tried to lose himself in the mechanical process of getting water to his mouth, his hand rising and falling like a machine. At last he had drunk enough and stopped, panting, his eyes closed. Listening to the water as it slopped about in the tank, the sounds echoing off the metal sides.
When he opened his eyes the world was settling down, the reflections slowing their mad dance, coming together again. He watched the hypnotic display. Gradually everything calmed and grew still and finally he could see into the dark depths of the tank.
He realized with a shock that there was something down there. Moving. Alive. A creature, rising slowly from the bottom, looming up at him. As he stared, he began to make out its shape.
Black flesh and grey bones, broken wings and a gaping chest, greasy feathers …
He wanted to be sick again.
It was Boney-M, swimming about down there, an oily trail following him through the water, spreading out like the filthy discharge from a ship’s engine.
Paul clamped a hand to his mouth. He mustn’t throw up. But the thought of drinking water polluted by this filthy beast made his stomach flip. Boney’s beak opened like a shark’s mouth and came up out of the water. It made a choking sound then closed with a clack.
One beady eye stared at him. The leathery eyelids closed slowly over it and then slid open.
‘You shouldn’t swim in my drinking water,’ said Paul.
‘You what? Who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, puke boy? I can do what I sodding well like, you little sickie-puke-boy.’
‘You’ll poison me.’
‘Don’t make me laugh. You’re already poisoned, you moron. Didn’t your mother tell you?’
‘I’m not poisoned. I’m just not feeling very well.’
‘ I’m not poisoned. I’m just not feeling very well … Listen to you. What a whiner. You know nothing, pus-for-brains. Look at you, drifting around up here like a wet fart. Why aren’t you down there, sorting them out? The little bastards. You promised me you were going to do something about them.’
‘I can’t. Not yet. I don’t feel strong enough.’
‘Feeble excuse from a feeble specimen.’
‘There’s too many of them. More came. Didn’t you know? I don’t know where they’re from. There’s too many of them now. And they can fight. They’re strong. I’ve seen them. I watched them, down in the lower level, killing sickos. What can I do?’
‘Do what you always do, feeble-fairy-sicko-puking-chunks-and-chunder,’ shrieked the horrible, broken bird thing. ‘Nothing! You do NOTHING. You just watch and wait and watch and wait. Why don’t you go and look andsee what they’re up to? Huh? Move your fat arse. Do it, do it, do it …’
Paul made his way out on to the roof and scuttled across it to the front of the museum, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.
Even before he got to the edge he could hear them, children talking, laughing, shouting, their feet scraping on the ground. And as he reached the low wall that ran round the building he shook with silent laughter.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look! They’re going! The new ones are leaving.’
Twenty-four children were trooping out through the gates and turning right on to Cromwell Road, heading west.
‘What did I tell you?’ said Boney-M. ‘Now’s your chance.’
21
The expedition moved slowly. They were wheeling two large trolleys that had once been used for shifting things around the museum. Their small, sturdy wheels were perfect for indoor use and for carrying heavy objects, but they rattled and bumped and had a tendency to get stuck on any uneven surfaces.
Ollie could see that the trolleys were going to be trouble. He was already nervous and the trolleys just made him more so. For the hundredth time he counted the heavy steel pellets he used as slingshot, transferring them from one leather pouch on his belt to another. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five … That should do it.
He really wasn’t sure how
When he opened his eyes the world was settling down, the reflections slowing their mad dance, coming together again. He watched the hypnotic display. Gradually everything calmed and grew still and finally he could see into the dark depths of the tank.
He realized with a shock that there was something down there. Moving. Alive. A creature, rising slowly from the bottom, looming up at him. As he stared, he began to make out its shape.
Black flesh and grey bones, broken wings and a gaping chest, greasy feathers …
He wanted to be sick again.
It was Boney-M, swimming about down there, an oily trail following him through the water, spreading out like the filthy discharge from a ship’s engine.
Paul clamped a hand to his mouth. He mustn’t throw up. But the thought of drinking water polluted by this filthy beast made his stomach flip. Boney’s beak opened like a shark’s mouth and came up out of the water. It made a choking sound then closed with a clack.
One beady eye stared at him. The leathery eyelids closed slowly over it and then slid open.
‘You shouldn’t swim in my drinking water,’ said Paul.
‘You what? Who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, puke boy? I can do what I sodding well like, you little sickie-puke-boy.’
‘You’ll poison me.’
‘Don’t make me laugh. You’re already poisoned, you moron. Didn’t your mother tell you?’
‘I’m not poisoned. I’m just not feeling very well.’
‘ I’m not poisoned. I’m just not feeling very well … Listen to you. What a whiner. You know nothing, pus-for-brains. Look at you, drifting around up here like a wet fart. Why aren’t you down there, sorting them out? The little bastards. You promised me you were going to do something about them.’
‘I can’t. Not yet. I don’t feel strong enough.’
‘Feeble excuse from a feeble specimen.’
‘There’s too many of them. More came. Didn’t you know? I don’t know where they’re from. There’s too many of them now. And they can fight. They’re strong. I’ve seen them. I watched them, down in the lower level, killing sickos. What can I do?’
‘Do what you always do, feeble-fairy-sicko-puking-chunks-and-chunder,’ shrieked the horrible, broken bird thing. ‘Nothing! You do NOTHING. You just watch and wait and watch and wait. Why don’t you go and look andsee what they’re up to? Huh? Move your fat arse. Do it, do it, do it …’
Paul made his way out on to the roof and scuttled across it to the front of the museum, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.
Even before he got to the edge he could hear them, children talking, laughing, shouting, their feet scraping on the ground. And as he reached the low wall that ran round the building he shook with silent laughter.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look! They’re going! The new ones are leaving.’
Twenty-four children were trooping out through the gates and turning right on to Cromwell Road, heading west.
‘What did I tell you?’ said Boney-M. ‘Now’s your chance.’
21
The expedition moved slowly. They were wheeling two large trolleys that had once been used for shifting things around the museum. Their small, sturdy wheels were perfect for indoor use and for carrying heavy objects, but they rattled and bumped and had a tendency to get stuck on any uneven surfaces.
Ollie could see that the trolleys were going to be trouble. He was already nervous and the trolleys just made him more so. For the hundredth time he counted the heavy steel pellets he used as slingshot, transferring them from one leather pouch on his belt to another. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five … That should do it.
He really wasn’t sure how
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