James Munkers (15 page)

Mr Grayson's words echo all around me as he speaks, melding with the emotions coursing through him. ‘He's making a fair fight of it in there, I'll give him that, but he's losing energy fast. Another few seconds and he'll be lost in there forever, and once we have the mind we have the body, and all the power that comes with it. So unless you came in here with some complicated plan to shut my mind down in the next ten seconds, I rather think –'

CLANG!

A dull pain radiates from the back of his head and his mind goes blank. My own mind springs back into my body like a rubber band. I open my eyes – oh, sweet heavens, I have eyes again – and see the crumpled body of Mr Grayson sprawled on the floor in front of me.

‘Mnegh gluh!' I cry, trying to get away from it. I don't get very far. It seems my limbs are still a bit wobbly.

‘Not that complicated a plan, no,' Mr Lancer says from above me, and he puts a hand under my good arm and hauls me to my feet. I look over to see Jeremy standing behind Grayson, a shovel raised in his hands. He must have climbed in through the broken window.

‘Hey, it worked,' he says, staring at the unconscious headmaster in front of him.

Mr Lancer shrugs modestly. ‘Get a bad guy on a good rant about how evil he is, and it's easy as pie to sneak up behind him,' he says. ‘And now I suggest we skedaddle before our friend wakes up.'

‘Wait,' I say as he pushes me towards the door. ‘Mum.' She's slumped against the wall, her eyes closed and her mouth slack.

‘No time,' Mr Lancer says.

‘She's my mother!' I cry. ‘I'm not leaving her.'

‘James,' he says gravely, placing a hand on my good shoulder, ‘your mother is under the control of Mr Grayson – she and who knows how many others. I can't fix her in time, and she's a danger to us as she is. I promise she'll be all right, I promise we'll fix her. But not now.' He squeezes my shoulder. ‘Right now we have to run for it.'

I choke back tears, and nod.

The three of us run out of Grayson's office, Jem still clutching the shovel. He had gone to throw it out the window, but Mr Lancer stopped him. ‘Grayson's been asking staff to stay behind after school. If he's taken over as many of them as I think, we're going to have to fight our way out.'

Claire is just outside Mum's door, crouching nervously over the unconscious body of the bossy office lady. Through the glass walls of the main office I can see the rest of the staff slouched over their desks. It looks like Grayson's henchmen are all out of it for the moment.

Claire stands up as we all come out, and gasps at the blood trickling down my face. ‘Jim! Are you alright?'

I'm not, but I don't tell her that. ‘We have to go,' I say instead.

‘Did Mr Grayson do that to you?' she asks, awestruck.

‘That ain't all he did,' Jem says. ‘You should have seen him when he was all twitchy and drooling.'

‘Let's get going, folks,' Mr Lancer says quickly, before this image of me can penetrate fully into Claire's mind.

‘Oh, you're not going anywhere,' says a gruff voice from the floor. The office lady's hand shoots out and grabs Claire's ankle. She screams and kicks the woman in the face. Jem catches her as she stumbles away and gives her a look of respect.

Then there's a collective groan from the office. People start raising their heads and baring their teeth.

‘He's waking up,' Mr Lancer says. ‘Run!'

The four of us turn and pound across the foyer and down a corridor. There's a funny growling sound coming from some of the classrooms we streak past. The door to the maths room is open, and some of our class is loitering in the doorway, waiting for their maths teacher to come back. They look up in surprise to see us belting towards them, Claire white as chalk, Mr Lancer puffing, his brown coat flapping behind him, me with blood and sweat all over my face, and Jem still carrying the shovel.

‘Mr Lancer…' Tracy Beckett begins.

‘Continue with the algebra questions from last week,' Mr Lancer calls as we hurtle past. ‘Then have an early minute.'

We skid around the next corner and almost run into Miss Lassen, who is stony-faced and carrying a DVD player. She doesn't even bother threatening us, just throws it straight at my head. Jem swings the shovel and the DVD player goes crashing into a display of artwork. Mr Lancer throws out his hand, and Miss Lassen goes flying back into her classroom, the door slamming shut after her.

The next corner proves a little more difficult: the science teacher Mr Bentley with a hockey stick, the groundsman Phil with a broom, and the school gardener, who I think wants his shovel back. We slide to a halt a few yards in front of them.

Mr Lancer was right – most of the school staff is under Mr Grayson's control.

‘Library,' Mr Lancer barks, and we all turn and dash down the nearest staircase. The broom and the hockey stick come flying after us, and splinter on the wall over our heads. Claire shrieks, but keeps running, and we all reach the bottom of the stairs and charge through the swinging doors into the library.

