The Brain Sucker Page 5

  “If Mitchell and Bradley are planning a revenge attack, I thought we should be prepared.”

  Callum ran a critical eye over the equipment. “A dart gun?”

  “I’ve adapted it so it fires a sticky ball of gum containing an audio tracking bug. It’ll give us their exact location, and if we are within fifty metres, we should be able to hear them as well.”

  “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  Sophie smiled. “Hide in here with me and we can ambush them. They’re most likely to attack me first. I’m the one who whacked him, and I’m just a defenceless girl.”

  Callum watched Sophie as she dug around in her toolkit. He couldn’t think of anyone less defenceless.

  Darryl and Parson cruised the city streets in a black van with darkened windows. They were out on their very first solo brain-sucking mission and were determined nothing would go wrong. Convincing Lester to let them go hadn’t been easy. He was still unhappy about the gassing incident, but breaking one of Darryl’s fingers with a book entitled Effective Management Techniques had improved his mood, and he relented.

  Darryl rested his heavily bandaged finger on the top of the steering wheel as he drove.

  He swung the van into a quiet city suburb. Parson sat in the passenger seat. He played the goodness scanner over the houses, trying to find a suitable target. The scanner’s screen glowed red, indicating that no goodness was present.

  Parson scowled. “Nothin’. The boss has sucked the place dry.”

  Darryl shifted impatiently in his seat. “He can’t ’ave done the whole city.”

  Right then two green dots and a single golden light blinked on the screen. The signals were so intense that the entire cab was bathed in an emerald glow.

  Parson jumped with excitement. “We’ve got a coupla live ones.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m just triangulating it.” Parson swivelled his body so Darryl couldn’t see. His face wrinkled in concentration. He had no idea how to triangulate anything, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Darryl.

  Parson pointed to a large two-storey house – 11 Success Court. “Signal’s coming from there.”

  Darryl parked the van across the road from the house. He reached into the back seat and grabbed the platinum case that contained the brain sucker then handed it to Parson. “Let’s steal us some goodness,” he said with a grin.

  The two thugs pulled dark green overalls on top of their clothes and put on black balaclavas. They checked their equipment, which included the scanner, knockout globes, gasmasks and the brain sucker, then crept up the driveway and broke into the house. Once inside Parson switched the scanner on again. A peanut-shaped blip appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Cat,” said Parson. “Nothin’ to worry ’bout.”

  Two red dots flashed downstairs. “Parents,” he said with a nod at the lights.

  Darryl grabbed a knockout globe from the case. “I’ll sort ’em out.”

  He quietly opened the door to Rebecca and Ken’s room, rolled the globe onto the carpet and closed the door. He waited until he could see tendrils of purple mist seeping under the door then rejoined his partner.

  “Job done.”

  Parson scanned the rest of the house. Two green lights shone in an upstairs bedroom. A golden light pulsed from another upstairs room. Darryl pointed to it. “What’s that?”

  Parson shook the scanner. “I dunno. I saw it earlier. I thought it was just a glitch.”

  The golden light radiated bright and strong.

  Uncertainty gnawed at Parson. “I think we should call the boss.”

  “Yeah. A golden light, man. It’s gotta be important.”

  Parson pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and dialled.

  Back in his warehouse lair Lester had just typed the words “Goodness destruction” into Google and pressed search. There weren’t many hits. He was scanning the pages when the ringtone on his mobile phone played. It was Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars. He gave the phone an irritated glare and answered it.

  Lester could hear Parson’s voice through the tinny speaker. He listened to what Parson had to say, his heart rate increasing as his henchman spoke.

  He replied with a forceful voice. “I don’t care how you do it, but get me whatever it is that’s making the golden glow on the scanner. Ignore everything else and don’t come back without it.” He waited for Parson to acknowledge his instructions then hung up. A nasty smile cracked his face. He turned his computer off and walked to a large bookcase. Withdrawing an ancient text he’d found in a marketplace in Cairo, he began reading about the golden globe of goodness.

