Johnny and the Bomb by Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online Page A

said Kasandra reluctantly.
    â€˜And you still believe that those crop circles last year weren’t made by Bigmac even though he swears they were?’
    â€˜All right, perhaps some of them might have been made by Bigmac, but who made the first ones, eh?’
    â€˜Bazza and Skazz, of course. They read about ’em in the paper and decided we should have some, too.’
    â€˜They didn’t necessarily make all of them.’
    Johnny sighed. As if life wasn’t complicated enough, people had to set out to make it worse. It had been difficult enough before he’d heard about spontaneous combustion. You could be sitting peacefully in your chair, minding your own business, and next minute, whoosh , you were just a pair of shoes with smoke coming out. He’d taken to keeping a bucket of water in his bedroom for some weeks after reading about that.
    And then there were all these programmes about aliens swooping down on people and taking them away for serious medical examinations in their flying saucers. If you were captured and taken away by aliens, but then they messed around with your brain so you forgot about them and they had time travel, so they could put you back exactly where you were before they’d taken you away … how would you know? It was a bit of a worry.
    Kasandra seemed to think all this sort of thing was interesting, instead of some kind of a nuisance.
    â€˜Kasandra,’ he said.
    â€˜Yes? What?’
    â€˜I wish you’d go back to Kirsty.’
    â€˜Horrible name. Sounds like someone who makes scones.’
    â€˜â€¦ I didn’t mind Kimberly …’
    â€˜Hah! I now realize that was a name with “trainee hairdresser” written all over it.’
    â€˜â€¦ although Klymenystra was a bit over the top.’
    â€˜When was that?’
    â€˜About a fortnight ago.’
    â€˜I was probably feeling a bit gothy at the time.’
    The bus pulled up at the end of Johnny’s road, and they got off.
    The garages were in a little cul-de-sac around the back of the houses. They weren’t used much, at least for cars. Most of Grandad’s neighbours parked in the street, so that they could enjoy complaining about stealing one another’s parking spaces.
    â€˜You haven’t even peeked in the bags?’ said Kasandra, as Johnny fished in his pockets for the garage key.
    â€˜No. I mean, supposing they were full of old knickers or something?’
    He pushed open the door.
    The trolley was where he left it.
    There was something odd about it that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was clearly standing in the middle of the floor but managed to give the impression of moving very fast at the same time, as though it were a still frame from a movie.
    Kasandra-formerly-Kirsty looked around.
    â€˜Bit of a dump,’ she said. ‘Why’s that bike upside down over there?’
    â€˜It’s mine,’ said Johnny. ‘It got a puncture yesterday. I haven’t managed to repair it yet.’
    Kasandra picked up one of the jars of pickle from the bench. The label was sooty. She wiped it and turned it towards the light.
    â€˜â€œBlackbury Preserves Ltd Gold-Medal Empire Brand Mustard Pickle”,’ she read. ‘“Six Premier Awards. Grand Prix de Foire Internationale des Conichons Nancy 1933. Festival of Pickles, Manchester, 1929. Danzig Pökelnfest 1928. Supreme Prize, Michigan State Fair, 1933. Gold Medal, Madras, 1931. Bonza Feed Award, Sydney, 1932. Made from the Finest Ingredients.” And then there’s a picture of some sort of crazed street kid jumping about, and it says underneath, “Up In The Air Leaps Little Tim, Blackbury Pickles Have Bitten Him.” Very clever. Well, they’re pickles. So what?’
    â€˜They’re from the old pickle factory,’ saidJohnny. ‘It got blown up during the war. At the same time as Paradise Street. Pickles haven’t been made here for