The Day the Screens Went Blank Danny Wallace (best summer reads .TXT) 📖

It’s a lot colder now though. So cold I can see my breath in the air. I look over and see Teddy asleep next to Mum who has her arm round him and she’s sleeping too.

And then I hear a noise.

Suddenly I’m very aware of every inch of my skin. My tummy tightens and I hold my breath.

The noise had been a kind of clunk-CLICK somewhere out near the car.

I sit up and stare out into the darkness.

Wait. Where was Dad? Dad wasn’t back.

‘Mum,’ I whisper. ‘MUM.’

I hear slow footsteps on gravel and the snap of twigs. And now – someone was clearing their throat.

‘MUM,’ I whisper again. She stirs and blinks a few times, then she sees…

There’s an old man walking towards us. He has a big beard, a weird old hat and a long coat. His eyes flicker in the light of the fire.

Mum draws us both close, as the man gets nearer, stops, and says…

‘You must be Mrs Bobcroft, is it?’

Mum screams! And I scream! And then Teddy pipes up and says, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

WHO IS HE?

‘Don’t worry!’ says Dad, running over from the car and carrying an old petrol can. ‘This is Uncle Tony!’

Uncle Tony is not our uncle.

Dad met him at the petrol station about five billion miles away. Tony had been dropping off some potatoes to his friend who manages the petrol station.

‘So isn’t that nice? Uncle Tony’s going to help us,’ says Dad, and Mum is all like pretending to be totally cool with it.

‘Oh yes, that’s nice,’ she says, collecting our things up incredibly quickly but keeping me and Teddy well away from him because – you know – stranger danger.

‘I only had the change from the Chinese meal to buy petrol with, and of course the screens on the pump weren’t working, but Uncle Tony convinced his friend to give me a little anyway. Plus Uncle Tony said if we give him a lift back to his farm we can stay in his caravan and in the morning he’ll give us a map.’

Dad looks slightly deranged. He seems so happy to have found some petrol, like things are finally going his way.

Tony doesn’t seem bothered either way. He is maybe seventy years old. His coat has loads of holes in it. He smells slightly of diesel. There’s a bit of straw in his straggly beard. He’s got a big red nose and steely blue eyes.

‘Um, or we could just use the petrol and get as far as we can?’ goes Mum.

But Dad says he’s promised Uncle Tony a lift.

Mum said it might be best if she sat in the back with me and Teddy because it would be much more comfortable for Uncle Tony if he sat up front all alone with Dad and she was right at the back where she could be with her kids.

She seemed wide awake now.

‘So, I don’t think we need to stay in Uncle Tony’s caravan,’ she says, all lightly and politely. ‘Probably best if we just drop you off, Tony, and then carry on.’

‘You won’t get far,’ says Tony, quietly, and Mum does this gulp like from a cartoon.

‘I could only buy a few pounds’ worth of petrol,’ says Dad. ‘Uncle Tony says we can borrow some of his, from his farm.’

Teddy gives me a Look. I know what this Look means. It means: ‘Why does Dad keep calling this man Uncle Tony and why are we going to his farm?’

‘And I’ve got eggs,’ says Tony. ‘And the lil’uns might like to ride the bull in the morning.’

I don’t want to ride a bull.

But Dad seems really into this Uncle Tony dude.

‘Uncle Tony was stuck at the petrol station,’ says Dad. ‘I found him reading the farming magazines and eating a sausage. He’d usually have texted someone to come and pick him up, isn’t that right, Tony? But you say you hadn’t really heard about the global international worldwide screen failure.’

‘No signal on the farm anyway,’ says Uncle Tony, and Mum gulps again.

‘Why are you called Uncle Tony?’ I ask.

‘Because I’m an uncle,’ he says.

He doesn’t say anything further but I guess he doesn’t have to. He’s got a nice accent. I think it might be Irish. Or German. I’m not 100 per cent great with accents.

‘So how far is it from here?’ says Mum, sounding a bit nervous. I think she might be worried we are suddenly in a horror movie. She’s always so worried about baddies that it’s made me and Teddy worry everyone is a baddie too. Mind you, I don’t blame her. It is so dark out here. There are no streetlights, and I can’t see any signs. Just a single lane, and bushes that get higher and higher and higher.

‘Not far now,’ says Uncle Tony.

‘So this is the caravan, is it?’ says Dad, trying to sound happy, as Uncle Tony shines a weak torch at it. I think Dad’s just relieved there’s a plan.

The farm is called Angry Woods and it’s extremely muddy. Every time I move my feet it’s like the world is trying to suck my shoe.

The caravan has a sign on it which says Bad Bertha’s Resting Place. I don’t know if this is good or not but it doesn’t seem good. The caravan is extremely small and very dirty on the outside. The only window has been boarded up with an old road sign and some nails. The door doesn’t look like it locks properly and I can hear a cow or something shifting around nearby. I want to go inside, but at the same time I really don’t want to go inside.

‘There’s no mod cons,’ mutters Tony. ‘No wi-fi. No TV. But then there isn’t anywhere now, is there? The world is quiet for once. None of that relentless babble. Life at last is silent.’

He looks up at the stars and breathes