  Seven

  Behind the closed and booby-trapped door of their bedroom Mitchell and Bradley were making plans for revenge. Mitchell rubbed his leg. It was still sore. He opened his toy chest and took out some itching powder and several stink bombs. Once armed, Mitchell rummaged deeper into the chest until he found several pots of coloured face paint. He smeared a line of black paint diagonally across his face then added green until his face resembled a military camouflage mask. When he was happy with the result, he passed the pot to his brother. He watched as Bradley dipped a pudgy digit in the paint and drew a cross down the bridge of his nose and through his eyebrows, then he began splurging the paint on in a random fashion. The result was less like a jungle commando and more like a clown who got caught in a rainstorm and his make-up had run.

  Mitchell waited until Bradley had finished, then passed him a balloon filled with itching powder. Mitchell was armed with a high-powered water gun containing a nasty combination of foul-smelling grease and oil.

  “How come you get the coolest weapon?” complained Bradley.

  Mitchell shrugged. “I’m oldest.”

  Bradley grunted unhappily. It sucked being the youngest.

  Mitchell gave Bradley a military-style hand signal indicating they should move out. Bradley punched the air in excitement. It was going to be a fun night.

  The two brothers crept down the hall, stopping outside Sophie’s room as planned. Mitchell placed his hand on the door and was just about to burst inside when he heard strange sounds coming from his grandmother’s room. He made a snap decision concluding that Sophie and Callum must be with Gran. Perfect, he thought. We can get them all at once.

  He waved Bradley away from the door then the two of them moved along the hallway. They burst into Rose’s room, whooping as they entered.

  It took a few seconds for Mitchell’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. A purple haze hung from the ceiling and Mitchell felt like he was looking through a watery glass of Ribena. He stepped back in shock as two large faceless shapes turned towards him. The intruders had square, pig-like snouts and cold plastic-covered eyes that gleamed in the half-light. Mitchell didn’t realise he was seeing humans wearing gasmasks; all he knew was that one of the monsters was using a screeching machine to suck his gran’s brain out her ear.

  Mitchell reacted in pure panic. He screamed and raised his water gun. He jerked the trigger and a thick jet of oil and grease squirted from the gun, spraying all over the intruders. He twisted to see his petrified brother follow his lead.

  Bradley threw the itching powder-filled balloon at the biggest monster. Then he sank to the floor, the dissipating mist still strong enough to do its job. Mitchell kicked his brother’s body aside and made for the door. Before he’d gone two steps the mist overwhelmed him and he joined Bradley on the carpet.

  In the bedroom next door, Callum and Sophie were busily preparing for the night ahead when they heard Mitchell and Bradley’s war cries.

  Callum was puzzled. “What’s going on?”

  Sophie shrugged. “No idea. The boys aren’t stupid enough to attack Rose, are they?”

  Callum wasn’t sure. “They’re pretty dumb. We’d better check it out.”

  The two friends put in their nose plugs, grabbed their kits and left the room.

  The purple mist leaking from the open door to Rose’s room had thinned considerab
ly, its sleep-inducing effects also fading.

  Callum and Sophie moved cautiously into the room. The first thing they saw were Mitchell’s and Bradley’s bodies unconscious on the floor. Then they noticed a huge man standing guard at the foot of Rose’s bed and another man with dreadlocks holding what looked like a shrunken vacuum cleaner against her head. They watched in shock as the dreadlocked man fought for control of the machine, which screamed like a horror movie actress. Flames leaped from the engine.

  Callum had no idea what the men were doing to his gran, but he knew it wasn’t good. He could see Rose’s head convulsing and her eyeballs were beginning to bulge. A hot rage filled him. He gripped the push rims on his chair and surged forwards, but the wheels caught on Bradley’s foot and he came to a sudden halt.

  His voice cracked with anger. “Leave my gran alone.”

