Chapter One: Trip

The kids of Year Seven in a middle school in London were visiting a 

museum in France, for which they had to take a metro from Dover to Calais.

“All right, kids, time to hand over the fee payment for the trip!” the teacher exclaimed.

“How much is it again, Mrs O’Donohue?” asked Karla, the so-called popular girl in their class.

“Oh, according to Mr Simon, it is twenty-five pounds.” the teacher, Mrs O’Donohue, replied.

“Okay, I believe I have it somewhere…” she started, rummaging in her backpack, fingering in every pocket, trying to figure out where the wad of notes was that her mother had left her earlier in the morning.

At once, every student in the class raced over to the teacher, each with some notes or a pile of coins. Coins ricocheted over the ground as kids lost grip of their beloved currency.

“No!” one shouted as he sprinted across the classroom, chasing a ten-pence piece.

“Here you go, miss!” they shouted in unison, dumping the money into a wooden box which lay in the teacher’s hands.

“Alright, and I think that’s everyone!” the teacher informed the class.

“Wait!” a student shouted, holding out his left arm.

“Oh?” she replied, surprised at a student who had not followed every other.

“Here’s a five-pound note that I forgot to give you.” he said, handing over the blue banknote.

“Thank you very much.” the teacher replied, as the teacher strode into the line.

The class was now at the bus station, crowded around the deputy-headmaster, waiting for his speech.

“Class,” he spoke in his expected monotone voice. “What we are going to do is this: when the bus comes, we will all get onto it, and drive to the metro station, where we will take The Underground to Calais. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr Simon!” they called in harmony.

“Good. Oh, look, there’s the bus now!”

So off they went, driving twenty miles south to Dover, all the students as rowdy as ever.

One student grabbed the fire-plug suspended from the ceiling by mistake. One wrong move would set the fire-alarm off, and contact the fire-station.

“Dylan, work your way around the handle!” a student instructed Dylan, the boy who had pulled the fire-plug.

“But be careful!” another called.

“I’m trying!” he replied, angrily.

He worked his hand to the string on which the handle was dangling from.

He gingerly pulled the handle upwards, towards the ceiling.

He carefully tucked it into the slot.

A soft clicking sound emerged from the slot.

“Woohoo!” the passengers congratulated.

Kids ran through the alley between the seats and slapped him hard on the back.

“Go, Dylan!” they exclaimed, at this point ganging up on him, but not in a menacing way.

“Okay, you guys can stop now!” he shouted, laughing and coughing up a storm.

They ceased at once.

The ‘stop’ light began beeping, a strobe green dot appearing on the small television screen at the front, adjacent to the driver’s seat.

“Okay, students, it looks like we’re at the station now! Unclip your seatbelts and get ready to stand up and enter the station!”

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They all unclipped their seatbelts.

The class trundled across cat-walks and platforms, all with directors beckoning and assisting customers.

“Huh,” a student named Xavier said to his friend, Viktor. “I never thought I’d be going on any abroad trips anytime soon.”

“Same here. I’ve never been outside of the UK, except for one time, when I went to Dublin.” Viktor replied, with a thick Russian accent. “And, obviously, as you know, I was born in Belarus.”

“Yeah, sure. I think this is going to be kind of boring, though. We’re not even going to be exploring France, just stuck in a museum for the day, and going back to England tomorrow.” Xavier said, expressing his opinion.

“Mm… well, you never know. Something exciting could happen. My routine’s been quite boring lately, I need a little rejuvenation.” Viktor replied.

“Yeah, I agree–”

Xavier stopped in the middle of his sentence.

“Uh…” Viktor started. “What’s wrong?”

The light-bulbs flickered and went out. Darkness fell on the platform. Xavier could see it happening on the other platforms, too.

“Students!” Mr Simon announced. “Get prepared to run on my count!”

All the students had worried looks upon their faces.

“One…”

Some students leant down, getting ready to run from whatever their pursuer would be.

“Two…”

“I’m guessing it’s on three.” Viktor informed Xavier.

