“There!” I said. “There’s a gap between that old washing machine and those three rusty deckchairs.” I pointed at the gap, for it was getting darker by the second. “And just beyond that there’s a hole in the fence, which should lead us out onto Jimmy Savile Row.”
“C**t,” said Danny Barry, resigning himself to the fact that there was no way out of this.
“Horrible word,” said Marla, and she spat upon Danny Barry’s right boot.
“Come on then,” I said, far too eagerly for my liking. However, time was of the essence. Who knew what the five-oh would do to that DeLorean if we didn’t get there in time. Was it possible that they could run it through their crushing device? One of those machines which turns perfectly good cars into perfectly-formed blocks of scrap metal and wire? It didn’t bear thinking about, and yet I could think about nothing else.
“Have your wits about you, gentlemen,” said John as he fell in behind me. “You never know when you’re going to have to happy-slap a stegosaurus. Best to be on your toes, so to speak, with your weapons drawn and your best foot forward, and so on and so forth.”
“Was that your attempt at an Independence Day-type speech? Of the rousing variety?” I tossed aside an old pushchair, which I’m pretty sure was empty but was reluctant to go back and check.
“It was indeed,” said John. “How did I do?”
“You’re no Bill Pullman,” I said. “More of a Bill Paxton, if I’m being brutally honest.”
John nodded and sighed. “That’s what I feared,” he said. “I was going for Morgan Freeman.”
“Ah,” said I. “That’s where you’ve gone wrong. You can’t go for Morgan Freeman. He is one of the few superstars who can not be replicated in any way, shape, or form. You would have been better off going for Forest Whittaker.”
“That retard played by Tom Hanks?”
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. This was going to be a long night. Part of me hoped for a quick and painless death.
*
Jimmy Savile Row (the S and the A had been scrawled out with marker pen, and rightfully so) was deserted apart from a slow-moving sauropod which was nibbling lethargically at a tall hedge. John went to light his first Molotov, but I managed to snatch the lighter from his hand at the last moment.
“What are you playing at?” he whispered angrily.
“You can’t set fire to that one,” I explained. “It’s a herbivore. Conserve your ammunition, pillock, lest we find ourselves bereft of fire and faced with an army of meat-eaters.”
John tucked the incendiary into the waistband of his trousers and snatched his lighter back. “And how do you suppose we’re going to get by that hulking mass of vegetarian?” asked my best friend. “I appear to have left all my cucumbers at home.”
“We’ll have to be very careful,” I said. “It’s busy feeding right now, so I would suggest tiptoeing behind it and—” I stopped there, for I was only talking to John. The Barry Boys were running toward the sauropod with their knives raised and what looked like ties wrapped around their heads a-la Rambo. “No!” I whisper-yelled. “You’re going to get us all—”
‘Killed’ should have been that last word, but once again my sentence went incomplete as a much larger and angrier-looking dinosaur appeared beyond the sauropod. If any one of us had known anything about dinosaurs, we could have properly named it, but we didn’t, and so cries of, “Look at that big c**t!” and “Spiny bastard!” were all we could muster between us. At least it stopped The Barry Boys in their tracks. They had turned, and were running back towards John and I.
“Now would be a good time to join in,” I said.
“It would seem so,” said John, and so we both took to our heels, ignoring the sound of the battling behemoths to our rear, of which there would only be one winner, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Leafy-Leaferson.
“Quick, in here!” said a voice, and it was a voice I recognised and one I heartily welcomed back into my life.
There, standing at the back gate to his premises, Mister Sidhu looked battered and bruised but still possessed of a head. In his hand was a familiar-looking shotgun, though there was nothing familiar about the way he wielded it. I was almost certain it should have been pointing the other way.
“Come on, lads!” John said. “Into the corner-shop!”
John followed Mister Sidhu, I followed John, and The Barry Boys followed me. A regular human centipede, we were, but without the unnecessary sewing of ass-to-mouth. Once we were all in the relative safety of the corner-shop’s store-room, Mister Sidhu shut the door and turned to face us.
