Kildark exposed his piranha teeth as he grinned. He pointed the dagger at the three of them and yelled: ‘Kill them!’
For a few seconds nothing happened, almost to the point where it was going to feel a little awkward and nervous laughter would inevitably take over, but then there were battle cries from behind them and from the sides.
They whirled round to see three distinct mobs approaching them, like they’d been lured in and caught in a pincer movement. They were largely men, but with one or two women, all with furiously angry faces but the lifeless eyes they had seen in Mrs Aziram. Only, there had been just one of her, and there was probably fifteen or so of these.
They were dressed rather smartly for maniac hordes, albeit dusted with the storm and splashed with blotches of infested mud. They also brandished metal sticks, mainly raised above their heads, ready to crash down on their victims’ skulls.
They’re golf clubs, thought Ben, as he braced himself for attack. He dodged to the left as a zombified golfer swung his club into the ground where he’d just been stood. The grass caught up around the club’s head, which meant the owner struggled to lift it back up. It gave Ben the second he needed to punch the golfer in the face and send him flying into the hollow. Into a bunker! realised Ben.
Then a pair of arms grabbed him from behind. He struggled and shrugged them off, but it meant he’d taken his eye away from what was in front of him. The head of a club caught him on the forehead and blurred his thinking. A white bolt of pain seemed to split his head in two.
Patty was duelling with three golfers at once, much in the same way as she had taken on the head teacher. She focused hard on her stick and tried to ignore the ache in her hip. It thrummed with power in her hands, and every blow she landed was a successful one. Still, if she defeated three, three more soon filled their places, and the original attackers did not stay down for long. Her hip felt worse. She soldiered on through gritted teeth.
Tom found that being right in the thick of the story, right in the heart of it, gave his legs supernatural agility and strength. He instinctively knew that he could spring away from attacks, leap over his assailants if necessary, and if he managed to land a kick, well, they went flying. The thing that he had brought with him into the story was the power to walk, run, hop, skip and jump, and it meant he was managing to elude capture and keep the golfers at bay with impressive dexterity. But that’s all I am doing, he thought. Keeping them at bay. And they keep coming back. He somersaulted over an onrushing lady golfer. How do we finish this?
Then he felt the sharp jab of a club in his back, and his legs went from under him.
Patty took a blow to the forearm which made it difficult for her to raise her stick. She switched it to her left hand, but it just wasn’t as potent. They were smashing it back with increasing fury. Her knuckles throbbed from repeated whacks and hits.
Ben’s eyes were watering. He’d been struck just behind the ear, and although he’d wrestled a club from one of his attackers and was swinging gamely, his co-ordination and balance were affected, and a crack to the knee – from an overweight man in a diamond-patterned sweater – landed him on his backside. Two golfers jumped at his shoulders and pinned him down.
He knew the others were being beaten too. This was it.
As he thrashed in vain on the floor, grass wrapping itself around his limbs, Kildark loomed over him. He passed the curved blade from hand to hand. ‘I think it’s time to finish what I started earlier. Your interference with this story is just about done.’
A golfer tore at Ben’s clothes, exposing his chest and his throat. Kildark cackled. ‘Let’s see you heal from this!’
The air suddenly filled with noise; the shriek of a horn and the reverberating squeal of a straining engine. From over a hump in the landscape a bright blue double-decker roared into vision. It crashed down yards from Ben, sending golfers scrambling for cover. Its front wheels bounced up as it righted itself. The brakes joined the cacophony of noise as it slid to a halt, but not before striking the fleeing Kildark and sending him cart-wheeling backwards.
Ben sat up, tearing himself away from the grass. He glanced up at the front of the bus. Not In Service was written across the information window, along with the number: 000.
Ben’s father, dressed in his driver’s uniform, stepped off the bus. ‘You look like you’re in a spot of bother, Benedict.’
Ben picked up his club and took a swipe at a marauding golfer, knocking him off his feet. ‘How on earth did you find me, Dad?’
Dan appeared on the first step of the bus behind his grandfather, holding up his iphone. ‘I got your signal, Dad!’
