Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (24 page)

‘VISITORS,' said Phyllis as she stomped past Mr Norma Michaels and a bunch of strange-looking people who must have been The Us.

‘It's our rebel army,' I said to Hils. ‘We've got a rebel army.'

‘Outstanding.'

‘Thanks,' I said.

Hils thought the rebel army I had put together was outstanding. That made me happy. It also gave me the courage to ask her something.

‘When I first asked people to join our rebel army everyone said no. Now they have turned up. Why is that?'

‘When you ask a person to help you do something hard mostly they will say no,' said Hils. ‘If they're a good person, when they say “no” they don't really mean “no” they mean “I'm a bit shocked you've asked me to help you do something really hard. Just give me a minute to think about it and then I will say yes.”'

‘That explains it.'

‘Affirmative.'

‘Hils?'

‘Affirmative.'

‘Should we charge now? I think
we
should charge now. Can I yell “Charge!” so that our rebel army knows that they should charge?'

‘Affirmative.'

I was about to yell “Charge!” but I couldn't do it because I had to scream in pain instead.

I had to scream in pain because something really, very, super hard and bitey hit me right in the bum.

A second later I got hit again. Twice. In the chest and in the leg.

Hils got hit as well.

‘What's happening?' I said.

‘Someone is firing false teeth,' said Hils.

I got hit again.

‘Where are they coming from?' I said.

There were false teeth flying everywhere. Warren got knocked off his bike. Simon Bolivar screamed. The Lurker had already disappeared. (Maybe he wasn't such a valuable asset.) Mr Norma Michaels was holding his knee. Phyllis was crying.

‘Where are they coming from?' I said again.

‘There,' said Hils as she got hit in the shoulder.

Mrs Cyclopolos was riding towards us on a motorised wheelchair.

‘On the front of her wheelchair,' said Hils. ‘Look. She's got a gnashing Gatling gun!'

‘A what?' I said.

‘A machine gun that fires false teeth.'

Hils grabbed her cheek. She'd been hit.

I got hit again. In a very sensitive place.

The gnashing Gatling gun was scattering our rebel army.

Only a minute ago we had been winning. Now we were losing.

I
had
to do something.

On the ground next to me was a long branch. I grabbed it and tucked it under my arm like knights do when they're jousting.

Then I charged towards Mrs Cyclopolos and her gnashing Gatling gun. I had never done any real charging before but I discovered that I was really good at it.

False teeth were flying past me. A few hit me. It didn't matter. I just kept on charging.

I was yelling as well.

Charging and yelling are a really good combination.

I was getting closer and closer to the gnashing Gatling gun.

Suddenly Mrs Cyclopolos realised I was charging at her so she turned the gnashing Gatling gun around and shot two pairs of false teeth right at my face.

I closed my eyes.

The false teeth hit me at exactly the same time as my jousting branch hit Mrs Cyclopolos and the gnashing Gatling gun.

The branch stopped dead and I smashed into the end of it and fell to the ground winded.

I heard a horrible grinding. I smelled smoke. I opened my eyes.

My jousting branch had gone right through the middle of the bit that made the gnashing Gatling gun fire.

Because of that the gun had stopped firing and started making a horrible grinding noise and burping out thick, stinky smoke.

Mrs Cyclopolos was trying to get out from behind the grinding, smoking, stinky gun and out of the wheelchair, but she was stuck.

The grinding got grindier.

The smoke got smokier.

The gnashing Gatling gun exploded.

The wheelchair exploded.

Mrs Cyclopolos exploded.

Mrs Cyclopolos's glass eye flew out of her eye socket straight at the other Stinkly Wrinklys. It hit Rashid's Stinkly Bubu and knocked her out. It then ricocheted into the LLG and knocked her out too. Before you could say, ‘Mrs Cyclopolos's flying glass eye had knocked out all the other Stinkly Wrinklys' Mrs Cyclopolos's flying glass eye had knocked out all the other Stinkly Wrinklys.

The war against the grannies was over and we had won.

 

Hils and I looked around the battlefield. It was littered with bent throwing-hankies, torn gnashing gnets, smashed false teeth and unconscious Stinkly Wrinklys. Smoke was still rising from Mrs Cyclopolos's wheelchair and from Mrs Cyclopolos.

‘What do we do now?' I said.

‘I am unsure,' said Hils. ‘I neglected to prepare an exit strategy.'

That was army-talk for, ‘I didn't think we'd win so I have no idea what to do now we have.'

I turned and looked behind us. Our rebel army had already disappeared. Except for Simon Bolivar. He was lying on the ground clutching his leg and screaming quietly to himself.

‘Did you see Rashid?' I said.

‘Negative.'

Mrs Cyclopolos groaned.

One of the unconscious Stinkly Wrinklys coughed.

‘Hils? Now we've won, can we stop calling them Stinkly Wrinklys?'

‘Affirmative.'

‘Good. Stinkly Wrinklys is really hard to say.'

Having a paper round is nowhere near as exciting as fighting in a war to get one.

Hi, I'm Alan Brough. I was born in New Zealand and am quite a bit older than I would like to be.

I have always loved books and, from an early age, wanted to be a writer. Then Dad and I went to see ‘Star Wars' and I decided that, actually, I really, really, really, really, really wanted to be an actor.

So I became an actor.

After a while I realised there wasn't that much acting work for 6' 4” guys with slightly lopsided faces and thick curly hair so I became a director, a broadcaster, a composer, a dancer (it's true!), a musician, a singer and then, in an unexpected turn of events, a professional music nerd.

Finally I've got around to being a writer.

One day I hope to be able to write a biography that includes phrases like ‘best-selling', ‘award winner' and ‘so successful that he recently bought a solid gold toilet' but, until then, I am just happy to look at my copy of
Charlie and the War Against the Grannies
and think,
Cool! I wrote a book!

First published 2016 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

1 Market Street, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, 2000

 

Copyright © Alan Brough 2016

 

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

 

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available
from the National Library of Australia
http://catalogue.nla.gov.au

 

EPUB format: 9781925480191

 

Typeset in Chronicle by Evi O

Printed by McPherson's Printing Group

Design and illustrations by Evi O

Photography on page 128 by Topseee/Alamy Stock Photo
and photography on page 129 by NatUlrich/Shutterstock

Author photo by Helen Townshend

 

The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 

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