The Deadly 7

by Garth Jennings

  * * *

  “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff,” said the captain’s voice, and Nelson heard the distant cheer of the monsters in the hold below.

  As they hurtled down the runway and rose into the air, Hoot let go and spread his wings wide. He seemed to be held in position above the plane by the jet stream that enveloped the tip of the wing like white ribbons made of air. And there he hovered, frantically flapping if he strayed out of position.

  Nelson felt the plane bank to the right and there was London beneath him, just about to start waking up and getting on with things. The city looked wonderful from up here, with the sun peeping over the horizon just enough to light the tips of the tall buildings like candles. The last few hours of Nelson’s life had been so utterly bonkers it was hard to believe everything that had happened, but they had made it onto the plane and, most impressive of all, they were going to escape the blame for leaving behind one of the biggest fiascos Heathrow Airport security had ever seen.

  And so, as Uncle Pogo’s van was towed away to a pound where it would stay until somebody paid the fine to get it out again, and Brian was led off to an interview room for questioning over his suspicious behavior, Nelson and his monsters sailed through the sky toward Brazil and a new chapter in their adventure. Nelson hoped it would go a little more smoothly than the last.

  FRUIT AND NUT

  In the search for food and clothing to keep them warm in the freezing cargo hold, the five monsters had ripped open much of the luggage belonging to the passengers in the plane’s cabin above them. I say five monsters, because of course one of the seven was fast asleep in Nelson’s lap and one was outside. Hoot was drifting along in the jet stream of the plane with no idea that he had been tricked into it. Ice had appeared on his gorgeous wings and silver beak, but it didn’t trouble Hoot—he quite liked the extra gleam to his golden feathers.

  The monsters didn’t care at all about the mess they were making or the vacations they were ruining by rummaging through everyone’s luggage; they only cared about staying warm, fed, and most of all, curing the ache they all felt inside. The ache that would not go away until they had found Celeste.

  Toothpaste turned out to be a favorite snack, and a good job too—as there was a tube in almost every suitcase. Stan had the pleasure of tearing the luggage open and it seemed that no lock or strap was a match for his strength. But filling their mouths with toothpaste could not satisfy their monster appetites. They needed something more substantial (although Nosh was forbidden to eat anything large to avoid fires on board). Nosh suggested they try some of the shoes he was enjoying eating, as according to him they were “quite chewy and cheesy,” but this didn’t appeal to the rest of the group.

  * * *

  Upstairs in the first-class cabin, Nelson was enjoying a very different flight experience. He had just finished the most delicious feast he could ever remember seeing, let alone eating. Tomato soup with slices of oozing garlic bread, followed by roast chicken, peas, and creamy potatoes, and for dessert a crème brûlée and a box of chocolates. This more than made up for the antique toast and stale Scotch egg! He’d fed the complimentary olives and pistachio nuts to Crush, who now dozed contentedly beside him. It felt like ages since Nelson had last had a decent meal or a good night’s sleep, so it was hardly surprising that he had nodded off by the time the Playmobil steward had come to take his tray away. Completely buried beneath the sumptuous duvet, the hum of the aircraft in his ears and a purring monster by his side, Nelson forgot all about the fact that he was on a rescue mission and currently dressed as a movie producer called Donna Gatsky, and instead he fell into a sleep as deep as the plane was high.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, back at Heathrow Airport, Brian sat in a plastic chair with his wide bulging eyes staring blankly ahead and his hands on the table in front of him like a selection of sausages in a dodgy butcher’s window. The security officers had decided to leave him alone in the small windowless room for a minute in order to get a cup of tea and discuss how they could get this strange, silent man to explain himself.

  As the security agents pondered this question and waited for their tea to brew, an almighty explosion rocked their offices, shattering windows, crumbling polystyrene ceiling tiles like crackers, and knocking people right off their feet.

  It was a miracle no one was hurt, but harming anyone had never been Brian’s intention. He had had only one thing in mind when he opened his little clay pot and swallowed the Bang Stone: to be ready and waiting when that boy arrived in Brazil.