A golfer made a lunge for the bus doors. ‘Careful, Daniel!’ said Jimmy Fields, flicking out a swift jab and knocking the dull-eyed man out cold.
Then they stepped off and all the Fields’ men were reunited. Ben lifted his son off his feet and squeezed him hard. ‘Take it easy, Dad!’
‘We felt it, Benedict,’ said Jimmy. ‘We felt your trouble. And for once you needed our help.’
Ben put his son down carefully, taking in every dimension of his face. Then he acknowledged what his own father had told him. ‘Thanks a lot, but it’s not over yet! Help me get these good people safe!’
Together they helped to throw golfers away from Patty and Tom Holliday. Patty struggled a little to her feet and for once used her stick for its original purpose. Tom had found the strength in his legs again though. ‘This is great!’ he said. ‘Three of you!’
‘And a couple more!’ said Dan, gesturing to the vehicle.
As the golfers gathered themselves again and got ready for another charge, Alex and Charlotte Holliday jumped off the bus. Alex had a metal pole in both hands; the washing line posts from the cottage garden. He dashed over to Tom and thrust one into his boy’s hands. ‘George’s metal staff, son. You must have forgotten it.’
Tom grinned up at his dad. ‘You read it! Thanks!’
They turned around and faced a line of golfers together, pushing forward with the posts held out, driving them back with their metal barriers.
With more foes to contend with, whatever spark of reason that remained in their addled minds made the golfers hover with indecision. They hung back, tottering, waiting for a command.
Kildark had been down, but not out. He strode forward, not a mark on him from his impact with the bus. He flicked his long fingers and the golfers scurried away. ‘If you want something doing…’
He glared round at the assembled company. ‘Well isn’t this just wonderful? Everyone rallying round, helping each other out at their time of need.’
‘It’s over,’ said Patty. ‘You’ve thrown everything you’ve got at us, turned our worlds upside down.’ She swept a hand at the landscape. ‘Changed it even – but here we still stand.’
Kildark smirked. ‘If you can call it standing. How’s that hip, old woman? That stick just about holding you up?’
‘I’ll live.’
‘Yes, well we shall very much have to see about that. The boy has the book that I want and I am about to tear it from his clutches, and there is nothing any of you can do to stop me.’
‘We can fight,’ said Alex, raising the metal pole.
Kildark held out a hand and rubbed thumb and forefinger together. The pole in Alex’s hands glowed red. Alex dropped it with a yelp and then shoved his scorched hands under his armpits. The red-eyed man-creature laughed.
‘You can’t fight me! I have toyed with you so far. You have been good sport, all of you, but now I grow bored and wish to move on to my next game: taking over this mundane little world of yours.’
They were stood in a rough line, with Tom in the middle. Kildark stepped towards him. ‘We can do this without pain, little boy. Just hand me that book.’
Charlotte stepped in front of her son, but Tom reassured her. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I know what to do.’ With an arm, he eased her back in line, but then he took her hand and gripped it tight.
She looked d
own at him. ‘I’m so proud of you, Tom.’
Kildark stepped closer. ‘No more fighting, little boy.’
Tom nodded. ‘That’s right: no more fighting. That’s because fighting can’t beat you.’
Kildark opened his palms in a gesture of agreement.
Tom nudged his dad and made an offer for one of his burnt hands. He took it carefully. ‘Keep going,’ Tom whispered.
Alex looked to his left, and, smiling, took his mother’s hand.
Tom glanced back at his own mother. She saw what was happening and reached out for Daniel’s hand.
‘You see,’ continued Tom. ‘I remembered how I made George and Helena beat you in the story, and it wasn’t with war.’ They were all holding hands now, all eight of them. Taking nervous steps to curve the line, they started to surround Kildark.
