Read Online Public Enemy Number Two by Anthony Horowitz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anthony Horowitz
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yelled. “Do it now!”
I’d forgotten the drawbridge. Each watchtower was connected to the prison by a strip of metal that could be lowered or raised automatically. That was why Powers had taken us up and not down into the yard. But would they lower it for him? I’d no sooner asked myself that than there was a low hum and a rectangular shape pushed through the spotlight toward me. So long as Powers held Walsh, he held all the cards.
The drawbridge connected with the platform and the way ahead was clear. I looked at Powers. He was grinning from ear to ear like a kid at a carnival.
“All right,” he shouted at the two guards in the watchtower. “Drop ya weapons and come over here. But slowly. And no tricks.”
The guards did as they were told, and half a minute later there were five of us up there, crowded together in the narrow space.
“You’ll never get away with this, Powers,” one of them said.
“No? Just watch me. Come on, kid . . .”
Well, I suppose it was nice that somebody had remembered me. Up to now it had been as if nobody had noticed that I was escaping, too. Holding Walsh between us, Powers and I shuffled over to the watchtower and went inside.
“Raise it!” Powers hissed.
Walsh reached out and flicked a switch. The drawbridge swung up again.
So there we now were, cut off in the watchtower with the wall right beside us and a window leading out. But we were still in the prison. If we jumped from the window we’d be lucky to escape with just a broken leg. We wouldn’t escape at all. It was a thirty-foot drop and the road running alongside the prison was one hundred percent concrete.
“You can’t get down from here, Powers,” Walsh said, echoing my thoughts exactly.
“Ya think so?” Powers glanced in my direction. “See anything, kid?”
I looked back out of the window. And there was something. I’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t a car. It wasn’t a truck. It was a long rectangular box, riding some twelve feet above the ground. It was held up on hydraulic arms, the wheels far below. Four mattresses had been strapped to the roof. It was driving down the road at about fifteen miles an hour. And it was coming toward us.
“It’s coming, Johnny,” I said—even though I didn’t know what “it” was.
“Here’s something to remember me by, Weasel,” Powers snarled. He’d turned the gun around in his hand, and before either of us could react he brought it crashing down. Walsh crumpled. I was relieved to see that he was still breathing. I’d never liked him much, but he was just an ordinary man doing his job. I went back to the window. The platform was getting closer.
“We jump?” I asked.
We climbed out of the window and hung there awkwardly. There was no sound from inside the prison. Nobody could see us. Perhaps they didn’t realize what we were about to do. The truck or whatever it was veered toward us without slowing down. Close up, it seemed to be going much faster than I’d thought and whoever was driving it clearly wasn’t too sure of himself. It was wobbling all over the place, the tires thumping into the curb. At one point it swerved away and I was afraid it was going to miss us altogether. But then it veered back again.
“Now!” Powers shouted.
We dropped.
It was still a long way to fall. It felt like I was in midair forever, like Alice on her way to Wonderland. I heard the engine roaring in my ears. Then I hit the mattress, rolled over, scrabbled for a handhold, somehow managed to cling on. It was a heavy landing. I didn’t break any bones, but I must have broken a few springs.
Powers was beside me. “Move inside,” he said.
The platform was still zigzagging down the road. Not exactly breakneck speed, unless, that is, you fell off. It was still a long way to fall. With the wind blowing in my hair, I crawled along the roof to the back end. There was a square opening beneath me and I could see lights inside. The wheels hit the curb again,
I’d forgotten the drawbridge. Each watchtower was connected to the prison by a strip of metal that could be lowered or raised automatically. That was why Powers had taken us up and not down into the yard. But would they lower it for him? I’d no sooner asked myself that than there was a low hum and a rectangular shape pushed through the spotlight toward me. So long as Powers held Walsh, he held all the cards.
The drawbridge connected with the platform and the way ahead was clear. I looked at Powers. He was grinning from ear to ear like a kid at a carnival.
“All right,” he shouted at the two guards in the watchtower. “Drop ya weapons and come over here. But slowly. And no tricks.”
The guards did as they were told, and half a minute later there were five of us up there, crowded together in the narrow space.
“You’ll never get away with this, Powers,” one of them said.
“No? Just watch me. Come on, kid . . .”
Well, I suppose it was nice that somebody had remembered me. Up to now it had been as if nobody had noticed that I was escaping, too. Holding Walsh between us, Powers and I shuffled over to the watchtower and went inside.
“Raise it!” Powers hissed.
Walsh reached out and flicked a switch. The drawbridge swung up again.
So there we now were, cut off in the watchtower with the wall right beside us and a window leading out. But we were still in the prison. If we jumped from the window we’d be lucky to escape with just a broken leg. We wouldn’t escape at all. It was a thirty-foot drop and the road running alongside the prison was one hundred percent concrete.
“You can’t get down from here, Powers,” Walsh said, echoing my thoughts exactly.
“Ya think so?” Powers glanced in my direction. “See anything, kid?”
I looked back out of the window. And there was something. I’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t a car. It wasn’t a truck. It was a long rectangular box, riding some twelve feet above the ground. It was held up on hydraulic arms, the wheels far below. Four mattresses had been strapped to the roof. It was driving down the road at about fifteen miles an hour. And it was coming toward us.
“It’s coming, Johnny,” I said—even though I didn’t know what “it” was.
“Here’s something to remember me by, Weasel,” Powers snarled. He’d turned the gun around in his hand, and before either of us could react he brought it crashing down. Walsh crumpled. I was relieved to see that he was still breathing. I’d never liked him much, but he was just an ordinary man doing his job. I went back to the window. The platform was getting closer.
“We jump?” I asked.
We climbed out of the window and hung there awkwardly. There was no sound from inside the prison. Nobody could see us. Perhaps they didn’t realize what we were about to do. The truck or whatever it was veered toward us without slowing down. Close up, it seemed to be going much faster than I’d thought and whoever was driving it clearly wasn’t too sure of himself. It was wobbling all over the place, the tires thumping into the curb. At one point it swerved away and I was afraid it was going to miss us altogether. But then it veered back again.
“Now!” Powers shouted.
We dropped.
It was still a long way to fall. It felt like I was in midair forever, like Alice on her way to Wonderland. I heard the engine roaring in my ears. Then I hit the mattress, rolled over, scrabbled for a handhold, somehow managed to cling on. It was a heavy landing. I didn’t break any bones, but I must have broken a few springs.
Powers was beside me. “Move inside,” he said.
The platform was still zigzagging down the road. Not exactly breakneck speed, unless, that is, you fell off. It was still a long way to fall. With the wind blowing in my hair, I crawled along the roof to the back end. There was a square opening beneath me and I could see lights inside. The wheels hit the curb again,
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