Night on Terror Island (7 page)

‘Well …’said Kip.

‘We’re wasting time. Get out from behind that car and make your way up the sidewalk towards the police before it’s too late.’

Kip crawled out from the gap and got onto his hands and knees. He began to creep along the line of parked cars, heading towards the cops – who he figured were at least less likely to shoot at him than the bad guys. But then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and, looking through a gap in the cars, he saw to his horror that a bad guy was standing in the road, staring back at him from beneath the brim of his hat. The man’s face was cold and merciless and Kip saw that he was lifting his Tommy gun to fire.

‘No!’ yelled Kip. ‘Hang on, I’m not supposed to—’

In that instant gunfire rattled from further up the street and the bad guy was blown backwards as a couple of shots thudded into his chest. As he fell, he lost his grip on the Tommy gun and it came skittering across the road between the gap in the cars. Kip
grabbed
at it instinctively, staying where he was for a moment, gasping for breath.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Mr Lazarus in his ear.

‘Didn’t you see? A man was going to shoot me only—’

‘The action has moved on,’ said Mr Lazarus. ‘Remember, I’m watching the edited version of events, but for you, it’s all happening in real time.’

‘Huh? I don’t really—’

‘You’ll get used to it. Right now, the camera is following Mr Dillinger. He’s somewhere behind you but I think he should go past you at any moment.’

As if to prove the theory, a figure raced past Kip; a man in a heavy overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat. He was holding a Tommy gun and racing fearlessly towards the cops up ahead of him. Kip realised with a dull sense of shock that it was Russell Raven. No, he corrected himself, not him at all. It was John Dillinger. He had his head down, he was running for all he was worth and firing as he ran.

‘Wait!’ yelled Kip, but Dillinger didn’t seem to hear him. He kept right on going, his Tommy gun blazing.

‘He’s just run past me!’ yelled Kip.

‘Then get after him. We need that hat.’

Kip gritted his teeth, got to his feet and went grimly in pursuit. He had only gone a short distance when he became aware of somebody else running
up
the road alongside him. Risking a glance, he saw that another gangster was racing towards the police, firing his Tommy gun as he ran, swinging it from left to right to lay down a deadly hail of bullets. Kip recognised him as Baby Face Nelson, one of Dillinger’s gang, a small man with a reputation as a cold-blooded killer.

And that was when Kip remembered a scene from the film, one of its most shocking moments. A young mother pushing a baby carriage, was caught in the crossfire and killed. He glanced further up the street and sure enough, there she was, cowering in the middle of the road, her face a picture of terror as Nelson ran towards her, ready to shoot her down.

There was no time to think. Kip lifted his own weapon, pointed it towards Nelson and pulled the trigger. The wooden stock thudded against his shoulder as he unleashed a flurry of bullets in Nelson’s general direction. The gangster stopped firing and dived behind a car that had stopped in the middle of the street. Glass exploded from the car’s windows as Kip’s bullets peppered the vehicle and Nelson was obliged to duck down for cover. Kip glanced up the street and saw to his relief that the woman had taken the opportunity to push the pram to safety on the far side of the road, where she dived into a shop doorway.

Kip’s gun gave a harsh click. He was out of bullets. He dropped the weapon and went after Dillinger again, running as fast as his legs would carry him. To his right, a shopkeeper shouted to him to get off the street but he ignored the advice, intent now on getting hold of what he had been sent in for; Dillinger’s hat. Maybe if he got that, Mr Lazarus would tell him how to get out of here. As he closed in on his quarry, he wondered what he was supposed to do when he caught up with the gangster. He could hardly just ask him for it, could he? Dillinger was not known for his friendliness to random kids. The gangster came to an intersection and went around it, running for all he was worth. Kip went after him.

He turned the corner and saw to his horror that Dillinger had run into even bigger trouble. He was slowing down, looking left and right for some avenue of escape. More cops were advancing along the street, firing their guns at pretty much anything that moved. Kip renewed his efforts, closing the gap between him and Dillinger, horribly aware of bullets ricocheting up from the sidewalk around him. Then he saw the gangster drop to his knees behind a line of rubbish bins and start firing back at the cops. They scattered in all directions, but Dillinger kept shooting. His bullets ran out and he was obliged to pause so he could pull out the spent magazine and
replace
it with a new one. Sensing an opportunity, Kip ran forward, grabbed the brim of Dillinger’s hat and whipped it off his head. For an instant Dillinger stopped what he was doing and looked up in surprise. He stared at Kip for a moment, his expression hostile. Then he relaxed and grinned. He reached up, grabbed Kip by one arm and pulled him down into cover.

‘Keep your head down, kid!’ he snapped. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ said Kip. A couple of bullets smacked into the far side of the bins, making him flinch. He lifted the hat. ‘Is it OK if I take this?’ he asked.

‘A souvenir, huh?’ muttered Dillinger. ‘So you can boast to all your pals that you met public enemy number one?’

Kip nodded. ‘Kind of,’ he said.

‘OK, kid, take it, I got plenty of others.’ Dillinger risked a peek over the top of the rubbish bins. ‘Doesn’t look like I’m gonna be needing it, anyway,’ he said. ‘I reckon they’ve got me cornered.’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Kip. ‘You escape from this. Some of your men will be along in a minute in a stolen police car.’

Dillinger gave him an odd look.

‘How would you know that?’ he growled.

‘Oh, I saw the … I mean, I … it’s … just a feeling.’

Dillinger slapped another magazine into his gun and lifted his head cautiously over the top of the bins to look up the street. The cops were creeping out from cover. He lifted the Tommy gun and unleashed a barrage of bullets at them, sending them running back again.

