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Chapters (81)
  1. Contents
  2. Books by Charlie Higson
  3. Praise for Charlie Higson’s writing:
  4. ST GEORGE
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. THE HUNTER
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27
  33. Chapter 28
  34. Chapter 29
  35. 19 DAYS EARLIER
  36. Chapter 30
  37. Chapter 31
  38. Chapter 32
  39. Chapter 33
  40. Chapter 34
  41. Chapter 35
  42. Chapter 36
  43. Chapter 37
  44. Chapter 38
  45. Chapter 39
  46. Chapter 40
  47. Chapter 41
  48. Chapter 42
  49. Chapter 43
  50. Chapter 44
  51. Chapter 45
  52. Chapter 46
  53. Chapter 47
  54. Chapter 48
  55. Chapter 49
  56. Chapter 50
  57. Chapter 51
  58. Chapter 52
  59. Chapter 53
  60. THE RACES
  61. Chapter 54
  62. Chapter 55
  63. Chapter 56
  64. Chapter 57
  65. Chapter 58
  66. Chapter 59
  67. Chapter 60
  68. Chapter 61
  69. Chapter 62
  70. Chapter 63
  71. Chapter 64
  72. Chapter 65
  73. Chapter 66
  74. Chapter 67
  75. CLOSING
  76. Chapter 68
  77. Chapter 69
  78. Chapter 70
  79. Follow Penguin
  80. THE BEGINNING
  81. PENGUIN BOOKS

‘We had a shed at the bottom of the garden where Dad kept his tools. I opened the door without paying attention. I was thinking too much about my sisters. And there inside the shed were about ten grown-ups, all squashed together in the dark, like a fresh litter of puppies. It was hot in there and the smell was rank. I stood there, like, frozen, not knowing what to do. Then they started to move and I grabbed a spade from where it was hanging on the wall and backed away. The grown-ups sort of unfolded, expanded from the squashed-up lump they’d been, like when you pour water on to a balled-up, dried-out cloth and it swells like a flower opening. They were coming up off the floor, eyes opening, lips parting, all teeth and tongues and gums. And then they were coming after me.

‘I tried to slam the door shut on them, but I wasn’t quick enough, or strong enough. They forced it open and came out blinking into the light. I swung the spade at the first one, got him in the side of the head with a big clang and he fell into a couple of the others, but he didn’t go down. I swung again, this time with the sharp edge of the spade, and I managed to hit him in the neck. That stopped him all right. Couldn’t stop the others, though.

‘I ran into the house. Andy and Henry were still there. Andy in his chair. Henry waiting patiently on the sofa, his hands in his lap. I noticed he’d pretty much stopped swearing now. Seemed calmer almost.

‘I told them we had to get out of there and Henry helped me wheel Andy into the hallway and through the front door. Only the whole street seemed to be filled with grown-ups now. They were all round the car. We had no way of getting to it. We tried to charge down the street, Henry pushing the chair, me clearing the way with the spade. It was hopeless. There was nowhere to run to and, in the chaos and confusion, Henry crashed the wheelchair into a trashed car and tipped Andy out. Some grown-ups got close to them and Henry went crazy. He was a bit uncoordinated, but he was wiry and tough and mad, lashing out all around him.