Un Lun Dun

31. Clearing the Air

As the minutes went by and the sky stayed dark beyond her curtains, Deeba felt so anxious she could hardly breathe. She wanted to run to her parents’ room and jump on their bed, wake them up and demand they be delighted and relieved that she was back. She wanted to examine the glove that Obaday had made, that she might have to give up in a little while. She wanted to read all the words on it carefully. But as the clock wound towards six in the morning, she knew she had a job to do, and she had to focus.

I’ll work out all the other stuff later, she thought, her heart pounding. Right now, I got to get ready.

“Hang on, Zann,” she whispered. “Brokkenbroll…do it right.”

She crept through the dark house, quietly gathering the equipment she needed, for the mission the Unbrellissimo had given her.

The second hand of the clock circled, mercilessly slow. The minute hand crawled. Zanna wheezed on the camp bed, tossing from side to side.

“Not long, Zann,” Deeba whispered.

Eventually it was five minutes to six. Four minutes to. Three. Deeba hesitated, then pulled on the glove Obaday had given her, for luck. In the half-light, she tried to read the words on it.

It was two minutes to six. One.

Deeba looked around, suddenly frantic. All the electrical points in the room were filled. She yanked a plug out of the socket, and the lights on her stereo dimmed. She plugged in her equipment.

The instant the minute hand touched twelve, dead-on six o’clock, Zanna began to shake.

“Come on, Zanna,” Deeba whispered.

Her friend shook, and snapped her arms and legs violently.

Zanna moaned, and held her breath for terrifying long seconds.

Breathe, thought Deeba. Breathe!

Then Deeba let out a cry of alarm. Crawling with serpentine motion and speed through her window came a tentacle of Smog.

She flailed at the thing, but it moved too fast. It whipped soundlessly through the room, stinking like exhaust, unrolled, and clamped on Zanna’s face.

“No!” shouted Deeba, and picked up her weapon. The Smog was tugging at her friend, and Zanna was exhaling.

I’ll make it gather itself, Brokkenbroll had said.

Streams of filthy smoke jetted from Zanna’s nostrils. She breathed out for a long time. The dirty spirals coiled over the bedclothes, coalesced into a dense clot, and hovered over the bed.

Deeba looked at the cloud, and she was sure it was looking at her.

Then, as filaments of smoke shot out towards Deeba’s face, she switched on the fan she held.

“Choke my friend?” she said, and blasted the smoggler with air.

It recoiled, but Deeba pursued it. She shoved the fan right into it, and the Smog dissipated in panic. She could feel the faint pressure of smuts in the air.

Deeba chased grubby wisps around the room. They scurried like slugs into the corners, and she stretched the fan to the limits of its cord, harassing them. One by one they slunk away, soaking into the carpet, or squeezing through cracks.

The Smog tendril poking through the window, all the way from UnLondon, reared up at her, but she thrust the fan at it, and it hesitated, then snapped suddenly back out of the window the way it had come.

There was a long moment of stillness.

Did I…do it? Deeba thought.

Deeba turned off the fan. She sniffed suspiciously, but there was only a hint of the Smog’s smell of petrol, coal, dirt, and sulfur. Its scum and muck was on her skin.

“Deeba?”

Zanna had opened her eyes.

“Zann!” Deeba said, and threw her arms around her friend.

“Deeba…? What happened? Where am I?” Zanna began to cough. You get it all up, Deeba thought. Get the last of it out.

She hugged Zanna for a long time.

“What happened?” Zanna kept saying. She winced and touched the back of her head. “What’s going on?”

Thank you, Unbrellissimo, Deeba thought. Thank you, thank you. And…well done me, too. For chasing the last of it away.

“It’s okay, Zann,” Deeba said. “You got hit by a stink-junkie and then the Smog got in you, but Brokkenbroll did something, and I just got rid of it, so…”

Deeba’s voice dried up at the sight of Zanna’s face.

“Deebs,” Zanna croaked. “What are you on about?”

“The…the Smog,” Deeba said. “On the bridge. With the Propheseers?”

Zanna shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

We don’t know how it’ll affect her, Brokkenbroll had said.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Deeba said.

“What do you mean?” said Zanna. “Yesterday? We…was it yesterday? I dreamt there was something outside my house, only…What is going on…?”

She don’t remember a thing, Deeba thought. It’s all gone. She stared in astonishment.

“What is this bloody noise?” Deeba’s mother opened the door in her dressing gown. When she saw the two girls, for a moment she stared at them blankly. Then she shook her head and blinked at them wrathfully. “It’s you two,” she said. “Banging around and shouting…It’s early, girls! Deeba, what are you…?”

She looked down in bewilderment as Deeba grabbed her in a big hug.

“Mum, Mum, Mum!” Deeba said.

“Yes, mad girl, it’s me,” Mrs. Resham said. “And despite this burst of endearing affection, you’re still too loud.”

Deeba looked up at her, too happy to care about her mother’s reaction.

“Sorry, Mrs. Resham,” said Zanna, and exploded with coughs again. “My head!”

Deeba’s mother blinked again and changed her expression. “You don’t sound well, dear,” she said. “Maybe we should get you home soon.”

Home, thought Deeba, and smiled.

“Maybe I should go,” groaned Zanna, wheezing. “I feel awful.”

We did it, Deeba thought. Despite seeing her friend in pain, not knowing what had happened to Zanna’s memories, the most important thing was that they were both there. Home. She felt overwhelmed.

“What are you grinning about?” her mother asked her.

We’re home, Deeba thought.