by Paul Cooper
Big Momma shook her shaggy head. ‘I know … it’s PIG!’
She pushed the table back and jumped to her feet. Curly knew there was no point trying to stay hidden now. He leapt out of the closet and raced down the hallway towards the front door.
‘Get him!’ shouted Papa John.
Both he and Big Momma started towards the door, but at that exact moment Babe swooned to the floor. With his massive body blocking the way out of the kitchen, Curly had the extra second or two he needed. He yanked the front door open.
As he flew down the steps, a welcome sight came into view. Tammy! The PiPs mechanic was pulling up alongside the kerb on a little scooter.
‘I found it outside one of the shops!’ the PiPs mechanic shouted. ‘Hop on!’
Curly raced down the front path and squeezed on to the little bit of seat not occupied by Tammy’s rear end. Tammy revved the little scooter’s engine. Its high-pitched whine sounded like a mosquito trying to lift a barbell, but it took off at a reasonable speed.
Behind them they could hear the angry shouts of the grizzlies emerging from the house.
Curly tightened his grip on Tammy’s shoulders. ‘What did you do to the bears’ motorbikes so they can’t follow us?’ he shouted.
‘Er …’ said Tammy.
Curly felt panic rising in him like an express lift zooming up to a floor marked Total Panic. ‘WHAT?’
‘That’s a good idea about the motorbikes,’ Tammy answered. ‘Wish I’d thought of that.’
Behind them they heard two of the gigantic motorbikes roar into life. The chase was on. Of course, the bears’ powerful motorbikes were much faster than one little scooter carrying two pigs. But Tammy was a skilled rider. She threw the scooter into tight corners, and weaved in and out of obstacles that the bulkier motorbikes weren’t able to pass. At one point she zipped up on to the pavement.
‘I’m not sure this is legal!’ cried Curly, holding on tight.
They whizzed around another corner and were greeted by a horrible sight – the rest of the Gruesome Grizzlies gang were zooming towards them from this direction. With bikers behind them and in front, they were trapped. Unless …
On the other side of the road was a park entrance with a set of metal bollards to stop motorized traffic. There was just enough space for the scooter, but the huge motorbikes would never fit.
Twisting the scooter’s throttle back, Tammy headed straight for it. Any second now they would be safe.
‘Wait!’ cried Curly.
Tammy hit the brakes and skidded to a halt. Curly was pointing to a small figure squatting next to a parked car. It was the bear cub.
Behind them the motorbikes were roaring closer.
‘Hey, kid!’ shouted Tammy. ‘Come here, quick!’ She did her best to smile in a friendly way.
The little cub scrunched up his nose. The motorbikes behind the pigs had rounded the corner, too.
‘Come on!’ shouted Tammy.
The cub got to his feet, and looked at all the big scary motorbikes coming their way. Then he shouted, ‘I don’t talk to strangers!’ and skipped away towards the bikers.
Tammy and Curly didn’t know what to do. Should they try and grab the cub or should they just save their own bacon? It didn’t matter anyway – it was too late now. The other group of bikers had cut them off. They began to ride around the pigs in a circle. The air was thick with the smell of oil.
Curly saw Big Momma reach down from her motorbike and sweep the cub up with one mighty arm.
That was too much for Curly: he couldn’t leave an innocent little cub with these dangerous bikers. He hopped off the back of the scooter and marched over to Big Momma, a determined look on his face and his bottom lip stuck out full. All the bears killed their engines, aware that something was going down. The little pig pulled himself up to his full height and put on his most official voice. ‘As a member of the Pigs in Planes international agency, I insist you release that bear cub immediately. If you co-operate, we’ll let you all off with just a written warning this time.’
This was the funniest thing the biker bears had ever heard. As their guffaws echoed, the little cub turned and stuck his tongue out at Curly. Then he gave Big Momma a bear-hug. That’s when Curly realized – the cub didn’t want to be rescued from the bikers – he KNEW them!
‘I think there may have been a misunderstanding,’ Curly began.
