Read The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis Online
Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic
The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis (26 page)
BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
10.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Treld shouted at Knocker again. ‘Let’s go now. All we have to do is slip down that rope over there and open the door. No copper in the world will stop these animals once they get moving.’
‘On yer bike,’ yelled Knocker. Treld grinned again, gave a sign to
her friends in the roof, and then, totally fearless, ran the length of a girder and slid down the rope she had indicated until she was level with a set of bolts. Leaning over from the rope she drew them back and pushed at the door with a foot.
her friends in the roof, and then, totally fearless, ran the length of a girder and slid down the rope she had indicated until she was level with a set of bolts. Leaning over from the rope she drew them back and pushed at the door with a foot.
The sheep found the gap immediately and thrust at it. The pigs felt the pressure grow less in that direction and charged. The horses followed, the cows followed them, and the Conkers shouted and cheered, encouraging the animals forward; the torrent was on the move again and as soon as it was safe to do so the Borribles dropped from their perches to the floor. They gathered near Sam the horse and prepared their catapults for battle. The next few minutes would decide whether or not they would escape; all they had to do was follow on in the wake of their unstoppable war-machine and hope for the best.
It was just as this second stampede rolled out of the slaughterhouse that Sussworth fell from the roof of his car, grazing his knees as he landed awkwardly on the cobbles. The inspector clambered to his feet as fast as he could but was immediately thumped in the crotch by an angry pig and the pain took his breath away completely. He hit the ground again and this time he could feel something very wet and soggy under his body, under his hands and, worst of all, under his face.
Whatever it was stank most pungently. Then the realization came to Sussworth in a flash. Of course! With hundreds of animals in a highly excited state the whole area must be covered with a very special mixture of excrement: cows’, pigs’, sheep’s and horses’.
The inspector’s hatred of filth made him forget his agony and he sprang to his feet once more. That was a mistake. Although the last of the animals from the first stampede had disappeared round the corner into Baynes Street, the second stampede was now out of the slaughterhouse and, like the first—so it seemed to Sussworth—every single one of these new arrivals had their sights on him. Worse, forty punk girls, emerging from the side lane, had spotted his uniform and were firing their catapults as fast as they could. Stones whizzed past his head; a window of his car shattered; a headlamp exploded.
There was nothing for it. In spite of the muck that covered the cobbles Sussworth dropped to the ground again. He pressed his face
closer into it and squeezed his body under the car. The fierce odour made him gag and retch. His hands and face were plastered with slime and slurry. He heard his coat rip on a bracket. The exhaust pipe of the car burnt a hole through his trousers and scorched a leg. Sussworth whimpered. He could not believe that this was happening to him. Where were his men, his proud battalions? Tears welled up in his eyes, tears of rage and frustration. He tried to wipe them away and only got muck in his eye. He sobbed out loud and drummed his feet against the roadway like a child in a tantrum. ‘I’ll get them for this,’ he howled, ‘them savages and their horse.’
closer into it and squeezed his body under the car. The fierce odour made him gag and retch. His hands and face were plastered with slime and slurry. He heard his coat rip on a bracket. The exhaust pipe of the car burnt a hole through his trousers and scorched a leg. Sussworth whimpered. He could not believe that this was happening to him. Where were his men, his proud battalions? Tears welled up in his eyes, tears of rage and frustration. He tried to wipe them away and only got muck in his eye. He sobbed out loud and drummed his feet against the roadway like a child in a tantrum. ‘I’ll get them for this,’ he howled, ‘them savages and their horse.’
But in all that hubbub no one, except Hanks, heard the inspector or even knew where he was. The animals charged at the car and battered it severely. The Borribles whooped and yelled and all Sussworth could see from his viewpoint were feet and hooves dancing round him and kicking more muck into his face no matter which way he turned.
Hanks heard the inspector’s voice quite clearly but Hanks was not moving. He was safe, he thought, and he cowered on the back seat of the patrol car, his hands covering his tightly closed eyes, hoping to heaven that he was out of danger, but he was not.
As the animals surged round both sides of the motor its bodywork was bashed and dented by their sheer ferocity. So violent was the attack that the chassis of the car must have twisted or snapped at some point, for suddenly, without any warning, the two rear doors fell open, leaving Sergeant Hanks completely unprotected.
The very moment this happened the front runner of the escaping sheep spotted the gap and darted in at one door, to emerge at the other in less than a split second. It was straight away followed by more sheep and then by pigs too, all pushing and shoving and pummelling at Hanks with their vicious hooves.
The sergeant screamed for mercy but it was no use. More and more animals chose that way out, slobbering and slavering and coughing and sneezing to such good effect that at the end of it all Hanks resembled some old round boulder that slugs and snails had crawled over all night, to leave coated with glittering silver in the morning.
