Blackout by Andrew Cope Page A

windows out towards the big city.
    George and Jess were from America. They were dining in the Shard restaurant and George had been commenting that everything was
bigger and better in America. ‘I mean, darlin’,’ he drawled, ‘the Brits have Cheddar Gorge and we have the Grand Canyon. We have steaks the size of plates and the Brits have this …’ He
lifted the limp lump of meat off his plate with a fork.

    His wife gazed out of the window just as Shakespeare sailed by. She watched as the cat turned and swooped back, this time taking time out to salute her. And then he was gone.
    Jess looked around to see if anyone else had seen the flying cat. The other diners were tucking into their small British steaks, the chatter and clinking of cutlery carrying on as normal.
    She looked out across London. ‘Their food might not be up to much, honey’ she admitted, ‘but their cats are pretty cool.’
    The winged wheelchair was one hundred metres in front, wobbling wildly as the old man struggled to keep control of the vehicle with one hand and the little girl with the other. He wasn’t evil. He just wanted the world to be a better place. And he certainly didn’t want this little girl to die. The Past Master had a strong mind, but his body wasn’t what it used to be. The effort of hanging on to the child was taking its toll. Add in the excitement of flying across London and his heart rate was racing dangerously. ‘Hang on,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll try and land.’
    The
lawnmower-powered engine was already spluttering. There was a loud explosion and it stopped. Sophie had righted herself so she was sitting on the old man’s knee, just like she had with her own granddad a thousand times. The balance was better, but the microlite wheelchair was now a glider instead of engine-driven. The only way was down. Sophie felt the man’s grip loosen and she gripped the sides of the chair extra tight.
    ‘Where are we going to land?’ she yelled.
    There was no answer. She wasn’t sure whether he had died or just passed out. The only thing she knew was that she was going to have to land the craft herself.

16. Splash Landing
    Shakespeare was gaining. The wheelchair engine had stalled and the chair was falling a little too fast. Most cats weren’t aware of Newton’s law of gravity. They knew that if they fell out of a window they’d go downwards. And it annoyed them that birds could go upwards. Shakespeare’s eyes were watering. Wind billowed into his cheeks, his face ballooning like a Cheshire cat. London was laid out below, the river snaking like the start of
EastEnders
. He tilted his body and started swooping downwards, a feline missile in search of its target.
    Sophie was panicking. The ground was getting closer and the odds of a safe landing were remote. Shakespeare swooped by and Sophie screamed. ‘I think he might be dead,’
she yelled, her eyes bulging and her hair billowing. ‘And I’m too young to die!
Help!
’
    Flying squirrels are born with flaps of skin. That means, for them, it’s normal to launch off trees and glide to the forest floor. Shakespeare had had exactly ninety seconds of practice as he swooped towards the wheelchair, attempting to dock. He recognized the London Eye below. And the Houses of Parliament. He was low enough to notice that London’s roads were busy.
Typical London
, thought the cat.
Maybe the old man’s right. Maybe there are too many people rushing around
.
    Shakespeare zoomed past Sophie, yowling in frustration as he failed to make contact.
    He lowered his left legs and turned for another go. Head down was fast. Head up was slower. He dive-bombed the chair, head down, pulling up at the last second, and landed, bat-like, clinging to the back of the chair, legs spread out behind him to cause enough drag to slow the wheelchair’s fall.
    Sophie looked delighted and terrified at the same time. ‘Now what?’ she yelled, her voice trailing away.
    Shakespeare had a sinking feeling. He