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Back The Enemy Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Table of Contents
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He no longer looked human. His whole body was bulging and writhing. He dropped to his knees. Blind. His hands groping the air. They looked like two udders and were still filling with liquid so that in a few moments the fingers had all but disappeared, the blackened stubs of the fingernails all that remained.

Sam saw the knife lying on the ground and picked it up, ignoring the stickiness on the handle. He felt almost sorry for the thing that had once been Nick. He wondered if he should put him out of his misery. But before he could bring himself to do anything, Nick’s skin split and he seemed to disintegrate completely. He collapsed to the pavement, a mass of putrefying, liquefying flesh and steaming entrails that bubbled and hissed in the sunlight.

Sam retched, and then felt the Kid’s hand on his arm.

He sang a little ditty.

“TV highlight of the week . . .”

“What happened to him?” said Sam.

“Blame it on the sunshine. That’s why Mrs. Spiderlady wouldn’t come out. She’s going to be so angered, but what can she do about it? Now let’s get gone from here.”

“Shouldn’t we go back for Rhiannon?” said Sam.

“Can’t,” said the Kid. “Look . . .”

He nodded to where a group of grown-ups was lumbering along the road toward them.

“We need to get out of here sharpish, skipper. Poor girl’s probably dead as a dormouse already. Just thank her in your prayers.”

“I don’t pray,” said Sam. “I don’t believe in God.”

“Well, somebody up there’s looking after you, titch. Now let’s motor.”

They ran off down the road, hand in hand, Sam glad of the human contact.

50

They arrived at sunset. Carl, the pirate, had brought ten of the meanest, toughest-looking squatters with him, plus a couple of smaller kids. Wiry little bruisers with even more attitude than their larger friends. They were escorted to the Throne Room and came in intending to be unimpressed, to play it cool, to show the stone face, but now they were all standing there with eyes wide, mouths hanging open.

“Oh, my days,” said Carl. “This is unreal.”

Everything about the scene was unreal. The decrepit Royal Family were slumped in their thrones, drooling. Just John was standing to one side, his hands tied behind his back, his feet loosely roped together so that he could walk but not run. There was a wad of cotton wool taped across his nose, and his eyes were ringed with purple bruising. He looked uglier than ever.

David and Jester stood on the other side, arms folded. David’s suit was clean and pressed, his tie immaculate. The palace guards were at attention in front of the thrones, wearing their red-and-black uniforms, their rifles at the ready, trying their hardest to look like professionals.