  * * *

  “Nelson! Help!” cried Celeste. She was hanging on for dear life to the open door of the plane, but Nelson could not reach her because his seat belt was holding him back.

  “Celeste! I’m trying!” shouted Nelson as he squirmed to be free of the belt. “Help!” he called, but none of the other passengers or stewards had noticed that the door was wide open and a girl was hanging out of it.

  “Is the belt too tight?” asked the steward with the thickly gelled hair.

  “Yes! I’ve got to get out! My sister! She’s going to fall out of the plane!” yelled Nelson.

  “No need to shout. It’s very easy. You just lift this buckle…” said the steward calmly, but instead of releasing Nelson, he tightened the belt’s grip. Nelson looked up into the steward’s face and was met by a set of bulging eyes, white and watery like those of a dead fish.

  Nelson would have screamed, but his sister had beaten him to it. She lost her grip and fell. Ripped away by the wind into nothingness. Gone forever.

  * * *

  Nelson woke with a gasp to find he was still wearing dark sunglasses and the steward with the gelled hair really was trying to tighten his seat belt.

  “What are you doing?” said Nelson, which would have completely given away the fact that he was not an American woman called Donna Gatsky but a small British boy, had it not been for the fact that the plane was shaking wildly and the captain was addressing the passengers too loudly over the speakers for Nelson to be heard.

  “… slight turbulence. Nothing to worry about. Please return to your seats and make sure your seat belt is securely fastened,” came the announcement, and the steward moved around the first-class cabin to make sure all of his passengers were following the captain’s orders.

  As the plane lurched and shook, Nelson lifted the duvet to see if Crush had woken, only to find that Crush wasn’t there.

  The plane shook again and the overhead luggage compartments rattled and creaked as if about to drop.

  This is bad, thought Nelson, who was still recovering from his terrible nightmare.

  Again the plane trembled so violently that even the seasoned passengers around him gripped their armrests with white knuckles. The turbulence caused a stewardess carrying a tray of drinks to crumple against the bathroom door, spilling the drinks all over herself. Though she would have been trained to exude calmness at all times, Nelson saw a flash of fear in her eyes as the plane shook once again, like a toy in the hands of an unruly toddler.

  “Hooooonk” came the familiar sound of Crush. Nelson looked under his chair and there was the monster, rocking backward and forward with fear.

  “It’s all right, Crush,” said Nelson, but it was clear from the wobble in his voice he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

  * * *

  The reason for the turbulence was not the air outside the plane but chocolate. Fruit-and-nut chocolate, to be precise, and someone on board had a relative who loved it so much that they had packed twelve extra-large bars in their luggage. Nosh had discovered the stash and shared it with the other monsters. Not only did it satisfy all of their empty stomachs, it sent them gaga. They were bouncing around the cargo hold like toddlers. Nosh was rolling all over the place trying to knock down the other monsters, Miser was swinging from the ceiling and hurling luggage with his feet at Stan, who was punching each item as far as he could. Even Puff was wide awake and bouncing on a dinghy he had just inflat
ed with one of his toxic farts. The only one who didn’t really join in was Spike, who was picking his way through the luggage, looking for slippers to try on.

  Though the captain had clearly stated this was caused by air turbulence, Nelson could hear the unmistakable roar of his monsters coming from below. They were going berserk down there. From the crashing and bashing he could hear, he thought they might even be tearing the plane to bits. What was he to do? Get down on his knees and shout through the floor for them to stop? That would be a dead giveaway. There was absolutely nothing he could do but settle back into his seat and clutch the pendant. The sudden release of calm he craved spread from his heart to his head, where he concentrated very hard on thinking about his sister being alive and not on the monsters who were having a party below. It was very fortunate that Nelson had this pendant to keep him calm, because it took more than three hours for the monsters to get over the effects of their chocolate binge, and by the time it was over, everyone else on the plane, including the captain, was a nervous wreck.

