After Jack unloaded the last of the Elarian refugees, he took one last look at an insignificant tower block suffused in the glow of New Varda City, then turned the ship around, picked-out a random speck of light from the pitch-black canvass and hit the engines.
The boy ran as fast as he could, the sound of raucous laughter following him like a bad dream. The streets peeled away like the pages in a book.
After what felt like an age of running the boy slumped down on a park bench, wiped his bloody face, began to cry.
He sat like that for what felt like hours, days, suffused in his own misery. He felt weak, pathetic, he hadn’t even fought back…
He freed his head from his hands, looked towards the sky for an answer, only for a shadow to obstruct his view.
At first, he thought that it was one of the boys coming back to taunt him, only to realise that it was some kind of statue. Some long dead old guy no doubt…he thought. School is always stuffing my head full of nonsense like that. Yet when he looked at the features they seemed younger, more boyish.
He glanced at the name on the plaque beneath the bronze monument. The name JACK STRONG was spelt out in huge, gilt characters.
Something stirred in the boy then. At first it was just filigrees of memory, but then something else awoke within him. He stopped crying, his hands ceased to tremble, he rinsed his face of blood in the fountain at the foot of the statue. He got to his feet and looked at the statue once more, then down the night-dark street, tightened his school tie, straightened his shirt and trousers, and began the long journey home. He was ready for those boys in the morning now, he was ready for a lot of things.
The End
Jack Strong and The Last Battle Page 21