The librarian is reading
Winnie the Pooh
to some first-graders. When she sees us she stands up, says, ‘No shovels in the library,' and throws the book at us. Unfortunately the first-graders think this is fantastic, and all start throwing books too. Dr Seuss and Spot books hail down on us as we run for the far door.

We finally make it outside, and hurtle down the hill towards the staff car park. We're just passing the wall where Jem and I have lunch when an enormous clap of thunder breaks over our heads. ‘Which one?' I shout to Mr Lancer as we enter the car park.

‘The blue mini,' he shouts back. Of course.

‘Watch it!' Jem calls out, pointing back at the school. We all turn to look.

Grayson is charging out of the main doors and down the path towards the car park stairs, looking much bigger than he usually does. ‘Keep going,' Mr Lancer shouts, and we pick up speed again, the cold air tearing at our lungs.

We race towards the car, and I feel Mr Lancer's mind unlocking all the doors. We wrench them open and Jem, Claire and I pile into the back seat. Mr Lancer slides into the front and slams the door behind him, fumbling with his keys.

He locates the right one, drives it into the ignition and turns it. The car protests noisily, whining and screaming at us. I look out the rear window. Mr Grayson has reached the bottom of the stairs now and breaks into a run.

‘Come on, my love,' Mr Lancer mutters, and turns the key again. The car coughs into life just as Grayson raises his hand, another ball of black energy fizzing in it. Claire screams right in my ear. Mr Lancer wrenches the car into reverse and drives straight at his employer, who is knocked backwards several yards and smacks into the back of a dirty Volvo. Mr Lancer changes gear to first, swings the wheel around, and charges out of the car park in a cloud of white exhaust as the rain comes bucketing down.

There isn't much room in the back for all three of us, so Claire crawls into the front seat, swaying dangerously as Mr Lancer hurtles around corners. ‘What do we do now?' she shouts over the sound of the drumming rain and the screaming engine.

‘We have to get you all to safety,' Mr Lancer calls back. ‘Grayson wasn't intending for James to come out of there unscathed, so he's going to be particularly targeting him from now on. He's going to lose the polite act, I should think, and get ruthless.'

‘Wonderful,' I mutter, clinging on to the edge of the seat to stop myself sliding around. It seems to me he's already plenty ruthless.

‘I suggest we camp out at Will's place,' Mr Lancer continues. ‘It's already protected, and we can easily increase the strength of it.'

‘Why can't we just protect our own houses?' Claire asks a trifle desperately.

‘It'll be stronger with you all in the one place,' Mr Lancer explains.

‘Plus Mum's possessed,' I tell her.

She jerks her head around to stare at me in horror. I nod, showing her I'm not kidding. ‘Oh, I hate this,' she says, turning back to the front looking utterly miserable. ‘James – I hate all this.'

‘Oh, terribly sorry to inconvenience you, Claire,' I say, scowling. My head is aching like mad now that I'm not using my adrenalin for running down corridors. Instead it's building up the pressure behind my stinging eyes and making my vision go blotchy.

‘Listen, don't worry about your mum,' Mr Lancer advises us. ‘There's nothing you can do, and worrying is just going to make it worse. We'll take care of it all later; I promise you'll get her back in one piece.' Neither of us answers, so he continues on. ‘The thing to do now is make sure the rest of you are safely out of harm's way.'

He stops the car abruptly outside Jem's house, and turns to look at him. ‘Now, I want you in and out in no more than two minutes, understand? Just grab some clothes and get out of there – we don't have much time.'

Jem nods, leaps out of the car and runs through the rain towards his house.

‘How long are we going to be away for?' Claire asks, the panic rising in her voice again. ‘How long will it take to get everything back to normal?'

‘I don't know how long you're going to be away from your home, I'm afraid,' Mr Lancer says gently. ‘And nothing has ever been normal. You're just stuck in the middle of it this time.'

‘Why was she outside Grayson's office, anyway?' I ask suddenly. ‘Why isn't she in class?'

‘Claire told me Pippa Green had to rush into town for something this morning,' Mr Lancer says. ‘Pippa wouldn't rush to the apocalypse, so I was worried that something was going on. Then when you didn't show up, and Jeremy said you'd been seen outside the headmaster's office, it was clear that Mr Grayson was taking advantage of Pippa's absence. Knowing the Hoarders would also target your friends and family, I pulled Claire and Jeremy out of class and ran.'

‘You mean you knew about Grayson?' I accuse him.

‘Not until today when he started blowing up the school,' Mr Lancer says. ‘He's been playing it close to the chest.'

‘How come you know all about what's going on?' Claire asks.

‘He's a Guardian,' I say.

Claire frowns uncertainly. ‘That's a good guy, right?'

Mr Lancer smiles at her. ‘Yes, I'm pretty good.'

‘With magical powers?'

‘You could say that.'

