It seemed the town did not even know that someone had been shot, another struck. The
town poured tea and murmured, ‘Pass the sugar.’
Doug slam–braked at his front porch. Was his mother waiting in tears, his father wielding the razor strop …?
He opened the kitchen door.
‘Hey. Long time no see.’ Mother kissed his brow. ‘They always come home when they’re hungry.’
‘Funny,’ said Doug. ‘I’m not hungry at all.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
At dinner, the family heard pebbles pinging against the front door.
‘Why,’ said Mother, ‘don’t boys ever use the bell?’
‘In the last two hundred years,’ said Father, ‘there is no recorded case in which any boy under fifteen ever got within ten feet of a doorbell. You finished, young man?’
‘Finished, sir!’
Douglas hit the front door like a bomb, skidded, jumped back in time to catch the screen before it slammed. Then he was off the porch and there was Charlie Woodman on the lawn, punching him great friendly punches.
‘Doug! You did it! You shot Braling! Boy!’
‘Not so loud, Charlie!’
‘When do we shoot everyone on the school board? For gosh sakes, they started school a week early this year! They deserve to be shot. My gosh, how’d you do it, Doug?’
‘I said, “Bang! You’re dead!”’
‘And Quartermain?!’
‘Quartermain?’
‘You broke his leg! Sure was your busy day, Doug!’
‘I didn’t break no leg. My bike …’
‘No, a machine! I heard old Cal screaming when they lugged him home. “Infernal machine!” What kind of infernal machine, Doug?’
Somewhere in a corner of his mind, Doug saw the bike fling Quartermain high, wheels spinning, while Douglas fled, the cry of Quartermain following close.
‘Doug, why didn’t you crack both his legs with your infernal machine?’
‘What?’
‘When do we see your device, Doug? Can you set it for the Death of a Thousand Slices?’
Doug examined Charlie’s face, to see if he was joking, but Charlie’s face was a pure church altar alive with holy light.
‘Doug,’ he murmured. ‘Doug, boy, oh boy.’
‘Sure,’ said Douglas, warming to the altar glow. ‘Him against me, me against Quartermain and the whole darn school board, the town council – Mr Bleak, Mr Gray, all those dumb old men that live at the edge of the ravine.’
‘Can I watch you pick ’em off, Doug?’
‘What? Sure. But we got to plan, got to have an army.’