“Have any of you seen Shiva?” he said, panic etched across his face. “She was out delivering papers when all this kicked off. Oh, Lordy, I hope she’s okay. She’s off to medical soon in September.”
I lay a calming hand upon the shopkeeper, though I wished I hadn’t almost immediately for his arm was sweatier than a cricketer’s jockstrap. “I’m sure she is fine,” I said.
“Wasn’t Shiva the name of that girl getting mauled to death by pterodactyls?” said Danny Barry. Luckily, John cuffed the eldest of Clan Barry across the head before I did, and then quickly backed off to a safe distance.
“What’s he suggesting?” asked Mister Sidhu. “That my precious daughter has been killed to death by flying dinosaurs?”
I shrugged and dry-swallowed. “It’s a possibility,” I said, and a very good one. However, the shopkeeper was nervously clutching a shotgun and I wasn’t too sure he knew the workings of it. It was best to tread carefully. “There’s also a good chance that she managed to escape the clutches of said dinos, perhaps finding shelter in a nearby skip?”
“Pity this didn’t happen after she graduated medical school,” said John, though I rather wished he hadn’t. “She could have stitched herself back together then, couldn’t she?”
“That’s quite enough of that, old pal,” I said. “Mister Sidhu, we are embarking upon a very important and perilous mission, and would greatly benefit with a borrow of that there shotgun.”
“Not on your nelly,” said the shopkeeper. “This was my father’s, and I believe it was his brother’s before that. Wherever this shotgun goes, I go.”
“In that case,” I said, “I must insist upon your presence when we run wildly from this corner-shop in the coming moments, like Butch and Sundance at the end of that great film.”
“Didn’t they die almost immediately?” asked Mister Sidhu.
“Okay, so that wasn’t the best example,” I said. “Will you join us anyway? Your gun would, I believe, be most useful in sending those ghastly and previously-extinct bastards to the grave.”
“I highly doubt that,” said the shopkeeper. “It doesn’t have any bullets in it.”
There are times in life where the urge to slide down a wall, sobbing into your hands, takes hold, and this was one of those moments. However, the walls to the store-room looked filthy, and so I shook my head and clicked my tongue instead, which amounted to the dame thing. “Why, then, do you insist upon holding it?” I said. “It’s not as if the dinosaurs are going to see it and think twice before attacking. It is, as Churchill once said, about as useful as a pair of tits on a fish.”
The shopkeeper pulled the gun tight to his chest. “I’ll not go without it,” he said.
“It’s your funeral,” I said. “Don’t you have anything in here that can be used as a weapon? Perhaps some hammers? A nailgun? Craft knives?”
“Got a box of cheesegraters,” said Mister Sidhu.
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” said I. “Okay, well, I guess we ought to get a wriggle on. We’ve got a DeLorean to pilfer and—”
And that’s when the lights went, and we were cast into darkness. Billy Barry made a squeaking noise, and it took two other Barry Boys to calm him down.
“The lights appear to have gone,” said John, who I could always rely on for stating the bleeding obvious. Out in the street, house- and car-alarms were sounding, a caco
phony of shrill screams which fairly set my teeth on edge.
“Power outage,” I said, because I, too, was adept at affirming the palpable, and if you can’t beat them, join them. “This could work in our favour. The impound’s security will be down. If we can get to the station before the power comes back on, there’s a good chance we’ll have that DeLorean away before they even realise it’s gone.”
“What’s all this talk of a DeLorean?” said the shopkeeper. “Are you referring to the mythological car from the 1980s, the one with the gull-wing doors and propensity to travel Back to the F—”
“A-a-ahhhh,” I said. “We’re not using those words. However, that is exactly the vehicle to which we are referring. With it, we can banish those dinosaurs and make it so that your daughter didn’t get ripped to shreds by a flock of ravenous dino-birds.”
“Shiva?” sobbed the shopkeeper.
“Don’t worry,” said I. “We’re going to save her. We’re going to save everybody.”
“Can we go now?” said Danny Barry. “Billy’s feeling a bit queasy.”
