Night on Terror Island by Philip Caveney

over the top of the bins to look up the street. The cops were creeping out from cover. He lifted the Tommy gun and unleashed a barrage of bullets at them, sending them running back again.
    ‘I see you’ve got the hat,’ said a voice in Kip’s ear.
    ‘Huh? Oh yes. Now how do I get out of here?’
    Dillinger stopped firing for a moment. ‘Who are you talking to?’ he asked.
    Kip ignored him. He was too busy listening to Mr Lazarus giving instructions.
    ‘Remember the Retriever? The thing you are wearing around your neck?’
    ‘Oh yeah, right.’ Kip reached under his T-shirt and pulled the gadget out. ‘Got it,’ he said.
    ‘Pull back the metal cover,’ said Mr Lazarus. ‘It’s hinged. Underneath, you’ll find a button marked E XIT . Press that.’
    ‘OK,’ cried Kip. ‘As easy as that?’
    ‘Yes. Hurry now, there isn’t much time.’
    ‘Who the hell are you talking to?’ asked John Dillinger again.
    Kip glanced at him. ‘A friend,’ he said. He jammed Dillinger’s hat on his own head and tried to pull back the metal cover, but it was hard to open.
    ‘What’s that?’ asked Dillinger.
    ‘It’s a … lucky charm,’ said Kip.
    ‘Yeah? Maybe you should lend it to me. I think I’m going to need it. Tell you what, I’ll trade it for the hat.’
    ‘Er … no, don’t worry, your friends will be here any minute.’
    ‘Think so? Those cops are getting awful … oh rats!’ Dillinger suddenly leaped to his feet and started racing back the way he had come. ‘Run, kid!’ he yelled over his shoulder.
    Kip was puzzled. He turned and peeped over the top of the bins.
    A truck had been driving along the street alongside him, but now Kip could see that it was mounting the pavement and heading straight towards him. It was only now that he remembered the scene from the film. He caught a brief glimpse of a shattered windscreen and the driver slumped over his wheel, his face a mask of agony.
    ‘Oh hell!’ muttered Kip. He jumped to his feet and started to run after Dillinger, fumbling with the Retriever as he did so. The metal cover had a latch that just wouldn’t seem to come undone. He heard a loud crash behind him as the truck’s front bumper smashed into the bins and flung them in all directions … Desperately Kip forced his thumbnail under the Retriever’s metal cover, revealing the E XIT button, which was pulsing with a dull red glow. Kip turned his head to look back.
    Too late
, he thought. The truck’s metal grille was towering above him, only inches away and his head filled with the roar of an engine, his nostrils with the sharp stink of gasoline. In the same instant, his thumb closed on the button. For a horrible moment, absolutely nothing happened. Then he was melting again and a brilliant light filled his head, mingling with the fading roar of the truck’s engine.
    Suddenly, he was yanked backwards and he was crouched on the wooden platform, his arms held up to cover his face. He was back in the projection room and Mr Lazarus was smiling down at him.
    ‘Nice job,’ he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     

    KIP GOT UNSTEADILY to his feet. He was shaking from head to foot.
    ‘Good boy,’ said Mr Lazarus. He lifted the hat gently from Kip’s head. ‘You’ve done very well. Quite the little action hero. I saw some of what happened on screen but, unfortunately, when Dillinger ran from the truck, the camera stayed with him.’ He took Kip’s arm and helped him down from the platform. Kip opened his mouth and tried to say something but for the moment he was speechless. ‘Here, sit down a while,’ suggested Mr Lazarus. He helped Kip over to a packing case and eased him in to a sitting position. ‘Are you all right, my friend?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little … overwhelmed.’
    ‘I … I was nearly
killed
,’ whispered Kip.
    ‘Really?’ Mr Lazarus frowned. ‘Well, I did warn you it could be dangerous.’
    ‘There … there was this truck. It was coming straight at me.’
    Mr Lazarus smiled and