Big Momma glared. ‘We understand all right,’ she growled darkly. ‘We found Little Barney all alone in the streets. He’s one of our own now, and the Gruesome Grizzlies look after their own. So the question is – what are we going to do with you two little piggies?’
Curly gulped. He didn’t like the idea of parting company with his head. He had always been quite attached to it, mostly by the neck.
CHAPTER 10:
The Other Highway Code
The Gruesome Grizzlies crowded around the two pigs.
‘What shall we do with them, Big Momma?’ asked one bear.
‘Tow them behind the bikes?’ suggested another.
‘Pull their heads off?’ suggested a third.
Big Momma frowned. ‘We never actually do that, Algernon,’ she said. ‘It’s just a rumour we like to spread.’
Tammy piped up. ‘You should be helping us work out what’s happened to all the other bears on the island! Why is everyone except you and this cub still hibernating?’
Big Momma snarled. ‘We don’t care what the rest of bear society does. We’re outlaws. If everyone’s still sleeping, that just means more open road for us.’ She looked down at the pigs’ flightsuits. ‘And we don’t like pigs in uniforms coming here and telling us what to do.’ She turned to the bikers. ‘Take ’em away. Drop ’em in a cave or something.’
‘Wait!’ cried Tammy, stepping forward. ‘Under the Ancient Code of the Bikers, I demand the right to a Challenge.’
The biker bears found this even funnier than Curly’s warning.
‘Sorry, little piggy. The Ancient Code of the Bikers only applies to … bikers,’ laughed Papa John. ‘The clue is in the name.’
Without a word, Tammy unsnapped her cuffs and rolled one sleeve up. The tattoo on her upper arm showed a boar’s skull with flames all around it. Underneath it said GO HOG WILD!
‘I used to ride with the Hogs on Hogs,’ said Tammy. ‘So I’ll say it again. Under the Code, I challenge you to the most noble of all battles – Trial by Food.’
Big Momma snorted. ‘You may have been a biker once, but you’re still a puny little pig. And you’re challenging me, the roughest, toughest bear on the island, to an EATING CONTEST?’ Her huge mouth split into a grin. ‘You’re on. And when you lose, you and your little piggy friend are going to be in big, big trouble.’
She began to shout orders at members of the gang, telling some to set up a table in the road and others to go and get the food. While this was going on, Curly sat nervously with Tammy.
‘I … didn’t know you knew so much about bikers,’ he said.
‘When I was little, my babysitter was a member of the biggest motorbike gang on Pig Island,’ said the mechanic. ‘The Hogs on Hogs.’ She saw Curly’s confusion. ‘Hogs is a nickname for big old motorbikes. That’s why I don’t know any lullabies or little kiddie songs. As a piglet I only ever learnt hard rock classics. I never had a teddy bear or a dolly – I used to carry around the carburettor from a vintage Pink Streak 1,000cc motorbike.’ She looked over to where several bears were bringing trays of food for the contest. ‘When I got older, I rode with the gang for a while. It’s where I first got interested in engines.’
‘But aren’t biker gangs dangerous?’
Tammy shook her head. ‘There are a few with bad reputations, but even they follow the Code of the Bikers.’
This reminded Curly of the upcoming contest.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked. ‘That Big Momma is four times as big as you! She’s a GRIZZLY BEAR! They can eat massive amounts of grub!’
Tammy smiled heroically.
‘Yeah, but you’re forgetting something, Curly – I’m a bit peckish.’
Meanwhile Pete was still trapped in his nightmare.
The quiz questions kept coming at him and he knew every single answer, even the ones nobody ought to know. The studio audience of elderly pigs gasped in admiration at each new answer, and with each gasp he felt his Coolness Level drop further. If he carried on like this, he would enter the previously unknown territory of Negative Cool.
The quiz-master was still going strong: ‘What is the Latin name for the plant Deadly Nightshade?’
‘Atropa Belladonna,’ Pete heard himself answer.
He paused, not even listening to the next question. There was something about that last one, something important. If only he could put his trotter on it … DEADLY Nightshade? That didn’t ring any bells. Deadly NIGHTshade? Nope, that wasn’t it either.
