Free Revenge of the Giant Robot Chickens by Alex McCall Page A

up from behind the reception desk and charged at the giant bird. It hopped back, its wings spread, as if trying to flutteraway.
    “Hailey, entangle it. Get it into the pit thing!”
    One of the group pulled a chain from some pocket deep in her jacket and whipped it at the chicken’s leg, tugging sharply. The rest poked at it with their sticks. They drove it back to the lip of the sunken pit I’d noticed earlier then forced it in.
    Blake stroke forward. “Not so tough now, are you?” he taunted and swung his shock-stick.
    I thought I saw the chicken’s eyes flash. It raised a wing and the staff bounced off it with no effect. It looked angry.
    Blake stepped back and settled down into a boxing stance. “This just got interesting.”
    I returned to Glen, who was kneeling next to some boxes, playing with some sticky notes. “We’ve got a little bit of time.”
    “Good,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let’s get going.”
    For the next ten minutes Glen and I searched room after room, Glen scribbling in his notebook as he went. Although the university looked pretty, I wish it had been better organised. If I ever get to design a university it will have lots of arrows all over the place saying things like, ‘Emergency transmitters this way!’
    Finally our luck ran out. As we hurried along the next walkway we witnessed the chicken and Blake’s crew in a battle of the ages.
    I’ll say it again, as I’ve said it before. They might be crazy. They might be downright insane. But Blake and his crew certainly knew how to fight. Four of them stoodwith their shock-sticks glowing in their hands against the dark mass that was the chicken. One already lay on the ground, stick lying a few inches from her fingertips.
    The rest of the crew were putting up a good fight. They danced around the robot, hitting it several times all over its body, changing direction, jumping over strikes and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Blake was right in among them, always trying to strike the chicken’s face and hold its attention while his crew did what they did best. The robot struck at them with its wings but they either dodged or blocked with their sticks, throwing up glowing blue sparks. I couldn’t believe they’d held it off for ten minutes.
    But as valiant as they were, it was all in vain. At the end of the day they couldn’t hurt the chicken, and it only had to land a glancing blow for the shock in its wings to incapacitate them. Someone was swept out of the air with a lucky flick, someone else wasn’t quite fast enough to jump a hefty clawed kick. One by one they fell, until only Blake was left.
    He gave a scream of rage and charged forward, swinging his shock-stick hard. The chicken turned sharply, just brushing Blake with the edge of its wing, but that was enough. The sparks flew and Blake was felled at last.
    Then the chicken turned and stared directly at us.
    “Oh no,” I moaned and grabbed Glen’s hand, pulling him along. He hadn’t been following the fight; he’d been scribbling frantically in his notebook the whole time. Maybe he was making up the epic song Blake hadrequested. Though I was scathing of the guy, I had to admit he kind of deserved it after that performance.
    We ran through corridors, then stopped when we realised our boots were making a lot of noise against the pristine white floor. I glanced wildly around, Glen waiting for my instructions.
    “Get in here and stay quiet.” I pulled him into a room and we hid behind a desk. Through the glass panel of the door we watched the corridor outside.
    Then we heard it: a gentle tap-tap-tapping that echoed strangely around us. I felt the goosebumps shiver and migrate across my skin.
    It was coming.
    Closer and closer the sound came: tap, tap, tap, tap . A shadow passed across the door and I stared at it in mute horror, praying that it would pass.
    It slowed and stopped, looked around with those awful green eyes. I felt the sudden mad impulse to laugh, to