Monster Republic (18 page)

‘Time’s up, Dr Fry!’ he announced as he landed, crouched and ready for action.

The stunned crowd stood aghast. Too shocked even to move.

Slamming Slater’s head into the ground, Carla stepped forward into the square.

‘You just can’t stay dead, can you, Reilly?’

‘It’s the way I’m made. Here, take a closer look.’

Cameron swung his fist, and Carla threw out a blocking arm, smiling.

‘Let’s dance.’

The two monsters spun across the square, Carla giving a two-for-one deal on kicks and punches. It was only to be expected: she was Fry’s champion; Cameron was one of his Rejects. She was faster, quicker, stronger. She had every advantage.

And this time round, that was what Cameron was counting on.

Carla’s grin spread millimetre by millimetre as her attacks slammed into him. For once, she was silent as she fought, doing all her talking with her fists. Cameron fell back towards the centre of the square, drawing Carla away from the crowds, who still remained motionless and dumb, staring in disbelief at the fight – and the monsters who were battling it out.

A flurry of punches sent Cameron staggering backwards. Almost losing his footing, he quickly bent his knees and turned the tumble into a spring, somersaulting through the air onto the top of the marble memorial obelisk.

With the grace of a panther, Carla leaped up
to join him, treating him to a spinning kick as she landed. Nearly toppling backwards off the memorial, he crouched to steady himself – and that cost him heavily. Standing over him, Carla pounded Cameron with a rain of punches. No style, no finesse, just pure brute force hammering down on his head and shoulders.

He could feel every blow beating down, noisily bashing dents in the metal sections of his upper body and threatening to cave in his reinforced skull. There was no break, no letup in the punishment, and it was all he could do to get his mechanical arm up to shield himself from the onslaught.

The move bought Cameron a split-second to look around. The Prime Minister had vanished beneath a scrum of bodyguards, who were dragging him off the podium towards safety. The crowd had finally recovered their senses, and were backing away towards the edges of the square. The only people any closer were a few photographers, holding their cameras high and snapping off picture after picture.

It was time.

Before the next punch could fall, Cameron slipped a small object out of his pocket. Then he sprang up from his crouch with every scrap of strength left in his motor-driven legs. He sailed clear over Carla’s head, spinning in mid-air, to land halfway across the square, facing his opponent. The crowd fell back further, muttering fearfully. Cameron ignored them.

Carla turned to face him, curling her lip in a sneer.

‘Fancy aerobatics won’t save you, Reilly.’

Cameron stared back, taking one last look at Marie’s gorgeous face.

‘Talking of aerobatics,’ he said, ‘reckon you can fly, Monkton?’

He nodded at Carla’s feet. She glanced down.

There, on top of the obelisk, was a small round box, trailing wires. An LED clock display had stopped at the time the box had been severed from its power supply: 10:59:53.

The detonator.

Cameron clicked the mechanical fingers of his right hand and Carla’s dumbfounded expression disappeared in a ball of flame.

Pandemonium erupted.

The crowd had seen enough. More than enough. The occasion wasn’t about remembering the dead any more: it was about fleeing for their lives. As a billowing cloud of dust filled the air, people ran everywhere at once, in a panic to get away from the explosion and the monsters that had caused it. Police officers already struggling to move in were now met head-on by a stampede in the opposite direction.

On the other side of the square, through the flying grit, Cameron could just see Rora and Tinker helping Slater to his feet. They had
thrown off their disguises and their terrifying appearance was keeping the chaotic crowd at bay. Rora waved to Cameron, pointing towards the place where the van was parked. He was about to run over to join them when he saw a familiar figure slipping round the side of the spectator stand in the other direction.

Dr Fry was heading for his black limousine, clearly hoping to get away unseen in the confusion. Cameron broke into a run, ducking and weaving past the milling people – or barging them aside where he had to. Launching himself into a final high-jump, he spun in the air and landed expertly between Fry and his car.

‘Hello, Cameron.’ Lazarus Fry had the gall to look at his watch. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time to stop and chat. But if there’s anything you need to discuss, feel free to call my secretary for an appointment.’

Cameron glared, advancing a step towards the doctor, poised to spring in either direction if he decided to make a break for it. Fry didn’t move, though. He eyed Cameron coldly.

