, will you?’ the Rambler hisses, while Jem makes shushing gestures.
‘No, I will not shut it!’ Quit it, Jeremy. ‘I’ve had it with this last week. It’s all blue creatures and broken windows and flying daggers and dead teachers, and I didn’t ask for any of it. It’s got nothing to do with me.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, mate,’ the Rambler says, holding the flame up to see my face. ‘It
’s got everything to do with you. Trust me.’
‘Trust you?’ Is he kidding? ‘Three days ago you jumped through my window and tried to kill me.’
‘I wasn’t trying to kill you,’ the Rambler protests. ‘And we fixed the window.’
‘So you were just scaring the crap out of me for kicks, were you?’
‘I was trying to get you to reveal that you’re the One,’ he says. ‘And if you hadn’t been so busy cowering behind your much ballsier friend here, we could have had this conversation in the comfort of your own home instead of in a cupboard with a corpse.’
‘You keep saying “the One”,’ Jem says before I can retort. ‘The one what?’
The Rambler sighs and leans against the door. ‘There’s a prophecy,’ he says.
‘Oh, come on.’ How stupid does he think we are? I know I’m into my fantasy novels, but does he really think we’re going to swallow that?
‘Well, hey, if you don’t want to know –’
‘No, go on,’ Jem says, punching me in the arm. ‘What prophecy?’
The Rambler glares at me and addresses Jem. ‘It says that a human child will inherit the powers and change the balance between good and evil. And considering the mountain-sized protection shield this human idiot here conjured up on the football field, I’d say we finally have a contender.’
‘What, that blue light thingy? Are you saying Jim made that?’
The Rambler nods. ‘Making him of particular interest to the Guardians and the Hoarders.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The good and evil the prophecy talks about.’
‘Hold up a second,’ I say. ‘I didn’t make that light shield thing. It was the shiny blue panther.’
The Rambler looks at me like I’m off my rocker. ‘The what now?’
‘Swear to God. For the last week or so there’ve been these blue creatures following me around, and when Mr…’ I swallow. I can’t say it. ‘I mean, when the dagger was coming at me it just kind of exploded in my face. That’s what protected me.’
Jem frowns. ‘You never told me about them.’
‘That’s because they don’t exist,’ the Rambler scoffs. ‘You think colourful animals are rushing about protecting you? This isn’t a Care Bears movie, sonny. That power came from you.’
James Munkers Page 7