The suspense was deadly.

“Three!” Mr Simon screamed, and a mob of students zoomed through the station, weaving in and out of pillars and crowds of huddled people in fear of what was yet to come.

“What are we…” Viktor wheezed as he was losing his breath.

“...running… from?”

“I don’t know! But, whatever it is, it’s coming fast!”

They could see brilliant orange flickering in the glass panes, with the sound of gas in the distance echoing through the halls and corridors of the station. They could hear footsteps clamping and coming down upon the ground. Bullets flew past the boys’ ears like buzzing bees. They ducked and dodged as holes appeared in the walls and pillars. Glass cracked and shattered around them, raining on their legs and torsos. Just then, a wave of realisation hit them.

“Do you see that, Xavier?” Viktor questioned.

“What are you… oh! I see it!”

Ahead of them was a large glass case, containing a display vehicle to advertise a car company.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Xavier asked cheekily.

“I think so…” Viktor replied hesitantly.

“Let’s drive!” Xavier instructed.

The footsteps were approaching fast. They did not have time to mess around.

“How are we going to break the case?” Xavier asked, confused.

“With this,” Viktor stated, holding up a heavy-duty boot.

“Where’d you get that?” Xavier queried.

“From that shoe-shop over there,” he replied, pointing at a nearby footwear shop, named ‘Stanley’s Wears’.

He threw the boot at the glass case. It bounced harmlessly off of the container, hitting the floor with a thud.

“What do we do now?” asked Xavier.

They had ten seconds at a maximum until the intruders reached their location.

“Follow me,” replied Viktor. 

The intruders had now reached where they previously were, at the glass container. They were now in a tool shop, looking for a weapon of some sort. Lucky for them, there was a wide variety. The boys could now see that the intruders were a group of people dressed in balaclavas and gloves, all with long hoodies, the hoods hiding their faces even more than the balaclavas already were.

Xavier gripped a wooden mallet from a shelf.

“What’s that going to do to some thick glass?” Viktor questioned.

“It’s not for the case,” Xavier replied. “It’s for those barbaric terrorists standing around it.”

“Oh, got you.” Viktor said.

“Right, when I say ‘go’, run out of the shop and attack the criminals with all of the tools that you’ve gathered.” Xavier stated.

“Okay.”

“And… GO!”

They charged out of the shop, tools spilling out of their arms. And, Xavier, with all of his strength, threw the mallet at one of their heads. It made a soft clonking sound.

“HEY!” one of the intruders screamed. “WE’RE JUST TRYING TO DO OUR BUSINESS, GET OUT LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES!”

“Nuh uh,” Xavier replied.

“What did you just say to me, you little twerp?” asked one of the criminals in a menacing tone.

“I said… nuh uh.”

With that, Xavier and Viktor threw all of the tools at the glass case behind the intruders. One man was hit in the cranium with a hacksaw.

“OW!” he bellowed.

Cracks were left where the tools hit the container.

“We can finish it off by kicking it in!” bellowed Viktor.

“Good idea!” replied Xavier.

They sprinted up to the case, raised their legs and brought them into the fracture. Glass rained and pooled around the car.

“Hop in!” yelled Xavier.

Outside of the vehicle, the invaders pounded on the windows.

“This isn’t the last time you’ll see us! And when you do…” he imitated a finger going through his neck.

“Whatever, nerd!” exclaimed Xavier, but he realised something: he had absolutely no clue on how to operate the car.

“Push down on the accelerator!” Viktor screamed.

Xavier pushed his foot down on what he thought to be the accelerator. The car raced backwards and shattered the remnants of the tank.

“The other accelerator!” Viktor shouted.

“Okay, okay, jeez!” strained Xavier as he stretched so that his foot could reach the pedals.

“How do you even know how to drive?” screamed Viktor with a quizzical look on his face.

“I don’t! I’m learning as we speak!”

The car raced forwards, crashed through the main entrance of the metro station, raced through the town of Dover and set a course for London.