Adrenalin rushed in and took over. In an instant, she became one big lung, propelling her body as fast as possible down the side of the house, across the front lawn and over the road into the opposite neighbour’s garden. She threw herself down behind the low brick wall and lay panting in the flowerbed. Her mind raced frantically. Should she try and get help? Bang on the Simpson’s front door? Go back in the house and wake her parents? No. Whatever it was, that thing was out to destroy her. She couldn’t expose anyone else to this terrible danger. She had to do this on her own.
She shuddered. If that laser beam hit her, she’d be reduced to a heap of ashes. No-one would ever know what had happened to her. She’d be on the missing persons list forever, leaving no trace, one of those eternally unsolved mysteries that cropped up in the papers now and again. She couldn’t even begin to imagine her parents’ anguish.
These scrambled thought processes took about half a nano second to flit through her mind as she cowered behind the wall, wondering what to do next. The humming sound drew closer, vibrating through the air like a giant generator. She strangled a cry of terror and tried to melt into the brickwork. The thing was almost overhead now. A quick peep over the wall gave her the nightmare vision of a dark shape looming over Seymour Drive; sinister, predatory, terrifying and definitely not of this world. She had never seen anything like it.
She ducked back down, her mind numb with shock, her heart pin balling in her chest. The swirly lights started up again, sweeping the ground, reminiscent of those searchlights in old war movies. Venus forced herself to think clearly. It was glaringly apparent that these people were from some other planet. Crazy, but it had to be true. How else could they have such advanced technology? They probably had unbelievably sophisticated tracking equipment and God knows what other scary capabilities. And you didn’t need a degree in astro-physics to know that it was not a good idea to stay behind this wall for much longer. It was only a matter of time before she was spotted - and zapped by that laser beam thing. But if she broke out into the open, they’d just pick her off like a sniper.
It occurred to her that maybe she couldn’t be detected through metal. Her fevered gaze swept around the neat suburban front garden – and rested on the hi-tech chrome caravan parked in the Simpson’s driveway, only a few feet away. If she crawled under it, it might provide a temporary shelter.
Quick as a flash, she shimmied on her stomach across the small piece of lawn, wriggled under the caravan and lay there with a thumping heart. Seconds later, the search beam swept past, strafing the ground only inches away from her nose. The ship passed on overhead and the deep humming noise faded off into the near distance. She heaved a shuddering sigh of relief then banged her head on the underside of the caravan as a terrible thought struck her.
Pluto! Where was he? She glanced around and saw no sign of him. Had he been hit? Horrible seconds ticked by. She almost sobbed out loud in relief when a black shape streaked across the road towards her. He shot under the caravan and butted his head against her face in greeting. Then he reached out one large black paw and biffed her on the nose. The yellow eyes bored into hers. Was he trying to tell her something? He began a furious scrabbling at the ground, which was just what he did when he was doing his business in the garden, except this was hard concrete. He stopped and glared at her again, emitting a low growl. Yes, he was definitely trying to tell her something. But what? That he needed a poo? He patted the ground with his paw again. It took a few moments for the penny to drop.
Underground! He was telling her that if she could get underground she could avoid detection by the search beams. But how and where? There were no underground places that she knew of round here. In another surprise move, Pluto grabbed her pyjama collar with his teeth and tugged at her, then scrambled out from under the caravan and crouched on the tarmac, glaring at her expectantly.
Marvelling at this sudden display of leadership in her pet, she crawled out from under the caravan and followed him, scuttling along in a bent over position like someone on an army exercise. He scampered out of the Simpson’s front garden and set off down the road at a fast canter. Glancing over her shoulder, Venus caught a glimpse of the dark shape hovering somewhere over Chestnut Avenue, the road that ran parallel to hers. She dashed on after the cat, the cold air slicing through her thin pyjamas and the rough pavement scouring her feet. In the sodium-washed glow of the dark suburban street, she saw the black streak disappear round the corner at the end of the block. Where was he leading her? The answer became clear a few minutes later.
On the corner of Seymour Drive and Orchard Way was a rather run down pub, the Nelson Inn. Pluto was sitting by the side of the building, licking his paws and waiting for her. She caught up with him, breathless and mystified. The pub was in darkness, locked and impregnable. Then all became clear in a blinding flash. Of course! Pubs had cellars. She saw this pub receiving a delivery every morning on her way to school. Pluto was right on top of the cellar trapdoor, flicking at the padlock with his paw and looking up at her with his quizzical yellow eyes.
Clever old cat! But how was she going to get inside the cellar? It must be locked. Venus reached down and pulled at the padlock on the latch. It was hopeless. She’d never get it open. She flung her gaze round wildly, looking for something that she could use to pick the lock. Maybe she could wrench the latch off? She tugged and tugged, panting with the effort, but it wouldn’t budge. Then she stiffened as she heard the sinister humming noise, louder and closer now. The craft must have changed course and come looking for her again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the dark shape with the swirling lights skimming through the sky towards her, only fifty feet or so above the back gardens that adjoined each other between Seymour Drive and Chestnut Avenue.
Her stomach churned with dread. Time was running out fast. Then she heard Pluto chirrup from nearby. He was sitting on the broad stone windowsill of the pub, flicking at something. It rolled off the windowsill towards her. It was a screwdriver, probably left by some careless workman. New hope flared in her. Seizing the screwdriver, she inserted it into the aperture of the padlock and began working away at it. Pluto padded up and watched intently. She burrowed frantically, whimpering in despair. He miaowed urgently. She’d never picked a lock, she wasn’t that sort of kid, and with each passing second the humming sound grew louder behind her. Still it wouldn’t budge.
She almost cried in relief when she finally heard a gentle click. The padlock sprang open. She wrenched it off and pulled at the trapdoor, glancing over her shoulder as the sinister thing approached with relentless speed…….the swirling lights were sweeping towards her now, closer and closer……the next beam would surely pick her up… she had seconds to spare….she gave one desperate heave and the trapdoor sprang open with a loud groan.
Without even stopping to look, Venus hurled herself down the steps into the murky depths below. Pluto shot in after her like a bullet and she slammed the trapdoor shut above her head, just as the next beam of blinding light swept over its surface.
