The End is Nigh . . .

So it was true.

The Pauses were not just getting longer, and not just getting more and more frequent, but the Pauses were also getting more dangerous.

At school the next morning, Hamish couldn’t stop thinking about the Terribles.

The more they come, the more people they take.

The more people they take, the longer they can stay.

The longer they stay, the more people they can grab.

The more they grab, the less careful they are.

The less careful they are, the quicker they come back.

All of which means they’re faster, they’re meaner, they’re hungrier . . . and they’re here.

‘So!’ said Mr Longblather, eyeing Class 4E, and jolting Hamish from his thoughts. ‘I thought today we would talk some more about the wonders of soil erosion!’

Hamish sat in his classroom and put his head in his hands, remembering the night before, his mind was still spinning from all the things the PDF had told him . . .

‘Look at your mum’s graph!’ Elliot had said, holding it up.

‘It’s just a graph,’ Hamish had replied, not sure what the fuss was about.

‘No, no!’ said Elliot, excited. ‘Look at the way the line rises! Very slowly at first, since just before Christmas. Just one or two here or there, but then you start to see it get higher and higher. That means more anger in town! Which means the Terribles must have struck!’

‘If we add that information to what we already know,’ Alice had added, ‘we can see the Terribles are speeding up.’

‘And not just speeding up!’ Elliot had exclaimed, pointing one finger in the air to look more dramatic. ‘But racing towards something!’

Hamish looked blank.

‘Everything points,’ Elliot had said, ‘to there being some kind of Final Event.’

‘A Final Event?’ Hamish had replied. ‘What do you mean, a Final Event?’

‘Something cataclysmic,’ Elliot said, his eyes burning bright with fear and excitement. ‘Something apocalyptic. An event so heinous and awful that it doesn’t bear thinking about. Look at the graph!’

He held it up over the campfire they’d built, so they could see a little better.

‘When this red “complaints” line goes straight up in the air – when it’s vertical – that’s when we can expect something really bad.’

‘Why?’ asked Buster.

‘Because that’s the moment when things can’t get any worse,’ replied Elliot.

‘What will happen?’ asked Clover, shaken. ‘What is this event?’

‘The Final Event is when they’ll take everybody else,’ Elliot had said, grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘Men, women, children, teenagers, the lot.’

‘Teenagers!’ said Clover. ‘But how do you know when they’ve been turned mean? They’re always mean!’

‘That’s the genius of it,’ said Elliot. ‘They could have been taking teenagers this whole time. No one would know!’

The more they thought about it, the more it made sense. All over Starkley, grown-ups were disappearing at an alarming rate, but no one was doing anything. After all – most people returned after a couple of days and, when someone vanished for longer, everyone just made excuses.

‘Oh, he must have gone on holiday,’ you’d hear, about the man in the sailor’s cap who runs the supermarket, even though he’d never taken a holiday in fifty years.

There were stories about people winning the lottery and suddenly buying a castle in Scotland and getting butlers and a sofa made of gold.

Or that they’d been spotted walking down Starkley High Street and suddenly offered a modelling contract by Lovely Big Nose magazine and whisked off to Milan to be the Next Big Nose.

Or that they’d gone swimming and were enjoying it so much they’d ended up in Calais and just decided to stay.

No one seemed to question anything. It was like the grown-ups who hadn’t been taken just didn’t know how to deal with how the town was changing.

Hamish snapped out of it and stared out of the classroom window.

Two fat men were arguing over a cat.

A car stopped and a woman rolled her window down and started shouting at the men, using words I just cannot repeat to ears as pure and angelic as yours.

Someone else whizzed by on a bike and knocked the woman’s wing mirror off, and the two men started laughing.

So she got out and started chasing them around with a stale baguette she happened to have in her boot.

The world was noisier. Shoutier. More argument-ier. Angrier. Snidier. Snippier. Chippier. And really quite horrible-r.

It. Was. All. Too. Much.

Hamish was going to meet up with the PDF again after school. Elliot had calculated there was a Pause due tonight. And now they had to prepare for whenever this terrifying Final Event might take place too.

Hamish sighed.

Mr Longblather was striding up and down the centre of the classroom, clipping the ear of the odd child here or there if he didn’t like the sound of their breathing or thought their posture could be better.

Hamish straightened his back.

Who would be next to go?

He cast a quiet glance around the classroom. It was not quite the usual scene. No one was misbehaving. No one was chatting or passing notes.

‘My mum says I should probably stay at home for a while,’ whispered Robin suddenly, and this really wasn’t like him, taking a risk by talking in class. ‘You know how nervous she gets.’

He rolled his eyes, as if he wasn’t just as nervous as she was.

‘Anyway, she seems to think something really weird is going on. She says she can sense the anger.’

‘There is something really weird going on,’ said Hamish. ‘But I just don’t know whether to say what it—’

‘ELLERBY! YOU ARE TALKING! WHY IS THIS?’ was the next thing Hamish heard, followed by a thunk on the side of his head and the smell of chalk in the air once more.

Oh, great. Wednesday detention it was.