Deadly NightSHADE. Pete felt his heart go SPROING! at the word shade. And yet … it still wasn’t quite right. What it needed was an s on the end.
‘Shades,’ he said aloud.
The quiz-master hesitated. ‘Erm, no. I’m afraid “SHADES” is not the chemical formula for calcium carbonate …’
She moved quickly to the next question. ‘What is the distance from our planet to Jupiter and back again, to the nearest centimetre?’
‘Mirror shades,’ said Pete, ignoring the question. ‘That’s what I should be wearing – mirror shades.’ He looked at the studio set all around him. ‘This is all just a bad dream. But it’s MY dream, and that means I get to say what happens in it. And Pete Porker doesn’t go anywhere without shades.’
He dipped a trotter into his pocket again. This time it closed around the familiar shiny plastic of his shades. Pete pulled them out and popped them on.
That was better! He might not be able to see all that well with his shades on, but he could certainly think better. And what he thought now was, I’m way too cool for a crummy nightmare like this.
As soon as he thought this, the cardigan disappeared in a puff of smoke.
He looked around at the TV studio. I don’t think much of this either, he thought, and instantly everything began to shimmer and change. Before he knew it, he was standing on a sandy beach. The studio audience of elderly boars had become a group of fellow sun-worshippers. Pete realized that he himself was wearing nothing now but his shades, his bright-red Speedio trunks, and a gold chain with letters that spelled out WHO DA PIG? A breeze was blowing but Pete knew that not a single strand of hair was breaking rank from his quiff: that’s what six bottles of gel and hairspray every day will do for you.
He smiled – all was well with the world again.
And now, he thought, it’s time to wake …
Pete opened his eyes.
‘… up!’
CHAPTER 11:
Battle of the Biker Bellies
Both eaters in the contest set off at a good pace. Big Momma favoured sweeping the food into her mouth with a swipe of her gigantic claws, while Tammy preferred to bend down and vacuum the food off the plate with her snout. In this way, they matched each other plate for plate. After each one was emptied, the eater would shout ‘CLEAR!’ and another loaded plate would be placed on the table.
The early rounds went fast – tottering stacks of pizzas disappeared, mountains of mashed potatoes vanished, industrial-sized buckets of tomato soup were drained in single guzzles.
With the bears all roaring for their leader, Curly wanted to cheer his team-mate along, too. He was just never quite sure what to say at sporting events. He settled on, ‘Chew and swallow, chew and swallow … that’s it, Tammy, find your rhythm! Chew and swallow, chew and …’
Tammy stopped eating for a moment and just looked at him.
‘Oh, er … come on, Tammy!’ cried Curly, deciding general encouragement might be better.
On and on the two contestants ate. After thirty minutes of relentless chomping, the strain was beginning to show. Both eaters had slowed down. Tammy had gone a worrying shade of red, while Big Momma’s little eyes looked glassy and dazed. But neither gave in – it was a matter of species honour now.
As they neared the hour mark, every bite, every swallow, became an effort. Both bear and pig looked ready to burst. As yet more plates arrived, Tammy groaned and pushed her chair back from the table. Crowding around, all of the Gruesome Grizzlies held their breath – this little pig had put up a terrific fight, much better than anyone expected, but now she was about to admit defeat.
Tammy winced in pain. She rocked her head back and then …
‘BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRP!’
She unleashed a volcanic burp.
The bears looked on in astonishment as Tammy patted her tummy and grinned. ‘That’s better!’ she said brightly. ‘Just needed to clear a little room.’
She started tucking in to the next plate of food with renewed energy.
This was too much for Big Momma. The gigantic grizzly slumped back. ‘Enough,’ she moaned. ‘I can’t eat another thing.’ She looked at the pig with bleary eyes. ‘You win. State your victory terms.’
Awake at last, Pete looked around. He was still lying in Oswald’s laboratory. Feeling thick-headed from his nightmarish sleep, he sat up … and noticed that he was all alone. Where was Brian?
