“Ah,” said Charlie. “You’re the reason they’ve lost contact. Brilliant. Super-intelligent alien civilization foiled by a girl with a stick.”
“Charlie,” I said. “Shut up. We haven’t got much time.”
“Oh yeah,” said Charlie. “I forgot. I’m still feeling a bit shaken. You know, on account of being assaulted.”
“There’s no police,” I said. “There’s no army. What the hell are we going to do?”
Vantresillion’s voice was in my head again. “Two minutes to go. I’m getting twitchy here.”
Charlie was walking round in little circles, squeezing his head. “OK. Think…Think…Think…”
“You haven’t answered my question,” said Becky.
“Which question?” I said.
“Where in God’s name have you been? I’ve been stuck here for six days living off loch water and Quality Street.”
“Six days?” I said.
“Yes,” said Becky. “Six days.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “I thought we were only gone for a day. Something must have gone a bit strange with space-time.”
Becky grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted, “Where in God’s name have you been?”
I took a deep breath. “Plonk. It’s in the Sagittarius Dwarf Elliptical Galaxy. It’s seventy thousand light years from the centre of the Milky Way. In the direction of the Large Magellanic Cloud.”
Becky shook her head. “We have to get you to a doctor.”
“One minute to go,” said Vantresillion.
“Becky,” I said. “Listen. This is important. It is very possible that, in about fifty seconds, Charlie is going to, like, explode.”
Becky stared at me with her mouth hanging open.
“Five minutes after that I’m going to explode too. So I just wanted to say that I love you. And don’t stand too close to me. And a few minutes later…well, it’s probably best not to think about that bit.”
“Thirty seconds…” said Vantresillion.
I walked over to Charlie and said, “You’re the best friend ever. You know that, don’t you? And I sort of love you too. But not in a girly way.”
“Shut up!” said Charlie.
“Oh, OK, then,” I said huffily.
Charlie touched his wristband. “Mr Vantresillion…?”
I pressed my own wristband to listen in.
“Yes?” snapped Vantresillion.
There was a pause. “We have a problem. There’s a policeman here.”
“And why is that a problem?”
“Because, I guess, if he sees two boys explode he’ll go away and fetch more policemen,” said Charlie.
“Where are the Watchers?” hissed Vantresillion.
“He has absolutely no idea, I’m afraid.”
“What the hell is going on?” asked Becky.
I clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t let the policeman get away,” hissed Vantresillion.
“Nnnnnnggg,” said Becky, trying to tear my hand away.
“How are we meant to do that?” asked Charlie.
“I don’t know,” spluttered Vantresillion. “Just…just…put him into the Weff-Beam unit.”
“He’s a very large policeman,” said Charlie.
“Fenting nard!” said Vantresillion. “Get your friend to stand next to him so I can blow them up together.”
“I don’t think Jimbo wants to do that,” said Charlie.
“Fenting, fenting, fenting nard!” said Vantresillion. “Don’t move. I’m sending someone down. And when they’ve dealt with the very large policeman you are going to be toast! Do you understand?”
“Absolutely,” said Charlie and took his fingers off the wristband. He turned to Becky. “Time for you to get your big stick.”
I took my hand off Becky’s mouth and she said, “Would you kindly tell me what is going on? And why is there an imaginary policeman? And who the hell are you talking to?”
But Charlie didn’t get a chance to explain because the blinding blue light was pouring out of the sky. Then there was an ear-splitting boom! and the light went off and Becky picked up her big knobbly stick and ran over to the ruined cottage and lifted the stick over her head. The cover slid sideways and Mrs Pearce’s head emerged from the hole and Becky hit it really hard with the stick and Mrs Pearce squealed and rolled sideways and lay face-down on the earth, completely unconscious.
“Oh my God,” said Becky. “I’ve just hit a really old lady over the head.”
“Actually,” said Charlie, “that’s Mrs Pearce.”
“My God,” said Becky. “I’ve just hit your history teacher over the head.”
I bent down and started lifting Mrs Pearce’s skirt. “This will make you feel better.”
“What the hell are you doing, Jimbo?” said Becky.
“I need to show you something.”
“You sick and twisted little boy,” said Becky. “No way am I looking at a teacher’s bottom.”
And there it was. Coming out of a neat little hole in the back of Mrs Pearce’s knickers. A bit like a long hairy parsnip. The tail.
“Jeez,” said Charlie. “That is going to be burned into my memory, like, for ever.”
“Becky,” I said. “Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
Becky opened her eyes and looked down and screamed. Then everything was lit up by a bright blue light and the mountains rang with the deafening boom! — except we didn’t take much notice because we were all so freaked out by Mrs Pearce’s tail. And then we heard someone say, “Little human scum!” and we spun round to see Vantresillion rising out of the Weff-Beam tube.
Becky ran towards him and lifted the big knobbly stick and swung it, but he was too quick. He grabbed the end and yanked it out of Becky’s hands.
“Narking frotter!” he yelled, his eyes sparking with blue light. “I am toasting you now.” He reached for his wristband.
“Stop him!” shouted Charlie.
But Becky had already whipped a can of L’Oreal extra-strength hairspray from her back pocket and squirted him in the eyes. He screamed and raised his hands to his face and fell to the ground.
“The wristband,” I said and stamped on Vantresillion’s arm while Charlie yanked it off and flung it as hard as he could. We stood and watched it sail through the air until it plopped into the water next to the little boat moored to the rocks.
Vantresillion said, “Aaeeaaeeaaeeaargh!”
And Charlie said, “Jimbo, your sister is one feisty chick.”
“I’m assuming that’s a compliment,” said Becky.
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “But when Vantresillion doesn’t check in, someone is going to press that button and we’re going to explode, so we have to do something spectacular in the next minute.”
Vantresillion got to his feet and staggered around blindly, trying to find us and strangle us.
“Petrol,” I shouted. “There’s petrol in the boat. We set light to the Weff-Beam thing. We blow it up.”
We ran down to the water’s edge and tried to lift the outboard motor off the stern but it was too heavy.
“Forget that,” said Becky, holding a red plastic fuel can. “This is what we need.”
We ran back up the grassy slope to the ruined cottage.
“It’s closing!” shouted Charlie. “Quick!”
I grabbed the broken knobbly stick and shoved it into the hole. It splintered and cracked. Charlie and Becky staggered over with a rock and jammed it into the gap. The mechanism squeezed and juddered and gave off a lot of evil brown smoke.
Becky screwed the black top off the red plastic can and poured the contents into the Weff-Beam unit. “Now,” she said. “Let’s set light to it.”
“How?”