Jack Strong and the Red Giant

Chapter Two: Blast-off

Jack ran as fast as he could down a narrow, winding country lane, which cut through a string of fields and woods. Eventually he arrived at his cousin George's house, which was on the sprawling Badgerton estate nearby.

He grasped the shiny brass door-knocker and rapped it three times.

"Oh, you've turned up I see," said his Auntie Margaret opening the door. Her skin was almost as golden as her bracelets. "Your mum's rang and she says you've to go back home now and clean up all the mess you've made."

"But I wanted to ask George if he wanted to play football."

"Well, he can't. He's got homework to do, and besides you've to sort out that kitchen of yours."

"Oh come on Auntie Margaret. Just for an hour, then I'll go back home and clean it up, I promise."

"No! Your mum says you've to go home now, and that's the end of it."

"Okay, tell her I'm on my way," he said, trudging back down the drive.

"Oh no, you don't," she said. "I can take you there myself. I'll just go and fetch my car keys."

But Jack didn't want to go back with her. Not tonight. Not ever. So as soon as she disappeared down the hallway he ran off as fast as he could.

Jack jogged through a small wood towards the football pitch. There were several boys hanging around one of the goal posts, the shadows cast by the trees obscuring their faces. He'd gotten to within a few feet of them when one of the boys turned around and faced him. He recognised him instantly. It was Gaz Finch, self-proclaimed 'cock' of the school. Thick-set, tall and stocky, like a pit-bull terrier, he glared at Jack, his whole, ugly face snarling.

"Hey, look who it is," he shouted through yellow, jagged teeth. "It's Jack MONG!"

His friends immediately howled and shrieked with laughter.

"What d'you want Mongy?" He continued. "A new face and some new clothes?"

"I don't want anything," said Jack. "I just wanna play football."

"What do you want to play football for? Yer RUBBISH!"

"N-n-n-no, I'm not, I'm..."

"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n!" Gaz mocked back, to yet more howls of laughter. "Listen to him - what a spaz!"

"Gaz... please. Listen..."

"You tellin' me what to do are yer? Yer startin'? Think you can show your specky four eyes around here?"

Gaz began to push Jack, inching closer and closer, spit spraying all over his face.

Jack didn't know what to do. He held out his hands to try and protect himself, but all Gaz did was slap them away.

"Please. I just wanna play football. Honest. I don't want to fight."

But his pleas only seemed to make Gaz angrier, and his pushes and shoves and his barks and yells became more forceful and more violent as he brushed and slapped away at his arms.

"Yeah yer are, yer startin'!" He yelled again. "Think you can take me do yer Mongy? I'll show yer!"

Gaz's knuckles thudded into Jack's face like a hammer. Immediately his skin stung and seared.

"It hurts! Stop. Please," he begged, trying to back away, his heart hammering like a pneumatic drill.

But Gaz didn't listen. He just kept on hitting him, his stinging fists swinging like wooden mallets.

"COME ON! COME ON! LET'S FIGHT!" he yelled, punches landing all over his face. "COME ON! COME ON!"

Jack spat out some blood. Gaz had bust his bottom lip. Then his nose erupted, a red river flowing down his face and onto his blue t-shirt.

"Stop! Stop!" he kept shouting over and over again, his whole face an inferno.

He didn't know what to do. It didn't seem real. He was trapped in a waking nightmare and he didn't know how to get out.

Still Gaz's fists swung and clubbed away, raining down like missiles.

Finally, he did what he always did.

He ran.

Gaz didn't chase after him though. He didn't need to. He'd gotten his fun for the evening. Today it was Jack. Yesterday it was a younger boy with ginger hair and eczema. Tomorrow it would be someone different.

Jack ran as fast as he could across some fields, through a haze of bushes and trees, and past flocks of startled sheep until eventually he came panting to Darnley reservoir.

Jack sank down on one of its rough, grassy banks and put his head in his hands.

He felt weak, lonely and pathetic.

He was still bleeding from his bottom lip and his nose, and his shoes and jeans were smeared with mud. Thoughts whirred around his head. How am I going to explain all this to my mum and dad? Will I get black eyes? What will everybody say at school after the holidays? No doubt Gaz will tell the whole school about it. Everybody is going to have a right good laugh at me.

He thrust his head into his hands again. He felt humiliated. I didn't even fight back...

He sat there for about twenty minutes feeling sorry for himself. Then he thought about what he'd said to his mum and dad. He regretted shouting at them and for breaking all those dishes. Why does school always wind me up so much? Despite his tantrums they always did their best for him. His mum was always buying him t-shirts from the charity shops and his dad would often bring home bags of chocolate from the factory where he worked. The thought made him smile. He would go home and make it up to them, even if it did mean getting told-off and being grounded for a few million years.

He wiped away a red streak of blood from his chin, then he got up and trudged off towards home, spitting out a pink mixture of saliva and blood every few paces.

It was now approaching ten o'clock and it was beginning to get darker. The Moon had long since been visible overhead, resting on a molten bed of red and orange, and now poking through the increasingly dark sky were the first glimmers of a vast armada of stars.

Then one of the stars began to move. Slowly at first, but then quicker and quicker.

He thought it was a plane at first but then it suddenly turned around and headed in his direction at incredible speed.

It came at him like an arrow, piercing the clouds, getting bigger and bigger with every second.

It was on him in no time, swooping down across the valley, shooting over the tree-tops.

He turned to run, only for its shadow to engulf him like a wave.

He looked upwards. A sea of silver arched over him, the dancing grass reflecting off its shiny, metallic surface.

He was just about to run away again when a long silver arm whooshed out of the spacecraft, sucking him up like a gobstopper.

There was a brief flash of light, followed-by a high-pitched whine, and then he was tumbling down a silver corridor like a human pinball.

After he'd stopped cartwheeling over the floor he turned around, but there was no way out.

He was trapped.