D. Holdsworth
“Oh yeah, that. Ha! Well, I’m paranoid, remember?”
“Still, very impressive,” the Professor looked at his former student
with a hint of pride. “I always suspected you might be immune, David.
Yes. But when we met again in the pub, I was sure of it.”
If Paranoid Dave’s pale face could have blushed, it would have. But
it couldn’t, so he changed subject instead.
“Actually, Professor, I’m the one who’s impressed. Your notebook –
these suggestions for reforming capitalism – they’re so simple, so
obvious…” Paranoid Dave stabbed a pudgy forefinger onto the page.
“I love them.”
Before Toby could argue, the Cenaphian – who was still holding
the official with his arm and blocking the guards with his foot –
stretched his last spare limb towards the turnstile. With a deft flick, he
broke the locking mechanism and suddenly the chunky metal gate
was spinning harmlessly on its hinges like a child’s toy.
“Tobias – this is no time to be playing with your friends!” Mrs B
remonstrated sternly, from across the barrier. “I’ve come a long way
to fetch you. Please come through now!”
Toby turned away quickly and made his way through the broken
turnstile, with the Professor just behind and Paranoid Dave just
behind him.
And over there. Several blocks behind Toby, a third movement.
This time he got a clearer glimpse. A creature was scuttling along the
road, keeping low against the warehouses but very clearly following
Toby’s path towards the pier.
Paranoid Dave followed it carefully with his field glasses, until
another movement distracted him from the corner of his eye. A
couple of creatures were darting out of the forest.
Paranoid Dave felt sick to his stomach. The whole lakefront had
come alive with a furtive scurrying and scuttling, like they had
disturbed some old, rotten log and the insects were scattering.
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