Hamish had been given a shopping list of vital items he was told he would need. The kids of the PDF had been working hard these last few weeks.

Wherever they could, and however they could, they were all about scuppering the Terribles and their evil masters, the WorldStoppers.

As he sat in Mr Longblather’s detention, he thought again about his new pals in the PDF . . .

‘Alice found me about six weeks ago,’ Buster had told him. ‘She followed my ice-cream van one day. Then together we found the others. We almost didn’t find Clover, to be honest.’

‘Why?’

‘She’d disguised herself as a bush,’ he said. ‘That’s one of her best disguises. Actually, it’s her only really good one.’

‘And what did you do?’ Hamish asked.

‘We tried to come up with ways of stopping the Terribles. Elliot tried mixing all sorts of concoctions which he hoped might dissolve them. He’d mix washing-up liquid with battery acid, things like that.’

‘And it didn’t work?’

‘No,’ Buster had told him. ‘If anything, it just made them look a bit cleaner. And they find battery acid absolutely delicious.’

‘What else?’

‘We tried trapping them in holes. We tried swatting them with garage doors I’d rigged up to big springs. We tried writing them a convincing note telling them to go home.’

‘But they just kept coming,’ Venk had added. ‘More and more of them were swarming into town. The stink rising over Starkley. Taking more grown-ups every single time.’

‘Ideally,’ Clover had told him, ‘we’d catch one. That way we can prove they exist. If we could catch one and show it to the police or the army or the mayor then maybe they’d do something.’

‘What about taking a picture of one?’ Hamish had suggested.

‘Tried it,’ Alice replied. ‘The only thing that comes out is whatever was Paused. On every CCTV camera and on every phone.’

And that, Buster had explained, was why Hamish’s watch would come in so handy. With The Explorer, the PDF would be able to time the Pauses no matter where in Starkley they were – not just if they were near the town clock. They would be able to see how far into a Pause they were – and work out how long they had left before the world started up again.

This, Elliot determined, would be very handy indeed.

Because it was down to them to stop the Terribles from reaching the Final Event.

As he walked away from school, Hamish studied the blue canvas satchel Venk had given him the night before.

It was a PPP – a Pause Protection Pack. It made Hamish’s PDK look a little amateur.

It had the international symbol for ‘pause’ and ‘PPP’ sprayed on it.

And now Hamish had a list of things he needed to fill it.

TABASCO HOT SAUCE and AFTERSHAVE SPRAYER

‘To the Terribles, humans absolutely stink,’ said Venk. ‘But they love our stink. That’s why they lick us and paw at us, and put their little sucker cups all over us. A few sprays of extra-strength Tabasco hot sauce from an old perfume or aftershave bottle and they’re not going to do it again in a hurry!’

ONE PAIR OF MARMITE GLOVES

‘You don’t want to leave your stink anywhere,’ said Clover. ‘It’s always best to cover our tracks, especially if you’re on spying duty. Marmite gloves keep them from sniffing our handprints!’

ONE PACK MIXED SWEETS FROM MADAME COUS COUS’S INTERNATIONAL WORLD OF TREATS

‘For vital sustenance during the Pause!’ said Buster. ‘You like sweets, don’t you, Hotdog?’ ‘It’s Hamish,’ said Hamish. ‘Of course it is,’ said Buster. ‘Sorry, Hellfish.’

ONE SMALL BOTTLE OF HYGIENE GEL

‘For immediate application following contact with a Terrible!’ said Alice, pulling a face.

And finally . . .

ONE MAP OF STARKLEY

‘For obvious reasons!’ said Venk. (And if you can’t work out why they’d need a map, maybe you don’t belong in the PDF! If so, put this book down before someone calls the authorities.)

Looking at the list, the only thing that would be tricky was the bag of sweets, considering Hamish was still banned from Madame Cous Cous’s International World of Treats. And just as he was working out if a bag of sweets from somewhere else might do, Hamish noticed something unusual happening down an alleyway to his right.

It was Grenville Bile.

He was being pushed up against a wall by two much bigger kids.

And for once Grenville looked afraid.

Was it possible? Was the bully being bullied?

‘I thought you wanted to show us your new watch!’ Hamish heard the bigger of the two big kids growl.

‘Oh,’ said Grenville, quaking. ‘Yeah, I do. It’s just—’

‘What?’ said the boy. ‘It’s just that you were lying about it?’

Hamish felt in his pocket to make sure The Explorer was still there.

‘No!’ said Grenville. ‘I wasn’t lying! I had a new watch! It was really cool, like I said! It’s just I, um, well . . .’

‘Sure,’ said the second big boy. ‘We believe you. This must be totally different from all those other times you said you had something and then didn’t.’

‘Yeah! Like the time you said David Beckham might be picking you up from school.’

‘Yeah!’ said the second big boy. ‘We waited hours!’

The boys picked Grenville up by the scruff of his neck, which was no mean feat given the size of it.

‘I told you, he missed his bus!’ said Grenville, lying desperately.

‘And I honestly have all that other stuff I told you about.’

