The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,59
‘Their kids practically had strings of drool hanging out of their mouths. But Dad had some money and Granddad’s old house in London. We’ll probably get sent to boarding schools and live there in the holidays.’
‘Mum never wanted us to board,’ Rosie said. ‘She said they’re really strict. Too many canings and stuff.’
‘You’ll be OK,’ Paul said uncertainly. ‘Nobody gives you any hassle. But I’m skinny and I bet they’ll make me play rugby …’
‘We’re thinking too hard,’ Rosie said, as she tried not to smirk at the prospect of Paul getting crunched in a rugby scrum. ‘We’re not even out of France yet. Maybe with the war we won’t even have to go to school.’
‘Are you two coming into bed or not?’ Hugo demanded.
‘Yeah, we’re coming,’ Rosie said. It was early and worrying about leaving meant she probably wouldn’t get to sleep for hours. But she’d miss Hugo and wanted to cuddle up and watch him fall asleep.
Paul flicked off the light switch and the siblings walked barefoot in the dark, ending up on opposite sides of the bed with Hugo sandwiched between them. Hugo nuzzled Rosie’s chest and slid his arm around her back.
‘Goodnight,’ Rosie said gently, but she smelled something as she closed her eyes and took a breath.
‘Christ!’ Paul moaned. ‘Who farted?’
Hugo broke into hysterics as Rosie kicked off the blankets. ‘That’s unbearable,’ she choked. ‘How can someone so little make a smell that bad?’
Paul grabbed the pillow beneath his head and used it to whack Hugo over the head.
‘Smell my fart,’ Hugo chanted, as he took Rosie’s pillow and swung back at Paul. ‘Smell my fart, smell my fart, smell my fart!’
Rosie jumped out of bed and couldn’t help smiling as she watched the two outlines rumbling in the dark. She thought about turning on the light and breaking them up, but she didn’t feel like being sensible, so she grabbed the pillow from Hugo’s bed and dived into the action.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Most of the German firepower that entered Paris earlier in the day had exited south, where it was being used to press the Germans’ advantage over the retreating French. Paris was a ghost town. Every shop closed, every road empty. There were no checkpoints and few patrols, but the Germans’ fearsome reputation kept the population indoors. Marc, Henderson and the pursuing Germans seemed to have the streets of Paris to themselves.
Henderson clipped a kerb as they rounded a tight corner. Marc found himself half a metre off the ground in the sidecar as Henderson threw his weight to correct the tilt whilst struggling to avoid a line of dustbins.
The Mercedes had a higher top speed than the bike and sidecar, but that counted for little on the tight streets of Paris. The driver never got close enough for the passenger to open fire and after three corners it had dropped out of sight. The two pursuing motorbikes were nimbler and as they didn’t have the weight of a sidecar they were also faster than their prey.
But the Germans couldn’t make their speed count because Marc lay on his belly in the sidecar and shot at them whenever they closed in. And what the bikes gained in a straight line, Henderson pulled back on hilltops and blind corners. He’d lived in Paris for years and knew the streets, whereas the Germans had to slow down because they didn’t know what lay ahead.
By the time Henderson had got all three wheels back on the ground, the German riders pursuing them were the closest they’d been. Marc’s first shots had been crazy, but he was getting the hang of the pistol and had already hit one of the bikes, although the shot had deflected off the front wheel arch.
Henderson slowed down to turn right and suddenly the headlamp on the lead bike was right in Marc’s face, less than four metres away. He pulled the trigger and hit the rider square in the chest. The shot knocked the man backwards as they turned the corner. Marc was astonished to see the motorbike continue in a straight line, whilst its rider froze in midair, legs apart and hands out front as though he was still riding.
‘I got one,’ Marc yelled.
Henderson couldn’t acknowledge this because they’d turned on to a steeply descending street paved with cobbles. The homes built close to the kerb on either side passed in a blur. They were gaining speed, but Henderson knew that the sidecar didn’t have its own brake and if he tried