Pete rushed out into an empty corridor. His gut instinct told him to check out the main part of the factory, so he headed in that direction. As usual, his gut was correct – when Pete reached the factory floor, he spotted Brian. The PiPs medic was lying, still fast asleep and flat on his back, on one of the many machines in the room. His face was twitching and grimacing as if he was in the grip of a terrible nightmare.
There wasn’t time to find out what, because there was someone else here – Dr Oswald. Still in his lab coat, the little koala was scurrying towards the exit on the other side of the factory floor.
‘Stop right there, Ozzy!’ shouted the PiPs captain.
The koala looked surprised to see Pete awake, but only for a second. ‘Your nap ended earlier than expected,’ he said. ‘No matter.’ A little smile played on his face.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You have a bear behind,’ answered the koala.
‘Yeah, right! I think I’d know it if I had a bare behind,’ snorted Pete. He secretly reached a trotter round the back just to double-check there wasn’t an unfortunate botty-displaying rip in his trousers.
Then he heard a low growl and looked round. It was a bear! A bear behind him! What’s worse, it was Bruno the ex-cage-fighting grizzly, flexing his claws in preparation for action.
‘And now if you’ll excuse me,’ said Dr Oswald. ‘I cannot bear the sight of blood.’
‘Me neither,’ said Pete. ‘Especially my own.’
Oswald left, but Pete hardly noticed. His full attention was taken by Bruno, who was bearing down on him with a mean-looking grin.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ said Pete. ‘Violence never solves anything.’
In answer, the grizzly slashed at Pete with his long, sharp talons. Pete leapt back just in time. ‘Oi!’ he cried. ‘You want to give those claws a bit of a trim, mate. You could do someone a nasty injury.’
But Bruno wasn’t the sort of bear who worried about health and safety regulations too much. ‘Stay still, pig, and fight like a bear!’ he snarled, swinging again.
‘I’d rather fight like a pig and duck!’ answered Pete, and he did duck, right under the bear’s massive shaggy arm. He raced forward on to one of the factory machines. Bruno watched as the pig scrambled across it. ‘You can’t run forever,’ he said darkly. He too climbed on to the piece of machinery and started to clamber across.
‘Maybe I don’t need to,’ said Pete, looking back. He clicked a switch on the wall and the machine came to life. It was the big circular drum and it began to spin around at high speed.
‘Enjoy the ride,’ said Pete.
‘WAAH!’ replied Bruno, whooshing round and round in a high-velocity blur. He was only able
to hold on for a few seconds at such speed, and then he shot off, slamming into the wall.
It was then Pete realized that the spinning drum wasn’t the only machine on the factory floor that he had switched on. All of the automated machinery had come to life. Engines whirred and belts hummed, and Pete realized to his horror that Brian was lying on top of one of the now-moving conveyor belts.
It was carrying the PiPs medic right towards another machine – the one with the blade that usually chopped the beeswax off the honey frames. Only now it wasn’t going to be a beeswax chopper.
It was going to be a bacon slicer.
Pete whirled around to turn the main switch off again. There was just one tiny problem, although in fact it wasn’t very tiny at all: it was big. And hairy.
Bruno was back on his feet and blocking Pete’s way to the switch. After slamming into the wall, he was as angry as a bear with a sore head. This was because he WAS a bear with a sore head.
And also some very sharp claws.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the factory floor, Brian continued to trundle towards the whirring blades of the chopper. If Pete didn’t do something fast, things were going to get very messy …
CHAPTER 12:
A Sticky End
The biker bears were all looking at Tammy with new-found respect. She had the right now to make any demands she wanted.
‘I only want information,’ Tammy told them. ‘I want to know why your gang and Little Barney are the only ones who are still awake?’
Big Momma shrugged. ‘We just thought everyone else was really tired.’
‘Hold on,’ piped up Curly. ‘Not all of the Gruesome Grizzlies are still awake. That big one called Babe fell asleep back at the little cottage, after he ate his porridge.’
‘He’s still sleeping,’ confirmed one of the bikers. ‘I tried to wake him up.’
Tammy nibbled some more food to help her think. ‘Perhaps it was the porridge?’