Johnny and the Bomb Read Free Page A

wasn’t at all pleasant. It went right into his ears and right through Johnny’s modern brain and right down into the memories built into his very bones. When an early ape had cautiously got down out of its tree and wobbled awkwardly along the ground, trying out this new ‘standing upright’ idea all the younger apes were talking about, this was exactly the kind of snarl it hated to hear.
    It said to every muscle in the body: run away and climb something. And possibly throw down some coconuts, too.
    â€˜There’s something in the alley,’ said Wobbler, looking around in case there were any trees handy.
    â€˜A werewolf?’ said Bigmac.
    Wobbler stopped. ‘Why should it be a werewolf?’ he said.
    â€˜I saw this film, Curse of the Revenge of the Werewolf ,’ said Bigmac, ‘and someone heard a snarl like that and went into a dark alley, and next thing, he was lying there with all his special effects spilling out on the pavement.’
    â€˜Huh,’ quavered Wobbler. ‘There’s no such things as werewolves.’
    â€˜You go and tell it, then.’
    Johnny stepped forward.
    There was a shopping trolley lying on its side just inside the alley, but that wasn’t unusual. Herds of shopping trolleys roamed the streets of Blackbury.While he’d never seen one actually moving, he sometimes suspected that they trundled off as soon as his back was turned.
    Bulging carrier bags and black plastic dustbin liners lay around it, and there was a number of jars. One of them had broken open, and there was a smell of vinegar.
    One of the bundles was wearing trainers.
    You didn’t see that very often.
    A terrible monster pulled itself over the top of the trolley and spat at Johnny.
    It was white, but with bits of brown and black as well. It was scrawny. It had three and a half legs but only one ear. Its face was a mask of absolute, determined evil. Its teeth were jagged and yellow, its breath as nasty as a pepper spray.
    Johnny knew it well. So did practically everyone else in Blackbury.
    â€˜Hello, Guilty,’ he said, taking care to keep his hands by his sides.
    If Guilty was here, and the shopping trolley was here …
    He looked down at the bundle with the trainers.
    â€˜I think something’s happened to Mrs Tachyon,’ he said.
    The others hurried up.
    It only looked like a bundle, because Mrs Tachyon tended to wear everything she owned, all atonce. This was a woolly hat, about twelve jerseys and a pink ra-ra skirt, then bare pipe-cleaner legs down to several pairs of football socks and the huge trainers.
    â€˜Is that blood ?’ said Wobbler.
    â€˜Ur,’ said Bigmac. ‘Yuk.’
    â€˜I think she’s alive,’ said Johnny. ‘I’m sure I heard a groan.’
    â€˜Er … I know first aid,’ said Yo-less, uncertainly. ‘Kiss of life and stuff.’
    â€˜Kiss of life? Mrs Tachyon ? Yuk,’ said Bigmac.
    Yo-less looked very worried. What seemed simple when you did it in a nice warm hall with the instructor watching seemed a lot more complicated in an alleyway, especially with all the woolly jumpers involved. Whoever invented first aid hadn’t had Mrs Tachyon in mind.
    Yo-less knelt down gingerly. He patted Mrs Tachyon vaguely, and something fell out of one of her many pockets. It was fish and chips, wrapped in a piece of newspaper.
    â€˜She’s always eating chips,’ said Bigmac. ‘My brother says she picks thrown-away papers out of the bin to see if there’s any chips still in ’em. Yuk.’
    â€˜Er …’ said Yo-less desperately, as he tried to find, a way of administering first aid without actually touching anything.
    Finally Johnny came to his rescue and said, ‘I know how to dial 999.’
    Yo-less sagged with relief ‘Yes, yes, that’s right,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure you mustn’t move people, on account of breaking bones.’
    â€˜Or the