‘Oh please!’ said Kildark, watching them circle him. ‘You think this is something? You think this will work? Come on, allow me.’ He reached out for Jimmy’s and Ben’s arms, grabbing them before they could pull away. ‘Don’t be scared!’ he said as they struggled against him. He thrust their hands together, completing the link, the circle formed around him. ‘There you go, hold hands. Let’s have some more of that silly family bonding that you all seem so fond of.’ He glanced around at the ring around him. ‘Now you can do a dance, or sing, or whatever you had in mind.’
They just stood together, waiting.
‘That it?’ said Kildark. ‘Okay, my turn.’ He reached out towards Tom.
Alex wriggled to lose hold, wanting to protect his son. Tom held on tight though, visibly stinging his father’s hand. ‘Sorry, Dad – no fighting.’
Kildark mimicked. ‘Yeah, sorry, Dad – no fighting. Because you’d looooossse!’ He pointed his fingers in the direction of Tom’s jacket. ‘Now, for that book.’
He touched Tom’s chest, but then recoiled, as if he had received a shock through his fingers. He made another move to grab the jacket, but then at the crackle of power whipped his hand back. Kildark looked at it. It was no longer over-large and bony. It was man-sized.
He grabbed with the other hand, but yelped as the power stung him. He then tried to push his way past Daniel, but he bounced away like he’d hit a rubber wall. He doubled up in pain, and suddenly seemed very small. He couldn’t help but blurt out. ‘What is it?’
‘No more fighting,’ said Alex.
‘No more fighting,’ said Ben.
‘It’s love,’ said Tom.
Kildark, visibly reduced to less than adult height, roared and lunged at Grandma Patty.
She couldn’t help herself. She broke free from Alex’s light, finger-burnt hold, lowered her hand so that her handbag slid down her forearm until the handles landed in her palm. Then she gripped tightly and swung high in an uppercut motion.
The handbag caught Kildark squarely underneath the chin. The blow lifted him off his feet, into the air and out of the circle, over the top of the ducking Daniel. He landed on his back with a whimper. ‘Just a little more fighting,’ said Grandma Patty.
Tom stared, amazed. ‘Wow, Grandma! What magic did you have in your handbag?’
‘No magic,’ she smiled. ‘Just this.’ She reached in and pulled out a heavy, bulky object. It was the brick that Kildark had thrown through Ben’s car windscreen.
The poison grasses weaved themselves over the prostrate body of the shrinking Kildark. He offered little resistance, only a whimper. Within a minute he had been taken under the earth.
He was gone.
The world around them began to regain some of its colour. The sky brightened. The grass became lush and green. Trees grew from shoots in a matter seconds. And clear white sand returned to the bunkers.
A golfer crawled out from under a bush. ‘Who parked that bus in the middle of our fairway?’
Ben Fields walked up to his dad. ‘I saw how narrow that lane was. How on earth did you get that thing down here?’
Jimmy Fields smiled. ‘Benedict, let’s just say that the bus company is going to be getting a lot of damage claims from owners of parked cars this week. Your boy did good, by the way.’
‘I know,’ said Ben, beckoning Daniel over.
Daniel was smiling, but then the expression on his face dropped. ‘Dad, your stomach!’
Ben looked down. A flower-shaped blotch of red blossomed on his shirt.
Behind him, he heard Charlotte Holliday call out her son’s name. Ben turned to see Tom on the ground, his legs crumpled beneath him.
Grandma Patty called out: ‘Will someone with one of those mobile phone things call an ambulance!’
GREENSPHERE QUEST by TOM HOLLIDAY
PART SEVEN (continued)
——-tornado kick. Helena rooted around in her bag for other potions. “A time tube. That should help!” She shattered it on the ground in front of the Meddo clones. They pushed themselves forward at normal speed but the attacks and blasts around them slowed down so that they could be dodged. The main Meddo broke through and knocked Kildark into the wall.
“Ow!” Kildark yelled. “That’s it: NO MORE GAMES!” he yelled while firing shadow clouds that blocked out the sun. The dome filled up with billowing smoke. “ I-I-I c-can’t b-b-breathe” George choked.
Helena dropped to her knees. “Wind of successful scattering,” she croaked and soon found herself and George breathing easily as a fresh breeze took away the vile clouds.