  The man with the vacuum cleaner looked up at the sound of Callum’s voice, but before he could reply, the goodness contained in Rose’s brain was finally wrenched from her skull and was sucked into the perspex thermos with a wet thwock. It shone like a miniature golden beacon. The force of the extraction threw the man backwards, and he landed in a heap on the bedroom floor, the thermos containing the golden goodness clasped against his chest.

  The thug reacted with speed, removing the suction cup and tube then replacing it with a screw-top lid, effectively trapping the goodness in a perspex prison.

  With the brain sucker removed, Rose flopped back on the bed. For a few seconds her body jerked like a fish stranded out of water, then she fell into a heavy sleep.

  Callum reversed, freeing his chair from Bradley’s foot, then sped towards the man with dreadlocks. “Whatever you took from my gran, you’d better give it back,” he snarled.

  The larger thug stepped in front of him, blocking his way. He lifted his gasmask and spoke. His voice was deep and threatening. “Back off, kid. This don’t concern you.”

  Callum stayed put. He shouted to Sophie without taking his eyes off the big man. “Call the police.”

  Sophie moved swiftly. She raced out of the room, searching for a phone.

  The man with dreadlocks pulled himself off the floor. He packed the vacuum cleaner and thermos in a platinum briefcase, removed his mask and joined the other thug in front of Callum. He looked the boy straight in the eye. “Move.”

  “Not until you give me that.” Callum pointed to the case in his hand.

  The man shook his head. “It ain’t gonna happen.” He nudged his partner impatiently. “We don’t have time for this – let’s go.”

  Stepping forwards, the huge man reached for Callum’s wheelchair. Callum unclipped the torch Sophie had given him and pressed the second button. The metal rod shot out the end and clicked into place. He raised the torch above his head threateningly. “Touch my chair and you’ll be sorry.”

  The thug snorted. “You wouldn’t dare.” He reached out with a ham-sized hand and grabbed the side of the Thunderkit.

  Callum struck without hesitation. The metal rod hissed through the air and smashed into the knuckles on the man’s left hand. Howling in pain, the thug pulled back his damaged appendage.

  Callum held firm in the doorway. “I warned you.”

  The dreadlocked man pushed past his injured partner, his eyes narrowed. He reached into his belt and withdrew a compact Glock 19 pistol and pointed it at Callum. “We’re not playing games here, kid. Put that device down. ”

  Callum didn’t move.

  The man cocked the weapon. “Your choice, boy.”

  Sophie rushed back into the room. She saw the gun pointed at her friend and stopped dead. “He’s not kidding, Cal.”

  For a few heart-stopping seconds Callum was still then he retracted the rod, placed the torch back in its pouch and slowly rolled his wheelchair out of the way.

  The two intruders pushed past and ran out the bedroom door.

  Sophie kneeled beside Callum. She was breathing fast and her voice was shaky. “I called the police. They are on their way.”

  “Get a trace on them; we need to know where they’re going.” Callum handed her his weapons kit.

  Sophie hesitated and looked towards Rose. “Is your gran okay?”

  Callum rolled over to the bed and placed a hand on her pale forehead, then stroked her grey hair. He looked back to Sophie. “I don’t know. I’ll stay with her until the police get here. You go, but be careful.”

  Sophie followed the retreating thieves. She made it outside in time to see the men running towards a black van parked directly across the road. She sprinted behind a large tree, pulled out the dart gun and cocked it. The ball of gum containing the tracer fell in front of the gas-fired spring that would launch it from the barrel. Sophie aimed at the men, said a silent prayer and fired.

  The gum bullet sped across the road and hit the end of the briefcase that the dreadlocked man carried. It stuck fast.

  She watched as he threw the case into the back of the vehicle then leaped inside. The wheels of the van spun and the vehicle roared off into the night.

  Sophie had fired just in time.

  Eight

  Darryl drove with his window down. It was a doomed attempt to keep the stink that covered his clothes from filling the car. Beside him, Parson fidgeted in the seat, scratching himself and rubbing his back against the upholstery.

