“I don’t like it,” said Ollie. “It’s not right.”

Once again he glanced back toward the entrance, making sure that their way out was clear.

“There’s nothing here, man,” said Deke. “No one. The place is deserted. Look at all that crap in the water. The vending machine must have been dumped there ages ago, and forgotten about.”

“Come on,” said Ollie. “I’m leaving.”

He jumped as Freak suddenly shouted, his voice startlingly loud. “HELLO? ANYBODY HOME?”

The sound echoed off the hard walls.

“See? Nothing.”

“You’re an idiot,” said Achilleus.

“Yeah? And who are you, then—Brainiac, the world’s brainiest kid?”

“Don’t start arguing,” said Arran wearily.

“Look,” said Deke, “we’ve been here long enough. If anything was going to happen it would’ve happened by now. This place is dead, like the rest of London. Like the rest of the world, for all we know. Dead.”

“We’re not dead,” said Arran, “and I want to keep it that way.”

“Then let’s get the stuff from the machine,” said Deke. “Food, yeah? To eat? You remember food, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure about this.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, this is a waste of time.” Freak walked to the water’s edge, holding his nose. Deke groaned as he watched his friend wade in. Soon the slime was up to Freak’s knees, then his thighs. He kept going until he reached the machine. Turned to wave, then peered inside.

“Sick!” he said, grinning. “You should see this.”

“Freak! No!” Deke screamed.

The whole surface of the water around Freak had come alive, as if some huge beast were rising from the depths.

Deke splashed into the pool, yelling.

“Idiot,” said Achilleus.

There were shapes emerging everywhere now, seemingly made from the same green slime as the water itself. They pushed up out of the bubbling pool.

People. Men and women. Blanket weed hanging off them and tangled between their outstretched fingers like webs.

“GROWN-UPS!” Arran shouted.

Ollie grabbed a steel ball, slipped it into the pouch of his slingshot, and pulled back the rubber band. . . .

There were too many of them. In his panic he wasn’t sure where to aim.

Freak was swinging his ax around wildly at the weed-covered grown-ups nearest to him. He got one in the forearm, shattering it, and on his return swing took another in the side of the head, but their numbers quickly overwhelmed him, and as the grown-ups closed in on him, there was no longer room to use his weapon effectively. On his next strike the ax head sunk deep into a big father’s ribs and stuck there. The father twisted and writhed, churning the water and tearing the ax from Freak’s grasp. Freak was defenseless. Wet, slimy hands closed around his neck. He struggled to throw them off, swearing at the grown-ups.

Ollie couldn’t risk a shot that might hit Freak, so instead he aimed at one of the grown-ups on the edge of the attacking group. A mother. He loosed a shot and struck her in the temple. She toppled over and was swallowed by the water. Then a noise made Ollie turn—more grown-ups had moved into the seating area to block their exit.