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I touched the hole in my head again.
'I was shot.'
'In the head. Get out of that one, Miss Next!'
'Landen must be devastated,' I murmured, 'and I have to take Friday for a health check-up on Tuesday.'
'Ain't none of your concern no longer!' sneered Chesney's sidekick, and they walked off, laughing loudly.
I turned to the steps of the pedestrian footbridge that led towards the northside and looked around. Oddly, I didn't feel any great fear about being dead - I just wished I'd had the chance to say goodbye to the boys. I took the first step on the staircase when I heard a screeching of tyres and a loud crash. A car had just pulled up outside the services, jumped the kerb and collided with a rubbish bin. A large man had leaped out and was running through the doors, looking up and down in desperation until he saw me. It was Spike.
'Thursday?
??!' he gasped. 'Thank heavens I got to you before you went across!'
'You're alive?'
'Of course. It took me two days driving up and down the M4 to get here. Looks like I was just in time.'
'In time? In time for what?'
'I'm taking you home.'
He gave me his car keys.
'That's the ignition but the engine starter is a push button in the middle of the dash.'
'Middle of the dash, okay. What about you?'
'I've got some unfinished business with Chesney so I'll see you on the other side.'
He gave me a hug, and trotted off towards the newsagent's.
I walked outside and got into Spike's car, grateful that I had a friend like him who knew how to deal with things like this. I'd be seeing Friday and Landen again, and everything would be just hunky-dory. I pressed the starter, reversed off the rubbish bin and drove towards the exit. I wondered whether we'd won the Superhoop. I should have asked Spike. SPIKE!!!
I stamped on the brakes and reversed rapidly back to the services, jumped out of the car and ran across the footbridge leading to the northside.
Only it wasn't the northside, of course. It was a large cavern of incalculable age lit by dozens of burning torches. The stalactites and stalagmites had joined, giving the impression of organic Doric columns supporting the high roof, and snaking among the columns and the boulder-strewn floor was an orderly queue of departed souls who had lined up ready to cross the river that guarded the
entrance to the underworld. The lone ferryman was doing a brisk trade; for an extra shilling you could be taken on a guided tour on the way. Another entrepreneur was selling guides to the underworld, how best to ensure the departed soul went to a land of milk of honey, and for the more dubious characters a few helpful hints on how to square yourself with the Big Guy on Judgment Day.
I ran up the queue and found Spike ten souls from the front.
'Absolutely no way, Spike!'
'Ssh!' said someone ahead of us.
'Nuts to you, Thursday. Just look after Betty, would you?'
'You are NOT taking my place, Spike.'
'Let me do this, Thursday. You deserve a long life. You have many wonderful things in front of you.'
'So do you.'
'It's debatable. Battling the undead was never a bowl of cherries. And without Cindy?'
'She's not dead, Spike.'