*
The moon was large in the sky. The alarms were deafening in our ears. The poor sauropod, who had only a moment ago been feasting upon a tall hedge, lay in the middle of the road. Well, the majority of it did. Some of it hung from a tree, and a whole lot of steaming innards decorated a fence like solar-lighting. One was pleased to be possessed of a strong constitution, otherwise one would have vomited upon one’s own plimsoles in that moment, for the stench was unbearable and the sight of so much blood and viscera was enough to drain the saliva from one’s mouth. I didn’t know why I kept referring to myself as ‘one’, but it seemed to make sense.
“On a scale of one to ten of nasty shit I’ve seen in my life,” said the shopkeeper, “I would rate that an eight.” He pointed to a pile of sauropod which seemed to be constructed of tongue, teeth, and what looked like a giant vagina, though I’m not a palaeontologist and so don’t quote me on that.
“Just an eight?” I said, pinching my nose between thumb and forefinger.
“I grew up in India,” explained the shopkeeper. “I once saw my uncle marry an elephant.”
“Erm, is that a giant vagina?” said John, and he pointed at the thing. “Looks like a giant vagina.”
“I thought that, too,” I said. “However, we’re not palaeontologists, and therefore don’t know diddly-squat about dinosaur vaginas. Let us just agree that, whatever it is, it ain’t pretty, and get the hell out of here before it starts growling at us.”
“Good idea.”
“We’re three streets away from the station,” I said. “Danny, will you put that dinosaur bollock down and come over here.” He did as he was told, which was probably a first for him.
“How can that thing have bollocks and a vagina?” said the eldest Barry Boy. “Is there such a thing as a hermaphrosaurus?”
“Sounds feasible,” I said. “Now, if we stick to the shadows and keep to the walls, we might be able to make it all the way to the impound without further ado. There are eight of us now, which is a bit of a nuisance as I was quite enjoying being the magnificent seven, but safety in numbers and all that…” I trailed off as I noticed Sammy Barry had his hand raised. “Sammy?” I said.
“Are those ones there vegetarian?” said Sammy, and he pointed to the edge of the street. There, watching us silently, stood a trio of dilophosaurii. Of course, I didn’t know that they were dilophosaurii, for I had nary been to palaeontology school, but luckily for us, Mister Sidhu knew a thing or two about dinosaurs from the magazines that passed through his store – the ones in which you collected the parts to construct your own dinosaur, usually over 1000 issues at fifteen quid a time.
“Shhhhhhh,” said the shopkeeper. “Those are dilophosaurii. Carnivorous. Bastards, too.”
“How do you know that?” whispered John. None of us were moving. None of us could, even if we’d wanted to.
“See that lacrimal bone? The one with the thickened dorso-posterior rim?”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” whispered John. “Is it Urdu?”
“Look at its scapular blade. See the squared distal expansion?”
“Punjabi I think,” said Danny Barry. “Mister Sidhu, we’re all very much of the English persuasion here. Can we stick to what we’re good at? Such as English?” The irony was, none of The Barry Boys were particularly fluent in their home language.
“I know a lot about dinosaurs,” said the shopkeeper. “You know those magazines I get in the shop?”
“The ones where you have to collect all the pieces to make your own dinosaur, skeleton, Starship Enterprise, Batman Chess Set, plush teddy, 3D Printer, 1962 Cessna, and so on and so forth?”
“Complete in 1000 issues,” nodded the shopkeeper. “Well, I read all about dilophosaurus in one of those, only recently as it happens.”
“That was a stroke of luck,” said I. “Should we be worried?” I could see that the dilophosaurii were becoming unsettled by the way they were nibbling at each other’s faces.
“Oh, we should, if we’re not already, be shitting our pantaloons,” said the shopkeeper. “They are highly predatory and will probably attack without warning.”
Just then, the frills on either side of the lead dilophosaurii’s head expanded. The creatures either side of it quickly did the same.
“Oh, it’s the ones with the umbrella faces,” said Danny Barry. “Yeah, they’re really mean. I saw them in a film once, chasing a fat man through the rain. Let’s just say it didn’t turn out too well for the fat man.”
