Deeba heard cheers from across UnLondon.
“They think it’s over,” said Deeba. “They think they won. But it’s drawing together, so it can mix that chemical in. It boiled it so it could breathe it— now it’s going to mix it into every bit of Smog there is. Then it’ll spread again…and rain. While everyone celebrates. They’ll see it coming, but they’ll just put up their unbrellas.”
“And then…” said the book.
“The unbrellas,” Deeba said. “And the people carrying them. They’ll all burn.”
94. The Dreadful Sky
“Can you get to the bridge?” she said. “Mortar! Can you?”
With a visible effort, Mortar looked away from the growing mass of Smog.
“Yes,” he said. “I may be tired, and an idiot, but I wouldn’t be a Propheseer if I couldn’t get to the Pons Absconditus.”
“Right,” said Deeba. She thought fast. “You have to go everywhere. Hundreds and thousands of people are out and about tonight. You have to go everywhere, and tell them the Smog’s coming back, and that their unbrellas won’t help them: they’ll kill them.
“Maybe gather up more Propheseers. Move as fast as you can. Tell people to get underground, whatever. And throw their unbrellas away!”
“But what then?” said the book. “The Smog’ll be everywhere…”
“First thing’s to stop it killing everyone,” she snapped. “Then we’ll work out what’s next.”
“What are you going to do?” Mortar asked.
“I need to get my friends,” Deeba said. “Jones and Obaday and the others…I have to make sure they’re okay.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“No. You have to go now. There’s no time. Spread the word. I’ll…try to sort things out here.”
Mortar looked for a moment as if he was about to argue, then changed his mind.
“I’ll get the bridge,” he said. He shook his head to clear it, and concentrated.
“She’d better go with you,” said Deeba. “Don’t want her escaping to London.” She stretched out her hand, and her rebrella yanked Lectern towards her. Lectern squeaked.
“How did you do that with an unbrella?” said Mortar.
“It’s not,” Deeba said. “It’s a rebrella…that’s another thing! Everyone can fix their unbrellas. That frees them from Brokkenbroll.”
“So if they fix them, they can use them against the Smog…?”
“No, they’ll still explode in the rain. Forget it. You have to get everyone inside, fast. We’ll fix the unbrellas afterwards. Brokkenbroll’s not the problem now.”
Above them, the Smog was condensing. Its smogglers were congealing into it one after the other. The green tinge was spreading throughout its substance.
“Get the bridge here,” said Deeba.
Mortar gripped Lectern’s shoulder. Lectern was so slumped and defeated, Deeba didn’t think she would run.
He should take Brokkenbroll, Deeba thought. But the Unbrellissimo was still out cold, and no one had the strength to drag him. She watched the Smog.
A cold awareness settled in her stomach. The Smog was seconds away from merging completely, mixing its new chemical, and spreading out again for attack. Even with the help of several other Propheseers, there was no way Mortar could warn more than a handful of UnLondoners.
It’s not going to work, Deeba thought. We have nothing.
When she looked back at Mortar, the bridge was there, jutting from the edge of the building. She glimpsed the desks on its surface, saw its girders recede with perspective.
There was a bass growling from the sky. The last trail of smoke disappeared like sucked spaghetti into the thick green-tinted Smog, which rumbled.
“Go!” shouted Deeba. Mortar went onto the bridge, dragging Lectern. He looked at Deeba. A tentacle of Smog swooped down towards the roof, moaning like a monster. “Go!” she shouted.
Mortar waved once. Deeba ducked to avoid the swirl. When she looked back the bridge was gone.
The Smog churned its murderous chemical within itself. It made shapes with its clouds, sank towards Deeba.
With Mortar gone, Deeba felt a strange calm. Perhaps it was certainty— the certainty of defeat. She knew she had no time to retreat to where Jones and the others were waiting, and she knew there would be no point even if she could. She tried not to think about all the people in two worlds the Smog had at its mercy.
She had stayed in the remains of the room because she couldn’t bear to run from her enemy. Not after everything that had happened. It’s crazy, thought Deeba. I have nothing. But still, she realized, that was why she’d stayed.
Brokkenbroll lay untrustworthy and unconscious. Deeba was alone.
The Smog descended.
Deeba made a brief move towards the remains of the corridor, then stopped. She wouldn’t get farther than ten feet. There was no point. She looked up.
The Smog made itself a green cloud face. It loomed over her, and sent out a cathedral-sized smoke tongue to lick its smoke lips. It bashed air currents together in its miles-wide mouth, and with a voice made out of thunder, it said to her:
Deeba closed her eyes as the Smog came down. All she could think, again and again, was: I have nothing.
95. Nothing
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
And the UnGun.
Deeba opened her eyes.
Nothing and the UnGun!
96. Six-Shooter
The enormous Smog-mouth plummeted towards her. Deeba raised the empty UnGun.
It’s no mistake! she thought. In the book! It’s not “Nothing but the UnGun” the Smog’s scared of, it is supposed to be “Nothing and the UnGun.”
She held the weapon in her right hand, the rebrella with her left. The Smog was right above her. She could feel the wind it pushed as it dropped. All of the Smog was congealed into a dark, rushing shape. It concentrated itself so densely it looked almost solid.
It growled as it came.
Nothing’s the opposite of something. If I fire something, anything, from the UnGun, it shoots it out, and exaggerates it. So if I shoot nothing…
Deeba fired.
There was an enormous implosive rush. This time, the UnGun didn’t recoil. It didn’t push her back. It pulled her forward, and she staggered to stay standing.
With a roar, the UnGun sucked. It sluiced with impossible strength into its barrel.
A huge chunk of the Smog’s cloud-matter was drawn from the sky. In the instant that Deeba pulled the trigger, a tightly twisting vortex sprang from the Smog and funneled into the UnGun.
The Smog broke off from its dive and curved away. The face it had made boiled and re-formed. It looked confused.
It was noticeably smaller than it had been a moment before.
The Smog turned like a vast rearing horse, and snarled. It stared at Deeba, and the cloud swept down again, changing shape as it came.
Deeba hefted the UnGun. It was heavier than it had been. Five chambers left, she thought. She fired again.
The sucking sound roared across the heavens again, even louder than before, like water rushing into a cosmic drain. Another great whirlpool of Smog coiled superfast out of the cloud, slurping out whole banks of its stuff, which gushed out of the air in a dense stream, into the UnGun.