‘You may have thrown us out with the garbage,’ Cameron said, ‘but we’ve scrapped your precious plans, good and proper.’

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting from Fry. Anger? Frustration? Fear? But he certainly wasn’t expecting the doctor to throw back his head and laugh.

‘I don’t remember enhancing your ability to kid yourself. But maybe I should have concentrated on building up your brainpower as well as your muscles.’ Fry gestured around at the chaos. ‘Take a good look, Cameron. You and your friends have done a far better job at sowing terror and panic than I could ever have managed with a bullet or a bomb. I can already see the headlines in the papers tomorrow:
MONSTERS RUN AMOK AT MEMORIAL SERVICE
. Gosh, with headlines like that, I shouldn’t be surprised if we make the national news. TV crews will be flooding here to try and capture one of the Broad Harbour monsters on camera. How long do you think the good citizens of this country will support a prime minister who allows all these disasters to happen? He’ll be
out of Downing Street before the end of the month – thanks to you and your ragtag band of Rejects.’

Cameron scowled murderously. ‘Maybe you’re right. But no matter what happens after this, at least nobody else has to die.’ He threw out a hand and clamped his fingers around Fry’s throat. ‘Except you.’

Fry didn’t move a muscle. Even with Cameron’s hands at his neck, he maintained an infuriating air of superiority, his nostrils flaring as he eyed Cameron contemptuously.

‘There’s still Marie,’ he croaked, forcing the words up through his constricted throat. ‘I could bring her back.’

Involuntarily, Cameron’s grip weakened.

His mind slipped back to that moment when he was drowning: through the swirling water all he could see was Marie’s blurred face. Only this time, he was recalling her smiles, the real her.

‘I have her brain stored safely,’ whispered Fry. ‘In a secret and highly secure location, of course.’

The words wormed their way beneath Cameron’s skin. He had said his final goodbyes to Marie. Now Fry was taunting him with the possibility of seeing her again. But how could that ever be? The detonator had destroyed her body completely. Surely not even Fry could patch her together again?

‘Yes,’ continued Fry, as if he was reading Cameron’s thoughts, ‘I could bring her back. Even in a body very much like the one she used to have. And I could show you the true extent of your powers too, Cameron. Show you what you really are. There’s really no end to the miracles I can perform.’ He smiled tightly. He could see that Cameron had taken his bait. The hook had worked its way in to stay.

‘I could do all this.
If
you came over to my side, that is. But if you kill me, you’ll never see her again. Is that what you want? Think quickly, Cameron – we have company.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron glimpsed several police officers heading towards them. He gritted his teeth. He wanted
nothing more than to apply the final pressure that would squeeze the life out of his enemy, his tormentor. But the thought of Marie refused to go away. It was as if she was standing beside him, whispering in his ear, holding him back. His fingers slipped from Fry’s neck.

‘I can see you need more time to think about it,’ said the doctor reasonably, adjusting his tie. ‘Well, when you’re ready to know what you really are, you can come and find me.’

‘I know who I am now,’ Cameron retorted. ‘But if you try to hurt any of my friends again, I will come and find you. And you’ll wish I hadn’t.’

Lazarus Fry favoured Cameron with a parting smile. ‘We’ll see.’

Then he turned and walked briskly to his car. As the limousine pulled away, footsteps rushed up to Cameron. He turned, expecting to find a policeman. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a young photographer shoving a camera towards him. Cameron threw up a hand, his boosted reflexes making
sure he had shielded his face before the flash went off.

Still, better not leave anything to chance. Snaking out his right arm, he snatched the camera from the guy and crumpled it in one hand like a Coke can. Pieces fell between his fingers and dropped to the ground.

The photographer looked on, stunned, as Cameron turned and loped away. On the other side of the car park, the Republic’s old van was waiting, engine running. Inside, Cameron could see Rora and Tinker holding the doors open for him.

‘Wait!’ called the photographer. ‘Who are you?’

Cameron didn’t look back.

‘I’m a monster.’

THERE, BURNED AND TATTERED, LAY A
HUMAN ARM – WITH NO BODY ATTACHED.

THE FIGURES SEEMED TO BE SOME HIDEOUS HYBRID
OF MAN, MACHINE AND ANIMAL.

HE SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED IT
BUT THE SIGHT WAS STILL A SHOCK.

WITH A DULL CLANK, THE DOOR OPENED…