  THE POWER OF CRUSH

  Nelson was desperate to get out of Donna Gatsky’s clothes and wipe that awful waxy red lipstick off, but it would have to wait until they were all safely out of the airport at Rio. As he followed the other first-class passengers through the icy air-conditioned corridors with Crush obediently clip-clopping by his side, Nelson remembered he was an eleven-year-old boy and that anyone checking Donna Gatsky’s passport was bound to notice this. The entire journey would have been for nothing. He might even be arrested. Would that mean prison?

  Nelson pressed the pendant against his chest and took a deep breath. The fear that had threatened to overwhelm him subsided like a wave gently receding from the shore, but the reality of passport control still lay ahead. Nelson joined the line behind his fellow executive travelers and copied them in getting his passport out of his pocket and looking busy. Nelson opened Donna’s passport and looked at her photo. Donna had a severe face and her nostrils flared as if there was a bad smell under her pointed nose. Her eyes were blue while his were brown, but at least he had gotten the hair right.

  Nelson copied what he saw the other passengers doing, and when it came to his turn he stepped straight up to the passport booth, where a large woman in a black police-style uniform sat like a hen on her eggs, behind a Plexiglas screen.

  “Passport,” said the hen lady, and Nelson laid Donna’s passport before her.

  Below, Crush watched what was going on with great interest.

  The woman said something in Portuguese and then pointed to Nelson’s sunglasses. “Sunglasses—you no wear.”

  There was no other option open to Nelson. He just had to hope for the best. Crush let go of his leg and ran around to the other side of the booth, as if hiding from the inevitable storm about to break.

  Nelson thought of the photo of Donna and flared his nostrils accordingly as he lifted the sunglasses from his eyes.

  Oh dear.

  It was quite clear that despite the hairstyle and red lipstick, Nelson looked nothing like Donna Gatsky.

  This was it.

  The end of the line.

  However, the large woman’s eyes suddenly glazed over and she began breathing faster and faster as she turned to her computer and typed frantically into an Internet search engine. Nelson assumed this was a very bad sign, but it wasn’t at all. The reason for her sudden and strange change in behavior was Crush. He was gripping her leg beneath her desk, and in that moment the passport officer was overcome by an uncontrollable urge to have what she desired, and what this lady desired more than anything right now was a pair of black boots she had seen online that morning before coming to work. She had told herself at the time that even though the boots were gorgeous she wouldn’t get to wear them very often, and she didn’t even have a dress to go with them, but, thanks to Crush, all reason had left her mind and she had to have those boots. Right now! The feeling was so powerful it eclipsed all rational thinking. She quickly found the Web site, searched for the black boots, and clapped like a seal when they appeared on the screen.

  Until now, Crush had been an adorable but fairly useless member of the group, but transferring his deep, in fact his almost insane desire for things to this lady was a masterstroke. The poor woman even had tears of joy welling in her eyes as she grabbed her credit card and typed in the details. Soon those boots would be hers and she would be the happiest human on earth!

  Nelson of course had no idea what was going on or what to do. He watched, baffled, as she completed the transaction, jumped out of her seat with a great “whoop!” and ran from her booth, leaving all of her belongings behind, in order to get home and wait for the delivery.

  Of course, all this meant that Nelson was able to put his sunglasses back on and casually walk through to the luggage-reclaim area.

  “What did you do?” asked Nelson, and Crush honked his little head.

  If only I could speak bicycle horn, thought Nelson, who really had no idea how Crush had helped him, but was sure the monster must have had something to do with the woman’s odd behavior.

  Finding where to go next in the airport was easy. All Nelson had to do was follow his fellow passengers, and right now they were all waiting around a luggage conveyor belt. Nelson knew that the other monsters would follow the luggage from the plane in order to find him, so staying put for now seemed like a very good idea.