Treld swung on her rope as the last of the animals left the abattoir, watching her comrades group themselves near Sydney and Chalotte
and Sam the horse. Knocker leapt from his chopping block to the floor. ‘Come on,’ he shouted. ‘Quick, let’s go.’
and Sam the horse. Knocker leapt from his chopping block to the floor. ‘Come on,’ he shouted. ‘Quick, let’s go.’
The Borribles were fully prepared to do just that but as they moved forward they found their way barred by a line of about twenty policemen, their shields and visors in position, their truncheons at the ready. These men had escaped injury by hiding outside behind the great open doors, swept there by the charge and power of the stampede. They were unharmed, fresh and determined to revenge themselves.
‘Oh bugger it!’ cried Sydney.
‘Catapults,’ shouted Chalotte.
Treld, unnoticed in the rafters, took another swing on her rope and, bending as she swung, undid the catch on a huge metal container that was fixed in position above the entrance. She had realized what it was earlier, when undoing the bolts on the front door.
It was a cylinder about twice as high as a man and maybe six feet wide, fed and filled by conveyor belts which rose from the factory floor. The undoing of the catch normally allowed the bottom of the container to open so that its contents might fall into the back of a lorry; only this time there was no lorry and the heavy load dropped straight down and swamped the policemen below entirely, just as they charged. And what fell from above was a ton and a half of viscous offal, bright vermilion lungs and purple livers, gaudy tripes and dark blue intestines, all jumbled together with hearts and kidneys, tails and tongues, trotters and skin, stomachs and bowels, eyes, teeth, bone and brains; and all of it slippery with a fast thickening blood.
The Borribles fell back, sickened and surprised. A soft crimson explosion had engulfed the policemen and they were gone. In their place was a shambles, a rising, heaving quicksand of red sponge. Huge drops of gore pattered down, warm and heavy like a tropical rain. Even the Conkers held up their arms to protect themselves and some of them Screamed. So did Treld, but hers was a scream of joy.
Knocker glanced up and understood where this terrible deliverance had come from. As he looked the girl left her rope, ran along a pipe, down a girder and landed near him. She jerked her head at the moving pile of reeking gobbets and rubbed her hands together.
‘That should keep ’em quiet for a minute,’ she said. ‘I think we’d better go now, before they gets annoyed.’
No one laughed and for a brief moment the only sound heard was the sound of Chalotte retching where she sat and swayed on the back of the horse, her face like a broken mask.
But there was no staying there however anyone felt. With a great yell of exultation Treld slapped Sam on the rump and, picking his way round the mass of offal, his nostrils flaring at the thought of freedom, the horse stepped eagerly through the slaughterhouse gates. The Conkers followed, the adventurers too, and outside, so quickly were things happening, they were just in time to meet the advance of Swish and her contingent, rushing along in the wake of the first stampede.
There was a whoop of celebration and friend greeted friend. Knocker stepped aside and took in the scene. The area in front of the abattoir was, as far as he could see, empty of policemen. There were three patrol cars but they were battered wrecks, their tyres flat, their windscreens and headlamps smashed, their doors hanging loose. Beyond them the last few of the animals were leaving the entrance to the yard and galloping into Baynes Street.
Treld pointed. ‘We’ll have to follow them and keep as close as we can,’ she said. ‘It’s our only chance.’
Knocker nodded and called to the adventurers. ‘Try and stay close to Sam,’ he said, ‘and follow on to Chalk Farm.’
‘Blancmange,’ shouted Treld.
‘Blancmange,’ shouted Swish.
‘Blancmange,’ shouted all the Conkers.
Sydney spoke once more to Sam and the horse neighed like a steed of ancient battles and shook his head and bared his teeth. Ready for anything he moved towards the streets. Sydney grabbed Sam’s mane and held on grimly. Behind her Chalotte threw her arms around Sydney’s waist and pressed her head against her friend’s shoulder. ‘I hope I don’t fall off,’ she said.
It was too late to worry now. Sam began to pick up speed, and the Borribles, all seventy of them, formed a protective hedge around him and swarmed out into Baynes Street and into Royal College Street, lifting their pace to a gallop.