‘Of course you do,’ said the second bigger boy, grinning, sickeningly. ‘You know what, Grenville Bile? You’re just a worthless little groat. Prepare for this week’s punishment.’ He raised one huge, meaty fist. Grenville shut his eyes and whimpered.

This week’s punishment? thought Hamish. Did this happen every week? Hamish had never heard Grenville whimper before. And now he was about to get beaten up!

Part of him wanted to watch the little bully get his just desserts. But, after the underpants prank, Hamish had already had his revenge. And what was happening here just seemed unfair.

‘Oh, hello, Grenville!’ said Hamish, waving confidently and striding forward.

Grenville opened one piggy eye and squinted to see who was coming. His face fell. He thought Hamish would love this. The bully getting what he deserved.

‘Hey,’ said Hamish. ‘You forgot your watch at school.’

He took The Explorer out from his pocket. It glinted in the sun. The two bigger boys stared at it, then at Hamish, then at Grenville.

‘It’s super cool, Grenville,’ said Hamish. ‘You’re really lucky.’

‘Oh, er . . . yeah, cheers, Hamish,’ said Grenville, silently wondering why his old enemy was helping him. ‘Thank you for bringing my watch that is definitely mine back to me.’

One of the bigger boys sniffed. ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Well, just because you’re telling the truth about a watch—’

‘Oh, and Grenville,’ said Hamish, ‘thank you so much again for letting me come round yesterday and see your complete set of Super Action Rascals.’

‘Oh, um, that’s okay, Hamish,’ said Grenville, slowly.

‘And your massive telly and your film collection, and all your movie posters. And your pool table.’

The two big bullies stared at Grenville, surprised.

‘And your table football table,’ Hamish continued, walking closer. ‘And your original pinball machine, and your games consoles, and your solid gold top hat.’

The bullies were staring at Hamish now, but he wasn’t scared. Hamish knew what real fear was these days, and a couple of thick old bullies wasn’t it.

‘And your train track,’ Hamish said, starting to enjoy himself, ‘and your radio-controlled cars and your fish tanks, and your massive stuffed raccoon.’

‘Yes, fine, not a problem,’ said Grenville, thinking that was probably enough now.

‘And your life-sized cardboard cut-outs of the Prime Minister,’ said Hamish, improvising. ‘And your replica football stadium, your moon rocks and, of course, thank you SO much for letting me see your personal robot-monkey butler.’

Too much?

Apparently not, because the two bigger boys cleared their throats, gave Grenville an apologetic pat on the back and began to walk away. They’d be leaving Grenville alone for a while, Hamish suspected. If only because they were probably worried he’d set his personal robot-monkey butler on them.

‘Um . . . thanks, Hamish,’ said Grenville, very sincerely and rubbing his neck.

Hamish held the palm of his hand out.

Grenville dropped The Explorer into it.

‘I’m sorry about taking it off you,’ he said. ‘Those boys, they . . . well, they think unless you’ve got money you’re a nobody. They’ve been giving me a hard time for months. I don’t have all those toys, Hamish. But I guess I got used to pretending.’

You know what would have been the best thing in the world for Hamish to say right at this moment? Probably something like, ‘Well, I guess we’ve all learned an important lesson today.’

Or, ‘We all make mistakes. It’s forgiveness that sets us apart.’

Or, ‘Money is not what makes the world go round, Grenville!’

Or anything else that you might see on an inspirational bumper sticker, really.

He’d have looked so wise. And I think both you and I would really have felt like he’d been on some kind of personal journey and all our lives were the richer for it.

But Hamish wasn’t a ‘big moment’ kind of kid, so instead he just said, ‘That’s okay, Grenville!’ followed by, ‘Hey! I saw you on the toilet yesterday!’

And then he ran away laughing, finally feeling his revenge was complete, while Grenville stood there fuming.

‘You’re late,’ said Alice, grumpily as Hamish approached the clearing.

‘I had detention,’ said Hamish. ‘Actually, the whole class did. And the class next door. And Mr Longblather got so furious with himself that he ended up giving himself detention too, so we had to wait for him to finish that before he could come and supervise ours. And, after detention, I had a score to settle with an old nemesis. And sort out my PPP.’ It had actually been quite a busy day now he thought about it.

‘Nice,’ said Alice. ‘But while you’ve been out there, having fun and settling scores and going shopping, Elliot’s been working hard with Mr Bodfish.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Head of maths at St Autumnal’s. Elliot showed him your mum’s graph. He changed all the words and pretended it was a graph that shows how often birds poop on his dad’s car. And Mr Bodfish came to a conclusion.’

‘What was it?’

‘That Elliot’s dad should move his car.’

‘Oh. And what else?’

‘He found a pattern in the numbers,’ she said. ‘He was able to work out when they will reach their peak. That means when the Final Event will be.’

‘What are you saying?’ asked Hamish, urgently. ‘That we know? That there will be a Final Event and when it’s coming?’

‘Oh, Hamish,’ she said, putting one hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ve got until Saturday. That’s three days. And, after that, the world as we know it will change forever.’