Free Johnny and the Bomb by Terry Pratchett Page A

at once, and Mrs. Tachyon had said: That’s what you think….
    The path across the field led through the allotments. They looked like allotments everywhere, with the occasional old man who looked exactly like the old men who worked on allotments. They wore the special old man’s allotment trousers.
    One by one, they stopped digging as the cart bumped along the path. They turned and watched in a silent allotment way.
    “It’s probably Yo-less’s coat they’re looking at,” Kirsty hissed. “Purple, green, and yellow. It’s plastic, right? Plastic hasn’t been around for long. Of course, it might be Bigmac’s HEAVY MENTAL T-shirt.”
    They’re planting beans and hoeing potatoes, thought Johnny. And tonight there’s going to be a crop of great big bomb craters….
    “I can’t see the bypass,” said Bigmac. “And there’s no TV tower on Blackdown.”
    “There’s all those extra factory chimneys, though,” said Yo-less. “I don’t remember any of those. And where’s the traffic noise?”
    It’s May 21, 1941, thought Johnny. I know it.
    There was a very narrow stone bridge over the river. Johnny stopped in the middle of it and looked back the way they’d come. A couple of the allotment men were still watching them. Beyond them was the sloping field they’d arrived in. It wasn’t particularly pretty. It had that slightly gray tint that fields get when they’re right next to a town and know that it’s only a matter of time before they’re under concrete.
    “I remember when all this was buildings,” he said to himself.
    “What’re you going on about now?”
    “Oh, nothing.”
    “I recognize some of this,” said Bigmac. “This is River Street. That’s old Patel’s shop on the corner, isn’t it?”
    But the sign over the window said: *SMOKE WOODBINES* J. Wilkinson (prop.).
    “Woodbines?” said Bigmac.
    “It’s a kind of cigarette, obviously,” said Kirsty.
    A car went past. It was black, but not the dire black of the one on the hill. It had mud and rust marks on it. It looked as though someone had started out with the idea of making a very large mobile jelly mold and had changed their mind about halfway through, when it was slightly too late. Johnny saw the driver crane his head to stare at them.
    It was hard to tell much from the people on the streets. There were a lot of overcoats and hats, in a hundred shades of boredom.
    “We shouldn’t hang around,” said Kirsty. “People are looking at us. Let’s go and see if we can get a newspaper. I want to know when we are. It’s so gloomy.”
    “Perhaps it’s the Depression,” said Johnny. “My granddad’s always going on about when he was growing up in the Depression.”
    “No TV, everyone wearing old-fashioned clothes, no decent cars,” said Bigmac. “No wonder everyone was depressed.”
    “Oh, God,” said Kirsty. “Look, try to be careful, will you? Any little thing you do could seriously affect the future. Understand?”
    They entered the corner shop, leaving Bigmac outside to guard the cart.
    It was dark inside, and smelled of floorboards.
    Johnny had been on a school visit once, to a sort of theme park that showed you what things had been like in the all-purpose Olden Days. It had been quite interesting, although everyone had been careful not to show it, because if you weren’t careful they’d sneak education up on you while your guard was down. The shop was a bit like that, only it had things the school one hadn’t shown, like the cat asleep in the sack of dog biscuits. And the smell. It wasn’t only floorboards in it. There was kerosene in it, and cooking, and candles.
    A small lady in glasses looked at them carefully.
    “Yes? What can I do for you?” she said. She nodded at Yo-less.
    “Sambo’s with you, dear, is he?” she added.

THE OLDEN DAYS
     
    G uilty lay on top of the bags and purred.
    Bigmac watched the traffic. There wasn’t a lot. A couple of women met one another as they were both crossing the