“How long are you going to TAKE TO DIE?” Kildark screamed and raised his arms to the top of the dome. His huge fists punched holes through the roof, to expose them to a huge purple storm overhead. It started pulling everything apart, tearing parts of the dome away and flinging them across the poisoned land.
“This isn’t going to end well,” Helena said, huddling together with George and the Meddoes. She tipped her bag upside down and one tiny bottle fell out. “All I have left is this love potion!”
George’s face lit up. He had an idea that it might just do the trick. He said, “Just throw it at him!” Helena hesitated for a moment and then threw it with everything she had.
It burst on Kildark’s chest. He froze for a second as the storm calmed down around him. The remains of the dome started to fade away around them. “What is that?” he asked. “It makes me feel all funny.” He looked at his super-large fingers, and strangely, could see through them. “No, it can’t be,” he said. “Not something so simple and as harmless as that!”
And then Kildark went all fuzzy like he was made of static, then with a quick pop, vanished completely.
The Meddo clones got up and ran off. “Sorry, we gotta go!” they apologised and sprinted away. The original Meddo just shrugged. “I’m gonna stick around and see how this ends, if that’s okay.”
Helena nodded. She had spotted a silver chest near the Snuggerthang tooth. “George, pass me that key we got from the wyverym.”
“Okay?” George said in confusion. He had forgotten all about it.
Helena walked over to the chest, avoiding the tooth. The lines of darkness had gone from the ground, and it had buried itself further into the earth, but she worried about it still being dangerous. When she got to the chest she put the key in the lock. She turned it and it popped open. “The potion,” she said. As she walked out of the area where the dome had been and onto the path, she undid the necklace and poured it out onto the nearby grass. Instantly it started to change back into a fresh green colour.
The Meddo clones came back. They were in a wooden flying contraption that looked like a giant bird. “We just borrowed this. Can we give anyone a lift?”
As they flew back to their homes they could see that the grass and the land below them was becoming more green and vibrant, and when they landed back in town, people were now breaking the stone paths near their houses and dancing on the new, fresh, safe grass.
They’d done it. Greensphere was safe.
“Hope we talk soon, George,” Helena said.
“Oh come on, we’re neighbours!” George said. �
��Of course we will!” And with that he ran inside, knowing it had been the time of his life (despite the fact he almost died a few times!)
He also knew that if Greensphere was in trouble again, he and Helena would find a way of helping.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TOM RECOGNISED THE VIEW FROM HIS HOSPITAL BED. It was the same rooftops he had seen in his dream when he thought he was in his bedroom, wrapped in cotton wool.
He wasn’t wrapped in cotton wool at the minute, but the hospital staff were taking a day or two just to check him over and to see that he was comfortable.
Especially now that he had lost the use of his legs.
It was time for visitors, so he could hear the buzz of activity outside the door of his private room. It opened a touch, and Ben Fields poked his head in. ‘Hi, Tom. Do you mind if I come in? Your family are waiting, but I said I’d only be two minutes.’
‘Of course not, Ben – please do.’
The detective walked in, a little gingerly in his movements. He’d taken a good few hits with the golf clubs, and then there was the reappearing knife wound. Tom nodded to Ben’s stomach. ‘Was everything okay?’
‘Missed every major organ. They said I was very lucky. Plus, the hospital said they’d never seen a patient delivered by beaten up blue bus before. If we’d waited for the ambulance to find its way onto the golf course I might not have made it.’
‘It’s a good thing that cottage was the last bit to come back to normal.’
‘It certainly was. Although I think my father still hopes all the cars he bumped will miraculously fix themselves.’
‘Maybe you’ve got all the family luck then!’
Ben chuckled, then winced. ‘Maybe so.’ He perched on the end of the bed. ‘Listen, Tom, I just wanted to pop across to see how you are, but also to thank you for everything your story has done for me.’
‘Ben, it’s you that did everything for me.’ He indicated to the detective’s stomach.
‘Not a bit of it. You did plenty for me and my family; your story brought three generations of Fields men together.’
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