Plan B

Plan B is the eleventh chapter in the Wombles Eight.

Tara was in her house, sorting through her plans for stopping Katy while the radio had its advert break and her caramel latte wasn’t done yet. It was rather tiring, so she fell asleep.

''Tara wasn’t quite sure where she was. She had woken up somewhere, not from sleep, but from death.''

''Someone was standing over her with their hand on her immortality device. That must be whoever had brought her back to life.''

''“I’m evil.” Said Tara. “Why on Earth would you want to bring me back to life?”''

''“You’re not completely evil, Tara Keel.” Replied the woman, smiling. “You have plenty of potential to be one of the good guys – perhaps even more than that.”''

“What do you mean?” asked Tara.

''“You can either spread evil, and be like a destructive monster to this world. Or you can spread good, and be like a guardian angel to this world. Either way, you will become one of the strongest magical beings this planet has ever known. Either way, you may still have to work with the other side to ensure your goal is achieved. The question is whether you choose dark, or light. It is entirely up to you.”''

Tara thought for a minute.

“I choose light,” she breathed.

Tara awoke from the memory to see that her caramel latte was done and the advert break was over.

At Mother’s house Constantine was exasperated. He had tried everything he could without success to either find or summon It. “It’s no good guv’nor” he declared to Mother and Father. “There’s only one way to get rid of this demon.”  Father looked worried but Mother already knew how. “I need to see Doctor Fate and get the dagger back.”  He stated it as fact rather than ask. “Right first time. Now last I ‘eard ol’ Kent was in LA.” Constantine replied.

“LA?” said Father looking confused. “But I swear I saw him on the news recently. At a press conference about the new Government.”  Constantine shook his head. “Look love, if Kent was in London I’d know. And I don’t!” he replied. “You don’t know! You don’t know? Well I do know! Mother drive us to Grand Steed Manor!”  Father retorted.

“Love! I’m telling ya that he is not in London!” Constantine’s patience was being tried. Mother chimed in now. “If my sister says London then it’s London! She doesn’t lie!” he snapped. Father was pleased that her brother had sided with her. “Let’s go and see Mr Clark Kent!” she said triumphantly as all marched out of the door. “Goodbye for now Mr Constantine!” Mother added. Constantine shouted back “It’s Kent Nelson! Not Clark bloody Kent! He’s Superman you silly”. But he was cut short as the big Bentley roared away. It wasn’t far to Grand Steed Manor. David Vincent open the gates for them. The Bentley screeched up to the house. Somehow David was there again to open the front door for them. This confused Mother but there were bigger things to worry about. He was ushered in to the throne room where Steed was sipping single malt whisky and singing loudly lily white babes.

“Steed! I need to see Clark Kent immediately!” shouted Mother with Father nodding in agreement. “It’s Your Majesty to you!” said Steed sternly. “And why would a journalist be here?” he asked. “Well where is he?” asked Father. “At his newspaper office of course! He is a journalist! Probably writing about how great I am!” said Steed in a condescending tone.

“And how great I am” said Gambit appearing behind Mother and Father. “And me!” added Charlie slipping out from behind Gambit. “Apologies your Majesties!” snapped Sir Mother. “Quite right too” said Gambit. “He works for the London Bugle now” said Steed. “Thank you” said Father and she and her brother headed back to the car.

David Vincent was there again opening things where he couldn’t possibly have reached. Sir Mother really wondered about that but headed to the office of the London Bugle where they met with Clark Kent.

Sir Mother said “Mr Kent we’ll cut to the chase. I know that you are the master of the dark arts who so long ago showed where It was.” “Where what was?” asked Clark. “You don’t need to pretend. I know you gave me that dagger.” Sir Mother replied. “Dagger? What dagger?” replied Clark. “I know it was you who enabled me to make It mortal.” Mother continued. “Make what mortal?” asked Clark. “But It is back!” said Sir Mother. “It is? What is it?” asked a now very confused Clark.

“It is back!” shouted Sir Mother. “But what is it?” asked Clark. Sir Mother sighed and drew a creepy clown picture with a do I really have to spell it out to you kind of look on his face. “It’s a clown?” asked a perplexed Clark. “Yes! It is a clown!” shouted Mother. Clark gave up, wrote nice picture on Mother’s sketch and threw Mother out into the street.

“That was harsh Mr Kent” said Father. “I don’t deal with weirdos and crackpots. Even if they like brandy a lot!” replied Clark. Father replied in a soothing voice “Mr Kent my brother is finding this difficult. He knows who you are and wants the same help you gave him all those years ago.”  “He knows I’m Clark Kent? Well it’s written on my desk!” replied Clark getting a bit angry now.

“No Mr Kent! He knows your other name. Your alter-ego!” Father replied hiding her anger. “Really? And who am I supposed to be?” Clark asked. “You are none other than Doctor Fate!” shouted Father. “Seriously?” was all Clark could say then he went to lunch.

Father walked out to where Sir Mother was waiting at his car. “Well?” he asked. “He just denies it. He went to lunch.” Father replied. “I didn’t see him leave” said Sir Mother. Just then Superman landed next to them. “I hear that you’re looking for Doctor Fate” he said. “Superman!” said Sir Mother who really was a fan. “Oooh!” said Father who was an even bigger fan.

“Get in your car! I’ll fly you to him!” Superman said smiling. The siblings got in and Superman flew them to LA. “So he is in LA? Constantine was right?” asked Father. “Yes Ma’am!” replied Superman. He put down the car, saluted and flew back to his Kentcave.

Sir Mother looked to see where they were. There were a lot of colourful cars and people showing off. “You here to race?” said one of the people. “Race?” repeated Sir Mother confused. “What do you mean?”  “Oh, well look what we have here.” said a muscular bald man walking up to the Bentley. “A stupid Englishman who got lost in the streets of the city. Well, now it’s your choice if you’re going to race or not. But if you do, know one thing. You’re either with us or you’re not. Ride or die.”  “I’m not stupid!” Sir Mother snapped, “I’m the former head of MI12!” The bald man smirked, “But you’ve got no authority here. So if you’ve come to arrest us-“  “I haven’t! I didn’t even mean to come here!” “Well then, make your choice.”  “I don’t have a choice… You’re all blocking my car… It’s too big to go anywhere else.”  “Interesting. So tell me, spy- You know how to drive?”  Sir Mother looked exasperated and shouted. “Drive? Drive! I was driving in war zones before you were born!”  The bald man got into his car which had a giant engine sticking out of the hood. Everyone looked pleased. “You can’t leave here till you’ve raced.” The bald man explained, “No doubt I’ll take your ride! And an old man’s car is as good a car as any.”  The rest of the crowd fell silent, then the bald man slammed shut his car door. “Let’s race!” he said, and got in.

“Are you ready!” shouted a blonde woman who was standing in front of their cars. The bald man revved his car to show off. It gave out a throaty roar. “Three, two, one, go!” shouted the blonde. The bald man roared away with Sir Mother trailing far behind in his wake.