Arthur drove quickly through
the traffic.
His car was a brand new Ford
Cortina. It had a 2 litre engine, 98 brake-horsepower and full leather-trim
interior. It had been his pride and joy just two weeks earlier when he’d driven
it off the car dealer’s forecourt. Yet, today, his new car couldn’t have been
further from his mind.
Outside, the majestic stone
arches of the Tower Bridge sailed by as he crossed the River Thames. Distractedly,
he fiddled with the tuning knob on the radio. Nothing caught his attention
(there was something about the Beatles breaking up but music didn’t really
interest him). Arthur sighed and flipped the radio off altogether.
He didn’t know what was
happening to him. Ever since he’d come back from Waterwhistle, his life had
been brilliant. He’d been totally and completely fearless. Dr. Felix had been
right – he had removed the school bully and taken his place. He had made
everyone in school do whatever he’d wanted. The teachers, too. If he didn’t
want to do any homework, he’d just tell them not to bother giving him any – and
ta-dah – no homework.
He’d applied the same approach
to the rest of his life. He steamrollered over everything and everyone to get
what he wanted. He felt no fear and no remorse. His life had been one success
after another.
Except, he thought now,
perhaps it hadn’t been so great. Perhaps the failed friendships and
relationships were not as unimportant as he’d previously believed. Perhaps they
were actually a string of failures which were just as long – if not longer –
than his string of successes.
wwwhhhooooooooohhhwwwwwooooooo
What?! Arthur couldn’t believe
it. The air raid alarm? Now? It
wasn’t even night yet..! The enemy never did air raids unless it was under
cover of total darkness. He could see it in the faces of the other drivers and
pedestrians around him; panic, shock, fear. Everybody instantly knew the same
thing.
This was going to be a bad
one.
BOOM!
Arthur gripped the steering
wheel – the explosion had been just a few hundred yards behind. He turned to
see cars flying twenty feet into the air as if they were toys. He looked up – like
a conspiracy of angry ravens, dozens of enemy aircraft filled the sky.
Without waiting another
second, Arthur turned and rammed his foot on the accelerator pedal – his car
screeched off before anyone else had managed to react. He weaved in and out of
the traffic at seventy miles an hour. All around him, people screamed and ran
and shouted and hid and stumbled and fell but Arthur just kept going.
BOOM!
The car physically lifted off
the ground this time – the explosion was so close. Overhead, the Stuka aircraft
soared by, their wing-mounted sirens filling the air with an unearthly wail. And
falling from them were hundreds and hundreds of tiny, black-
BOOM!
Blackness. Silence. Muffled
noises. Funny head. Dizzy. Eyes open… people running… on ceiling..? Noises
getting louder… screaming and fire and explosions and…
Arthur awoke with a sudden
jolt and realised his car was upside down – and that he was still in it. Alive.
How he’d survived, he literally had no idea.
His body racked with pain,
Arthur crawled across the ceiling of his brand new car (which was now the floor
of his brand new car). Hand over hand, eventually, he made it to the smashed
out window and crawled out. Dusting himself off, Arthur stood.
Everything was in flames.
It had been early evening and
still bright – but now, the smoke blocked the sunlight out. The only light now
was the dangerous, orange glow of the fires. The streets were still full of
people running in all directions but most of the buildings were either aflame
or had just collapsed altogether.
Arthur looked up into the sky.
Angry, black, billowing smoke covered the entire view but through it was the
unmistakable drone of hundreds of bomber engines. Stumbling, Arthur limped
slowly into the middle of the road, his gaze fixed firmly to the sky.
Why was the war still going
on, he thought? Why wasn’t it over? He had never thought it strange before now.
But all of a sudden, the idea that the allies were still fighting Nazi Germany
in 1970 seemed not at all right.
Suddenly, the clouds of black
smoke parted as if some giant hands had drawn them like curtains. A single
Stuka JU87 emerged from the gloom like a dark angel. And it was heading
straight for Arthur.
Arthur had been used to not
feeling fear for his entire adult life. Right now, staring at an enemy bomber
flying towards him, he still felt none. He knew he should run – not out of fear
but out of common sense. And yet, still, he didn’t. He just looked at the
plane. The plane that he felt, more certainly with every passing second, should not be there.
For no reason he could put
into words, Arthur began to walk towards the oncoming aircraft.
And that’s when he saw them.
The men in suits. Loads of
them. Watching him. They were lining the streets like some kind of silent, dark
parade crowd. Where had they come from, all of a sudden? Arthur knew why they
were here, though. He didn’t know how
he knew, but he was sure they were here to stop him walking towards the plane.
He felt afraid. Very afraid.
But he kept walking.
And so did they. All as one,
they stepped off the pavement and moved in his direction, hands outstretched.
It was the most fearsome thing Arthur had ever seen. Twenty, thirty, more – all
striding towards him. All intent on stopping him. Stopping him from what,
though?
He kept on walking forwards.
The plane came in lower and lower – as though it had spotted Arthur and was
coming in just for him. The suited men increased their pace, hands reaching for
Arthur.
The Stuka opened fire. The CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER of the machine
guns rattled their way along the road surface getting closer and closer to
Arthur.
Everything was getting closer
and closer and closer…
“Move!” came the little boy’s cry as he flashed across in front of Arthur,
grabbed him by the arm and yanked him away.
Arthur didn’t even have time
to blink – the boy had a firm grip of his hand and was dragging him at top
speed off the road and down an alleyway. For some reason, Arthur let himself be
dragged and off they went. Down one alleyway. Up another. Out onto a main road.
Down another alleyway. Never stopping. Were they still being chased? Arthur
didn’t dare look behind. Didn’t have time to even if he’d wanted. The boy was
pulling him faster and faster, going who knew where. It reminded Arthur of
another time – years ago, when he’d been no older than this boy, probably. When
a talking cat had dragged him into an adventure he didn’t understand…
SLAM!
They were inside, Arthur
suddenly realised. Inside where? He looked around. A library? It hadn’t been
hit, he didn’t think. Looked in pretty good shape. Just dark and empty. There
was something eerie about a library at night. But at least the place had walls
and a door and a roof and could keep them out of the madness for a while.
“I think they’re gone,” the
boy said, looking out of the window. There was something familiar about him,
Arthur realised now. His hair, his old-fashioned sweater and shirt and shorts…
And it hit him.
The boy turned around and
smiled a crooked grin that looked completely out of place on that face.
His
face. His ten-year old face.
“Happy Birthday, Arthur!” said
the young version of himself. “Did you get my card?”
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