‘I see you’ve got the hat,’ said a voice in Kip’s ear.

‘Huh? Oh yes. Now how do I get out of here?’

Dillinger stopped firing for a moment. ‘Who are you talking to?’ he asked.

Kip ignored him. He was too busy listening to Mr Lazarus giving instructions.

‘Remember the Retriever? The thing you are wearing around your neck?’

‘Oh yeah, right.’ Kip reached under his T-shirt and pulled the gadget out. ‘Got it,’ he said.

‘Pull back the metal cover,’ said Mr Lazarus. ‘It’s hinged. Underneath, you’ll find a button marked
E
XIT
. Press that.’

‘OK,’ cried Kip. ‘As easy as that?’

‘Yes. Hurry now, there isn’t much time.’

‘Who the hell are you talking to?’ asked John Dillinger again.

Kip glanced at him. ‘A friend,’ he said. He jammed Dillinger’s hat on his own head and tried to pull back the metal cover, but it was hard to open.

‘What’s that?’ asked Dillinger.

‘It’s a … lucky charm,’ said Kip.

‘Yeah? Maybe you should lend it to me. I think I’m going to need it. Tell you what, I’ll trade it for the hat.’

‘Er … no, don’t worry, your friends will be here any minute.’

‘Think so? Those cops are getting awful … oh rats!’ Dillinger suddenly leaped to his feet and started racing back the way he had come. ‘Run, kid!’ he yelled over his shoulder.

Kip was puzzled. He turned and peeped over the top of the bins.

A truck had been driving along the street alongside him, but now Kip could see that it was mounting the pavement and heading straight towards him. It was only now that he remembered the scene from the film. He caught a brief glimpse of a shattered windscreen and the driver slumped over his wheel, his face a mask of agony.

‘Oh hell!’ muttered Kip. He jumped to his feet and started to run after Dillinger, fumbling with the Retriever as he did so. The metal cover had a latch that just wouldn’t seem to come undone. He heard a loud crash behind him as the truck’s front bumper smashed into the bins and flung them in all directions … Desperately Kip forced his thumbnail under the Retriever’s metal cover, revealing the
E
XIT
button, which was pulsing with a dull red glow. Kip turned his head to look back.

Too late
, he thought. The truck’s metal grille was towering above him, only inches away and his head filled with the roar of an engine, his nostrils with the sharp stink of gasoline. In the same instant, his thumb closed on the button. For a horrible moment, absolutely nothing happened. Then he was melting again and a brilliant light filled his head, mingling with the fading roar of the truck’s engine.

Suddenly, he was yanked backwards and he was crouched on the wooden platform, his arms held up to cover his face. He was back in the projection room and Mr Lazarus was smiling down at him.

‘Nice job,’ he said.

KIP GOT UNSTEADILY
to his feet. He was shaking from head to foot.

‘Good boy,’ said Mr Lazarus. He lifted the hat gently from Kip’s head. ‘You’ve done very well. Quite the little action hero. I saw some of what happened on screen but, unfortunately, when Dillinger ran from the truck, the camera stayed with him.’ He took Kip’s arm and helped him down from the platform. Kip opened his mouth and tried to say something but for the moment he was speechless. ‘Here, sit down a while,’ suggested Mr Lazarus. He helped Kip over to a packing case and eased him in to a sitting position. ‘Are you all right, my friend?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little … overwhelmed.’

‘I … I was nearly
killed
,’ whispered Kip.

‘Really?’ Mr Lazarus frowned. ‘Well, I did warn you it could be dangerous.’

‘There … there was this truck. It was coming straight at me.’

Mr Lazarus smiled and put the hat down carefully on a worktop, handling it as though it was some precious relic. ‘The hat looks quite undamaged,’
he
observed. ‘I was worried it might have been torn.’

Kip glared at him.

‘Never mind about the bloody hat!’ he snarled. ‘What about me?’

‘Oh, you’re right as rain,’ Mr Lazarus assured him. ‘And please watch your language.’ He turned back with a sly smile. ‘So tell me, Kip. Wasn’t it amazing?’

Kip nodded.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘It was incredible … but … did you have to send me into such a violent scene? I mean, there were bullets flying everywhere.’

Mr Lazarus shrugged. ‘I just thought it was the part of the film where you had the best chance of getting the hat,’ he said. He studied Kip for a moment. ‘I suppose it
was
pretty intense.’

A thought occurred to Kip. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘How come you already had the film cued to that scene? It’s … it’s almost as though you
knew
I’d turn up today. As though you planned this.’

Mr Lazarus gave him a disapproving look.

‘Kip, has anybody ever told you, you have a very suspicious nature?’

Kip frowned. He wasn’t convinced for a moment but decided to change the subject. ‘You were telling me before,’ he said, ‘about the Retriever.’

‘Was I?’

‘Yes, you were. You said that you didn’t know how
it
worked. But that doesn’t make sense. You invented it, right?’

‘Oh yes, back in the 1950s. To tell you the truth, I was trying to come up with an alternative to 3D … something that would rival the process without the need for those ridiculous cardboard glasses everyone was wearing. So I started experimenting with prisms. It was an accident, really. I wouldn’t have known about it at all if it wasn’t for Federico.’

Kip frowned. ‘Who’s Federico?’ he muttered.

‘My pet monkey, a constant companion back then. I was working at the Fantastique in Paris. Do you know it?’

‘No. I suppose it’s a cinema?’

‘Of course.’ Mr Lazarus smiled as though recalling happy memories. ‘I had set up my equipment in the projection room and I was running a copy of
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
while I fiddled about with the prism. Federico just happened to wander into the beam of light. One moment he was there with me, the next he was up on the screen, being chased by an angry mob.’