Johnny and the Bomb Read Free Page B

Then, just when everyone was beginning to relax, there’d be the squee…squee…squee behind them and the stabbing pain in the small of the back.
    Mrs. Tachyon picked things out of the gutter. That was probably how she’d acquired Guilty, with his fur like carpet underlay, broken teeth, and boomerang-shaped backbone. When Guilty walked, which wasn’t often since he preferred to ride in the cart, he tended to go around in circles. When he ran, usually because he was trying to fight something, the fact that he only had one and a half legs in front meant that sooner or later his back legs would overtake him, and by then he was always in such a rage that he’d bite his own tail.
    Even DSS, the rabid dog owned by Syd the Crusty, which once ate a police German shepherd, would run away at the sight of Guilty spinning toward him, frantically biting himself.
     
     
     
    The ambulance drove off, blue light flashing.
    Guilty watched Johnny from the cart, going cross-eyed with hatred.
    “The ambulance man said she looked as if she’d been hit by something,” said Wobbler, who was also watching the cat. It was never a good idea to take your eye off Guilty.
    “What’re we going to do with all this stuff?” said Johnny.
    “Yeah, can’t leave it,” said Bigmac. “That would be littering.”
    “But it’s her stuff,” said Johnny.
    “Don’t look at me,” said Bigmac. “Some of those bags squelch.”
    “And there’s the cat,” said Johnny.
    “Yeah, we ought to kill the cat,” said Bigmac. “It took all the skin off my hand last week.”
    Johnny cautiously pulled the cart upright. Guilty clung to it, hissing.
    “He likes you,” said Bigmac.
    “How can you tell?”
    “You’ve still got both eyes.”
    “You could take it along to the SPCA in the morning,” said Yo-less.
    “I suppose so,” said Johnny, “but what about the cart? We can’t just leave it here.”
    “Yeah, let’s push it off the top of the high-rise,” said Bigmac.
    Johnny prodded a bag. It moved a bit, and then flowed back, with an unpleasant oozing noise.
    “Y’know, my brother said Mrs. Tachyon killed her husband years ago and then went mental and they never found his body,” said Bigmac.
    They looked at the bags.
    “None of them is big enough for a dead body,” said Yo-less, who wasn’t allowed to watch horror movies.
    “Not a whole one, no,” said Bigmac.
    Yo-less took a step back.
    “I heard she stuck his head in the oven,” said Wobbler. “Very messy.”
    “Messy?” said Yo-less.
    “It was a microwave oven. Get it? If you put a—”
    “Shut up,” said Yo-less.
    “I heard she’s really, really rich,” said Bigmac.
    “Stinking rich,” said Wobbler.
    “Look, I’ll just…I’ll just put it in my granddad’s garage,” said Johnny.
    “I don’t see why we have to do it,” said Yo-less. “There’s supposed to be Care in the Community or something.”
    “He doesn’t keep much in there now. And then in the morning…”
    Oh, well. The morning was another day.
    “And while you’ve got it, you could have a rummage to see if there’s any money,” said Bigmac.
    Johnny glanced at Guilty, who snarled.
    “No, I like a hand with all its fingers on,” he said. “You lot come with me. I’d feel a right clod pushing this by myself.”
    The fourth wheel squeaked and bounced as he pushed the cart down the street.
    “Looks heavy,” said Yo-less.
    There was a snigger from beside him.
    “Well, they say Mr. Tachyon was a very big man—”
    “Just shut up, Bigmac.”
    It’s me, Johnny thought, as the procession went down the street. It’s like on the lottery, only it’s the opposite. There’s this big finger in the sky and it comes through your window and flicks you on the ear and says “It’s YOU—har har har.” And you get up and think you’re going to have a normal day and suddenly you’re in charge of a cart with one squeaky wheel and an insane cat.
    “Here,” said Wobbler, “these fish and chips are