  Darryl’s hands were a mess. The knuckles on his left hand were the size and colour of ducks’ eggs where the torch had struck them, and his broken finger throbbed painfully. But even the henchmen’s obvious discomfort couldn’t dampen their spirits. Darryl gave Parson a grin. “The boss’ll be happy.”

  “Yeah, we’ve come through big-time. He’ll probably give us a huge promotion.”

  “You reckon?”

  “Definitely. We got golden goodness. Even the boss ain’t done that.”

  “What about those kids? They saw us.”

  Parson’s lips thinned. “We probably shouldn’t mention that. You know what he’s like about keeping a low profile.”

  Darryl scooped a handful of slime off the front of his overalls and threw it out the window. He pointed to the grease on both their overalls. “How do we explain all this then?”

  “We say we fell in a ditch.” Parson frantically scratched at his neck.

  “That don’t make us sound very professional.”

  “True. Okay, if he asks, I’ll think of somethin’, but we don’t tell him about the kids.”

  Darryl frowned again. He blew on his swollen knuckles. Stupid kids. They were putting a dampener on the henchmen’s moment of triumph.

  Parson was thinking the same thing. “I should have shot ’em,” he said.

  Darryl nodded. “Yeah, next time, eh?”

  The aftermath of the intrusion at 11 Success Court was intense. Ken and Rebecca had woken from the gas just after Mitchell and Bradley came around. The boys were terrified by what they had seen and had locked themselves in their room. Ken and Rebecca were convinced they’d been attacked by aliens and had called almost every branch of the emergency services. They rushed about issuing instructions to police and ambulance crews and requesting round-the-clock protection. Several firemen loitered outside the house, looking for either a fire or a cat stuck up a tree. The family cat, however, hadn’t moved from her spot at the bottom of the stairs. She was the only one to remain calm; compared to what she put up with from Mitchell and Bradley on a daily basis, this was a walk in the park.

  Callum wasn’t really aware of the chaos that surrounded him. He sat next to Rose’s bed, watching anxiously as a male paramedic examined his grandmother. Sophie stood beside the bedroom window. Lights from the ambulance and police cars that were parked in the driveway played over her face – red then blue, red then blue. She also watched the paramedic work.

  The man wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Rose’s thin arm, pumped it up and placed the end of a stethoscope under the cuff. Rose made an irritated tutting sound with her tongue. She’d been in a foul moo
d since being woken and could remember nothing of her midnight assault. She grabbed the end of the stethoscope and spoke directly into it. Her tone was uncharacteristically sharp.

  “I’ve already told you there’s nothing wrong with me, you moron. Take this thing off my arm and go away.”

  The paramedic wrenched his stethoscope from his ears and struggled to maintain a professional demeanour. “If you’ll just be patient for a little longer, madam, I’ve nearly finished. I just need to check you for concussion.”

  The paramedic took out a torch and switched it on. He shone the light in Rose’s left eye. The old lady slapped his arm away.

  “Shine that thing in my face again, sonny boy, and it won’t be me that’s concussed,” she snapped.

  Callum tried to calm his grandmother down. “He only wants to help, Gran.”

  “I don’t need help, and I don’t need to be poked and prodded by weak-brained fools. Get out of here. All of you.”

  With that she turned her back on them and pulled the blankets over her head.

  The paramedic shrugged, packed up his gear and headed out of the room. Callum followed him to the door. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry about that. She’s normally very sweet. Could her injury be causing her to act like this?”

  The man snorted. “I doubt it. Apart from being extremely rude, there’s nothing wrong with her.”

  After the paramedic had left, Callum pulled Sophie into the hallway. “That was weird. He just did a basic check. I thought they’d admit her to hospital at the very least.”

  Sophie frowned. “Me too. Especially since she’s acting so strangely.”

  As they spoke, a policeman walked into the hall. He was a big man in his late thirties with grumpy eyes and a big nose, under which perched a large bushy moustache. It looked like a moth had crash-landed into his face.

  He spoke in a booming voice. “I take it you are the children who witnessed the alleged incident?”

  Callum nodded. He didn’t like the way the policeman had stressed the word “alleged”.