The charge was irresistible and no line of policemen could have
stopped it, but there was not the slightest sign of law and order. The SBG had concentrated its efforts in and around the slaughterhouse, little thinking that the Adventurers could break through its defences and not dreaming for a moment that they could break out again even if their first attack were successful. Above all, Inspector Sussworth had not included the Conkers or the animals in his calculations. Under such an unexpected onslaught his troops had run for cover. So the Borribles, following in the wake of the escaping herds and with no one to prevent them, hastened towards the high railway bridges of Royal College Street and Camden Road; and what a sight met their eyes.
stopped it, but there was not the slightest sign of law and order. The SBG had concentrated its efforts in and around the slaughterhouse, little thinking that the Adventurers could break through its defences and not dreaming for a moment that they could break out again even if their first attack were successful. Above all, Inspector Sussworth had not included the Conkers or the animals in his calculations. Under such an unexpected onslaught his troops had run for cover. So the Borribles, following in the wake of the escaping herds and with no one to prevent them, hastened towards the high railway bridges of Royal College Street and Camden Road; and what a sight met their eyes.
It was full rush hour with thousands of people going home by bus and car and on foot. Trains rattled across the sky and it was so dark that the street lamps could hardly shine through the squalls of rain gusting everywhere. Through all this activity the stampede had passed and now everything was in disorder.
Lorries, cars and buses had swerved from the roads, crashing into lamp posts and mounting kerbstones. The drivers, recovering from their shock, were just beginning to climb from their seats and were shouting and arguing with one another. Pedestrians stood dazed, oblivious of the rain, staring after the departing animals as they raced round the corner and down the Camden Road towards Camden Town; the pigs squealing louder than ever, the sheep bleating, the horses neighing and the cows still tossing their dangerous horns.
The people walking up Camden Road could not believe the evidence of their own eyes. Here they were, just up from the Underground, hurrying homeward for tea, their heads bent against the weather and the car lights, when suddenly, out of the black night, came a wave of noise and terror, threatening to engulf them.
Everyone on that crowded street dived for the closest doorway or bolted into the nearest side road or climbed the handiest wall. The traffic stopped immediately and completely, drivers happy to be safe within the protection of their vehicles, never mind the damage. They too could not believe their eyes: sitting in their cars in the middle of one of London’s main roads and nothing but animals on all sides just as far as one could see—an ocean of animals. So all the traffic stopped, right back to Kentish Town and beyond; round by Regent’s Park and Albany Street and down to Mornington Crescent too. And
those at the rear could not understand what was going on and hooted their horns, and got out of their cars and phoned the police and the fire brigade, but that only made matters much worse as more vehicles tried to enter the area and the traffic jam became solid and immovable.
those at the rear could not understand what was going on and hooted their horns, and got out of their cars and phoned the police and the fire brigade, but that only made matters much worse as more vehicles tried to enter the area and the traffic jam became solid and immovable.
The Conkers were delighted. They sped along the pavements, maintaining their guard around Sam and the Adventurers, hiding them from view, brandishing their catapults ready to warn off any adult who attempted to halt their flight. But no adult dared intervene; they were far too confused and shocked to take an interest. In their very own streets they had witnessed a stampede and then, only seconds later, a horde of mad children had appeared, all of them girls it seemed, their faces begrimed with dirt and spotted with blood, their clothes torn and filthy.
On ran the Borribles, screaming defiance, and they ran where the animals led and the animals led to Camden Town where five wide roads meet to make a star. Here too the traffic was wedged tight, cars and buses locked bumper to bumper, shining under the streaks of light rain where it fell through the lamplight. Commuters, emerging from the Underground station, rushed to shelter from the wet in shop doorways. They gawped, puzzled to see so many headlamps blazing but not moving.
As they stood there they became aware of a noise: a distant shouting and a hallooing, a thundering of feet, a bleating, a squealing and a lowing. They looked at each other nervously. Was this the end of the world as prophesied? Before they could answer the question the question answered itself for into sight came the stampede, heading down the slope of Camden Road straight for the Underground.
There were not quite so many animals now. Some had found their way into the side streets, others had blundered into restaurants or trapped themselves in backyards, but there were still enough to frighten the life out of most of the onlookers, what with the speed they were going and the noise they were making. But that was not all. Behind the herd, riding relentlessly like spirits of the night, were two blood-bespattered girls on a fire-eyed stallion, their hair streaming in the wind, and all round them ran a ragged band of barbarous children.
BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
10.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Other books
The Mystery of the Headless Horse by William Arden
Confessions of a Hostie by Danielle Hugh
The Troll by Darr, Brian
The Towers of Samarcand by James Heneage
Blackbird by Abigail Graham
The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) by Morcan, James, Morcan, Lance
CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR
The Reaping: Language of the Liar by Angella Graff
Woman in Black by Kerry Wilkinson
Bad Boys of Romance - a Biker Anthology by Kasey Millstead, Abigail Lee, Shantel Tessier, Vicki Green, Rebecca Brooke, Nina Levine, Morgan Jane Mitchell, Casey Peeler, Dee Avila