“Okay, everyone calm down,” I said, barely able to breathe. “We’re going to back slowly away from these things. Hopefully they will take that as a sign that we don’t want to fight and leave us alone.”
“Doubtful,” said Mister Sidhu, clinging to his useless shotgun as if his life depended upon it. “I suggest we run as fast as we possibly can.”
“Since you know so much about dinosaurs,” whispered John, “how fast can these particular ones run?”
“About thirty miles per hour,” said the shopkeeper.
“And the average human?” Though I hastened to point out that we, as a unit, were not quite up to the standards of average.
“The average man can jog at 8.3 miles per hour,” said the shopkeeper. “But I reckon we, as a unit, will top out at around the 6mph mark.”
“Hm,” I said. “By my reckoning, that leaves us around 24 miles per hour too slow, and therefore easy pickings for the crocodilian bastards.” I shook my head. “What we require is an act of selflessness of the highest order. A sacrifice, if you will.”
“Not too keen on the sound of that,” said John.
“Not you, cockwomble,” said I. “I’m thinking that there are three of them—”
“Most astute,” said the shopkeeper.
“Which means that at least three of us will need to distract them,” I went on. “Since John and I are the colonels of this mission, so to speak, we would need three volunteers.” No hands were raised, no person stepped forwards, nobody moved a damn muscle. It was pretty much what I expected.
The dilophosaurii began to approach us; tentatively at first, and then with a little more surety. We were running out of time.
“Willy, Wally, Sammy?” I said. “I would like you three to stay behind and keep these wee beasties company while we continue upon our perilous quest to save the day.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” said Danny Barry. “You can’t do that! They’ll be eaten.”
“That they will,” I said. “But only in this timeline. Once we get to where we’re going, they’ll be safe as houses, because none of this would have happened.”
“Yeah, but it’s still going to hurt,” squeaked Willy Barry. “I really don’t fancy it.”
“It’s either this,” I explained, “Or we all die, and then there is no alternative timeline. We reappear in a few days’ time in the form of dinosaur shit.”
/> Danny Barry nodded a little, but only a little, for the dinosaurs were almost upon us. “He’s right,” he said. “This sacrifice needs to be made in order for us to make it to the DeLorean.”
“It’ll only be for an hour or two,” said John, reassuringly. “We’ll have you out of their bellies before you know it.”
The creatures were a-snarling and a-snapping, and moving into the formation most commonly known as ‘The Pincer’. “On the count of three,” I said. “Everyone who isn’t Willy, Wally, or Sammy needs to turn around and run for that wall over there. Willy, Wally, Sammy, please don’t run with us. This is for the best, and the only way we’re going to be able to shake of these fuckers.”
“Easy for you to say,” said Sammy Barry, and he was shaking like a shitting dog. “You’re not about to be ripped to shreds by a giant lizard.”
“One…” I said. “Two…”
I didn’t quite make it to three, for John, my trusty sidekick, along with Danny and Billy Barry and Mister Sidhu the shopkeeper had already took to their heels, and I had a little catching up to do, but by God I did it.
“Don’t look back!” I said as I pelted past the shopkeeper, who appeared to be running with full pants. From behind, the horrific screaming of three of the five Barry Boys pierced the night. Terrible noise, it was. Reminded me of a fox we used to get over the allotments. Hadn’t seen that fox in quite some time. I hoped it was okay. Nice fox, it was. All red and bushy. I don’t think it had rabies.
“Are you thinking about that fox we used to get over the allotment?” said John as we both mounted the brick wall.
“You’re a mindreader!” I said as we lowered ourselves down over the other side.
“Not quite,” said he. “That terrible screaming noise reminded me of it.”
Sympatico, I thought. We would make a great homosexual couple, if only one of us didn’t mind being the receiver…
“Over there!” I said. “Head towards that corrugated unit!”
We rushed through the night, leaping over branches and lengths of discarded piping and steel. BEN KINGSLEY INDUSTRIAL ESTATE was the kind of place best avoided at night, but we had very little in the way of choice. It was either this, or out there with the dilophosaurii.
Jurassic Car Park Page 9
