CHERUB: The Sleepwalker - Robert Muchamore Page 0,10

behind was obese and his giant gut prevented him from leaning far enough forwards to brace properly. The bones in the man’s face shattered as it slammed into the back of Angus’ seat at more than three hundred kilometres an hour. Angus’ seatback crumpled under the fat man’s weight, crushing his body until his ribs shattered.

Warm blood spilled up Angus’ throat as his airway flooded. All the cabin lights went out and he felt absurd relief as he glimpsed his Gameboy under the seat. He couldn’t breathe and he could hear people screaming, but only in one ear because the other was full of blood.

Then the plane seemed to cartwheel. His feet were over his head and his mum made a peculiar kind of grunting noise. There was a flash of sunlight – perhaps the fuselage had snapped in half. Angus tried to work it out, but his head was numb and his own blood had clogged his eyes. His lids were stuck fast and he could see all kinds of crazy lights and patterns in his mind.

They were the last things he ever saw.

5. KNOWLEDGE

Monday mornings on CHERUB campus always had a dull edge. Kids carried the weight of the week ahead on slouched shoulders and had bags under their eyes from lax weekend bedtimes. Cherubs could sit up for an entire season of Xbox ice hockey or an all-night party if they wanted, but got no sympathy from the staff if they were too tired to handle Monday morning.

It was still getting light outside. A fierce wind blew and an occasional shower of red berries from a nearby tree pelted the windows of the campus dining-hall. James sat in his usual spot. Dana and the twins Callum and Connor were also there, and all of them kept at least one eyeball on the plasma TV hanging from a wall five metres away.

Usually the screens had the sound way down so you could only hear if you sat close by, but it got turned up if something interesting happened and on this September morning the newsreaders were having a field day. One half of the split-screen showed a dark-skinned correspondent interviewing an FBI spokesman, while the other displayed a helicopter shot of a piece of fuselage bearing the Anglo-Irish Airlines logo bobbing on the choppy sea.

‘… and you can confirm that there are no survivors from the three hundred and thirty-four passengers and eleven crew members on board?’ the reporter asked.

The FBI spokesman had an odd voice, like he’d been sucking helium out of a balloon. ‘The official search and rescue operation has been halted. Coastguard and naval vessels are concentrating their efforts on recovering as much floating debris as possible in order to conduct a thorough investigation.’

The reporter nodded earnestly. ‘Earlier information suggested that the crew heard an explosion aboard the aircraft approximately ten minutes before the airliner ditched into the Atlantic. Is there any indication at this stage that this was caused by a bomb?’

‘I can confirm that an explosion was heard, but no terrorist group has claimed responsibility. Presently the FBI is working closely with the Federal Aviation Administration and the British authorities to determine the cause of the crash.’

‘And with tomorrow being the sixth anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Centre, the finger of suspicion must surely be pointing at Al Qaeda or another militant Islamic group?’

The spokesman cleared his throat and repeated himself firmly. ‘At this stage we’re ruling nothing in and nothing out.’

James turned away from the screen and looked across the table at Dana. ‘Gotta be terrorists,’ he said. ‘The timing’s just too perfect.’

Dana nodded as she stirred honey into a bowl of porridge.

‘I don’t mind flying, but when you’re all strapped in and you look at how many people are crammed between you and the nearest exit my stomach always does a somersault.’

Callum – who’d got his ear pierced the same day as James – nodded in agreement, but his identical twin shrugged.

‘We’re all gonna die of something,’ Connor said. ‘I’d rather go quick in a plane than let something like cancer get me.’

Shakeel was coming towards the table with a tray of food and a smile on his chubby face.

‘Morning,’ James said. ‘You look pretty cheerful for someone whose golf cart turned into a flaming wreck.’

Shak shrugged as he sat down. ‘I wasn’t taking it as serious as you, and you know how luck has a way of evening out? I passed Meryl Spencer as she was pinning