The Pickpocket

Chapter 15 - Eyebrows

Jamie had explained to me about the rat but I didn’t imagine how big it would actually be. Almost half my height and probably more than my ferocity (and I’m a trained killer, remember), Squeakers was one badass rat.

“Jamie, Owen, vamoosh,” I said, not taking my eyes off the rat. Slowly, I pulled my gun from the waistband of my pants and aimed it at Squeakers, clicking the safety off.

“‘Vamoosh’?” Owen echoed, confused. Jamie pulled at his friend's arm.

“It means get outta here,” he said, pulling Owen away. Squeakers made a growling noise as they walked backwards, edging through the door that we’d just come out of. Then the rat turned to me and bounded forwards.

Taken by surprise, I let out a yell. I could see Jamie turning back out of the corner of my eye and made a decision. I ran towards the rat, springing over it and running down the corridor it had been blocking.

“See ya later, rodent!” I yelled. The rat spun around and roared at me - actually roared at me. It began to come down the corridor, slowly at first then running at a speed no rat should go at. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run away from it, it was moving too fast. I couldn’t slide under it, the claws were ripping up the floor. So what did I do in an enclosed, metal space?

I fired a gun.

 

*

 

“DAD!” I yelled when I heard the gunshot. Owen tried to pull me through the door of the basement but I shook him off. I ran back up the stairs, Owen in hot pursuit. The rate I ran then was the fastest I think I’ve ever run in my life. Despite having my arm broken and my other one bitten by a rat on steroids, I kept my balance with ease. Owen was tiring but determination kept him going and for the second time that day I was rugby tackled to the floor.

“Jamie,” Owen began. I wriggled furiously and Owen flicked my ear, something he’d picked up from Dad, no doubt. I don’t know what it does but whenever my ear is flicked I stop what I’m doing and just freeze. It effectively calms me down and makes me panic at the same time, causing a surge of dangerous adrenaline. Well, it’s dangerous for me - I may or may not have been insane. (Note the use of have - I’m sane now. I get influenced easily and Dad was insane.)

“Jamie, listen to me,” Owen said once my struggles had ceased, “your dad will have fired that gun at Squeakers. So long as he’s not in the Metal Corridor he’d be fine.”

“Where’s the Metal Corridor?” I whispered. Owen didn’t talk as he helped me to my feet. I asked again and Owen didn’t look me in the eye as he answered.

“The one behind Squeakers.”

 

*

 

The bullet ricocheted around the corridor. I ducked, my ears ringing with the sound of the gunshot. The bullet whizzed past my head, bounced off the wall behind me and hit Squeakers right between the eyes. Just in time too.

Jamie appeared through the doorway at the other end of the corridor. He darted forwards, jumping over Squeakers like he - it - wasn’t there and enveloped me in a one-armed hug. Owen stood behind Squeakers, looking down at it in shock.

“Dad, the pocket watch!” Jamie said, pointing. I looked further down the corridor to where Owen was. He picked it up and started fiddling with it.

“It’s… quarter past seven at night,” Owen announced once he’d stopped fiddling about with the pocket watch. Jamie and I looked at one another in horror as the world began to spin.

 

*

 

We landed in the middle of a field. A battle field, to be precise. Bullets flew through the air and grenades were rolled, orders were shouted and people died.

It was the single most terrifying experience of my life.

Dad yelled at us to get down. Owen dived to the floor and I followed suit. We landed in a trench and were quickly hauled back to our feet by the commanding officer.

“What are you two doing?” he yelled, so close to my face I could see the veins in his forehead. “Get back to work, boy!”

“We’re not meant to be here!” Owen hollered in the officer’s ear. The officer threw me away and I landed in the mud with a dull thump. A grenade landed by my head and I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped that whatever magic from the pocket watch had kept us alive so far would work on blown-in skulls.

 

*

 

I stayed at the top of the trench, lying on my stomach in the mud and firing from a sniper I’d taken from a dead soldier. I saw soldiers fall in the distance and knew that I’d scored a hit every time I fired.

A grenade whizzed over my head and landed in the trench. It took me a moment to realise that Owen and Jamie were down there, likely to be blown up, and I was in the range. I had to think and act fast but everything seemed to go in slow motion.

All of a sudden I was flying through the air with orange light surrounding me. I could hear people yelling in pain and fear and curses in German. I could understand most of them and swore back.

Body parts flew past me and something hit me in the face. I swore again, in English this time, and was about to get rid of it when I hit the grass. Winded, battered, burnt and bruised, with half of my hair singed off by the blast, I didn’t realise I was holding the pocket watch tightly until

 

*

 

“Dad!” I crawled over, limping badly. Dad sat up and smiled weakly. He was holding the pocket watch in his hands.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, his smile faltering as he saw my injuries. I sat down carefully and held out my hand.

“Where'd you get it?” I asked. Dad raised an eyebrow - well, his forehead moved. His eyebrows had been burnt off - and placed the pocket watch in my hands.

“It found me,” he said simply. I grinned wickedly and shuffled backwards before adding:

“Not in time to save your eyebrows, though.”

Dad let out an anguished yell and his hands sprang to his forehead. I lay back down onto the muddied grass, laughing.