  A bell rang and an orange light began to flash at the top of the conveyor belt. Passengers gathered around like parents at the school gates, but waiting for luggage instead of small people to appear. A few boxes printed with the words HANDLE WITH CARE were first to appear. They looked badly bashed, and as they slid onto the conveyor, the noise they made clearly indicated they had been handled with the opposite of care. Then, to the horror of everyone waiting below, a steady stream of broken luggage spewed onto the conveyor belt. Duffel bags slashed to shreds, suitcases like hamburger buns unable to contain their filling, stainless-steel containers dented out of shape, and a great deal of loose underpants, swimming shorts, and T-shirts met their mortified owners. Nelson had an awful feeling that he was responsible for all the unhappiness breaking out around him.

  As complaints began to ring out and airport staff ran to see what all the trouble was about, Nelson was relieved to see five monsters tumbling onto the conveyor.

  “Nelly-son!” shouted Nosh, and Nelson couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his ludicrous gang. They all leaped off the luggage belt and surrounded Nelson with great relief.

  “That was flippin’ ’orrible!” shouted Spike, and the others agreed with murmurs and growls.

  “Just stay close and keep moving,” whispered Nelson, as he turned and headed straight for the exit, where he was about to discover two men were already waiting for him.

  HELLO, MY NAME IS JESUS

  The automatic glass doors swooshed open, revealing an arrivals hall full of people dressed in colorful summer clothes, all there to greet their friends and relatives. Being faced with this great wall of eyes gave Nelson another jolt of fear, and the monsters snarled like guard dogs sensing an intruder. A squeeze of the pendant and a quiet word to himself—“Keep moving. Don’t stop. No one can see them”—did the trick, and with each deep breath his fear subsided. Anyway, everyone was too busy straining their necks to get the first glimpse of whoever it was they were waiting for to care about a small lady in a smart suit and scruffy shoes.

  Toward the exit of the arrivals hall stood a group of drivers wearing sunglasses and slightly-too-big-for-them suits and holding handwritten name cards, as if they were in a competition to see who had the best handwriting. One of these men held a card with the name DONNA GATSKY scrawled in black felt-tip pen.

  “Look! A driver with a car! What luck!” hissed Miser, as his tentacles scavenged the pockets of people distracted by waiting for their friends and family to appear.

  “I am not getting in a stranger’s car,” whispered Nelson through gritted teeth. “Keep
walking straight out of the airport. I’ll pretend not to notice him,” and they were halfway to the exit doors when the stink of rotten eggs hit them.

  “Yuck! Was that you, Puff?” wailed Spike, quickly covering his nostrils.

  “Phwoar! Puff, you scumbag,” groaned Stan, and the others joined in with a chorus of insults. As he rejoined the group, Hoot even faltered in midair due to the intoxicating whiff.

  “It’s … not me! It’s coming … from over … there,” said Puff, pointing to a crowd of people who were holding their noses and trying to get as far away from something as possible. As they cleared the area, the source of the stink was revealed: standing very still, and dressed in his usual inappropriate clothes, was Brian. Nelson instantly recognized him as the man he’d seen at Heathrow, but what chilled him to the bone was the sign Brian was holding in his big hands. It was a torn piece of cardboard and scrawled upon it in crayon was his name: NELSON GREEN.

  “We have to go. We have to go quickly,” said Nelson out loud, and he turned to wave at Donna Gatsky’s driver. The man nodded back, lowered his name card, and proceeded to reach out his hand to take Nelson’s suitcase. Nelson flared his nostrils like in Donna’s passport photo and then shook his head to say, “No, thanks, I’ll carry my own bags.”

  Nelson followed the driver as if this was all perfectly normal, the monsters trailing behind doing their best not to bump into people, but he could not shake off the feeling that there was something very wrong about that man standing in the crowd with the sign with his name. Why on earth would anyone be waiting for him here, let alone someone he didn’t even know? “What if he’s a nice person who is trying to help me?” said one side of his brain, but the other side of the brain won the argument by shouting, “Did you see what he looked like? Did you smell that stink of rotten eggs? Did you see his creepy eyes? And how did he get here quicker than we did? No way are we talking to that weirdo! Now shut up and keep walking!”