‘So how come Mr Grayson tried to steal Jim away when you were around, but not when Pippa was? Is she tougher than you or something?'

‘No.' Mr Lancer laughs, thinking, perhaps, about how weak and silly Pippa is. ‘I'm guessing Mr Grayson didn't realise he had a Guardian on his payroll any more than I realised I had a Hoarder for a boss. I can be sneaky myself when I want to be.'

Just then we catch sight of Jem, who's climbing out of a downstairs window, lugging a sports bag behind him. He pulls the window back down and jogs over to us, then pushes his wet bag into my face and climbs in himself.

‘Any trouble?' Mr Lancer asks as he starts the car again and pulls out.

‘None,' Jem reports. ‘No one's home.'

‘So how come you climbed out of the window?' I ask him.

He shrugs. ‘It seemed like the thing to do.'

We arrive at our house a few minutes later, and again Mr Lancer stops outside in the street, the raindrops bouncing off the windows.

‘Right, same deal, you two,' he tells us sternly. ‘Just grab what you need and run. We won't be safe until we get to Will's.'

We nod and head out into the wet world, splashing our way through the puddles on the driveway and up to the front door. Claire searches for her keys, while I shiver and try to get the world back into focus. It keeps trying to black out. Finally she lets us in, and we rush into the darkness of the house.

We hurry through the empty living room, and she heads up the stairs to the top floor while I make my way down the passageway. I don't switch on the lights. I'm even conscious of my breathing as I weave my way through the darkness to my room.

Once there I work as quickly as I can with one arm, grabbing my old St Giles' school bag and shoving clothes into it – underwear, socks, shirts, jumpers, grabbing at them indiscriminate of size, colour or state of cleanliness. I'm just reaching for an old baseball cap lying near the sliding door when I hear the sound of a loo being flushed upstairs. I look up at the ceiling and roll my eyes, thinking it's Claire taking five years like a typical girl. Then I remember.

Win isn't well. Michael stayed at home to look after her.

Bollocks. How in hell am I going to persuade Michael to bundle up his sick daughter and come with us to a friend's house for a sleepover?

I look back down and –

‘Aagh!'

Mum is standing outside the sliding door, looking gormless and holding a patio chair.

I turn and run for the hallway, reaching it just as the window behind me shatters into a million pieces. ‘Come back here, James,' I hear Mum call in an empty voice. ‘This room is a disgrace.'

I race back along the passageway and burst out into the living room. The kitchen light has been turned on and Michael is standing at the counter with his back to me.

‘Dad,' I gasp, hurrying up to him. ‘I need you to do exactly what I say, okay? I need you to trust me.'

He turns, a carving knife in his hand.

‘But, James,' he says in a flat voice, his eyes empty, ‘you're a liar. I can't trust you.'

I back up in a hurry as the knife slices through the air. I stumble over the dining chairs and put the table between me and Michael as he comes at me. I can't believe it – not Michael. They can't have got Michael. How did they get into the house?

Then another thought chills my innards so fast I almost stop breathing. Winifred. If they got into the house…

Suddenly three doors swing open at once, and I raise my awareness, ready to fight off Hoarders. But it's not them. Claire is frozen at the top of the right-hand stairs with a suitcase bursting at the seams. (What's wrong with that girl?) Mum is below her, having come up the passageway from my room, still dragging the patio chair. And Win is at the top of the left-hand stairs in her pyjamas. She looks over the banisters at us, her eyes wide and chock-full of Winifred. She's still her.

‘Daddy?' she calls.

I have to get her out of here.

Michael seems to read my mind. ‘Stay away from your sister,' he intones. ‘You're a bad influence.'

‘Yeah, well,' I say through gritted teeth. ‘I'm going through a phase. CLAIRE.'

Claire's on it. She gives her suitcase a mighty shove over the banisters and it goes crashing down on top of Mum. At the same time I put a giant-sized protection shield around the table and push it up against the kitchen bench, sandwiching Michael between them. I pray that the carving knife doesn't skewer him in the rush, but I don't have time to check. I dash up the stairs to the left, grab Win's hand and run down the upper hallway.

‘Jim, what's happening?' she says.

‘Not now, Win,' I say, pulling her along. ‘Gotta go.'

We run past our parents' room, past hers and out onto the landing near Claire's room at the back. Claire herself is running at us from the other direction.

The three of us race into her room and look desperately around. ‘What now?' Claire shrieks. ‘The door doesn't lock.'

‘We have to get out.' I run over to the window, swing it open and scramble out onto the ledge, pulling Winifred with me. Sleet hits our faces.

‘Are you insane?' Claire says, backing away.

‘You want to use the front door, you go right ahead,' I yell back at her. Then I decide I'm not giving her a choice. I try to grab her, but my shoulder sears with pain, so much that I nearly drop Winifred.