by Justin D'Ath
‘It’s that terrible new disease, sir. Our drivers are worried about catching it.’
James looked worried, too. ‘Have there been any cases locally?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ said the woman. She seemed to hesitate. ‘I don’t like to ask, sir, but how’s your health today?’
‘I don’t have RF2, if that’s what you mean.’
‘And are you travelling alone, or with others?’
‘There are two others with me,’ James said. ‘They don’t have it, either.’
‘And do you all have surgical masks?’
James frowned at Colt, who wasn’t wearing his. ‘Yes, we all have masks.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said the voice from the box. ‘I’ll get a taxi there as soon as I can.’
James stepped out onto the empty road and stared towards town. ‘How far is the GovFarm, Colt?’
Colt’s mother used to work at the Culdesac GovFarm, but he’d never travelled there from this part of town. ‘It’s way over on the other side. I’d better get moving,’ he said, and went sprinting off down the road.
‘Hey!’ his father called after him. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To the circus,’ Colt called back. ‘See you later.’
Birdy stood watching him, her hands on her hips. She didn’t bother running after him. What was the use? He was Superclown, the fastest person alive.
‘Isn’t he incredible?’ she said.
James didn’t answer. He was watching something else. A little orange speck had appeared in the southern sky, just above the horizon.
‘Be careful, son,’ he murmured.
★★★
Colt had seen the helicopter, too. It was still five or six kilometres away, but it was travelling much faster than him. He swerved across the road. Three boys wearing surgical masks were kicking a football in a small, grassy park. They looked about eight years old. Their scooters lay next to the footpath. Colt came skidding to a halt.
‘May I borrow one of your scooters?’
The boy holding the ball looked amazed. ‘Aren’t you that kid we saw on HV?’
Colt nodded.
‘Are you really Superclown?’
He nodded again. ‘I need one of your scooters to get to the GovFarm. It’s really important.’
One of the other boys came forward. ‘You don’t look like Superclown.’
‘I’m not wearing my clown gear, but I am him,’ Colt said, one eye on the distant helicopter. ‘I really need to borrow one of your scooters.’
‘Prove it,’ said the first boy. ‘Prove you’re really Superclown, and you can use mine.’
‘Okay. Give me the football.’
The boy handed it over. ‘Do a really long kick.’
Colt did a really long kick.
★★★
WHUMP!
‘What was that?’ gasped Superintendent Katt.
The pilot was gaping at a big, egg-shaped dent that had just appeared in the middle of the helicopter’s shatter-proof NuGlass windscreen.
‘I know this will sound stupid,’ he said, ‘but it looked a lot like a football.’
From the outside, Culdesac GovFarm resembled a prison. A huge brick wall ran all the way around it. The wall was five-and-a-half metres high, with shiny coils of razor wire snaking along the top. There were no windows or doors, just a big steel gate. When Colt’s mother used to work there, a small sign on the gate said ‘Department of Milk Production’. Now there was another sign. It was much bigger. It showed a big white rat in an orange circle, with an orange stripe running diagonally across it. The new sign said:
QUARANTINE ZONE
ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE
Colt came sliding to a stop, leaving a fifteen-metre trail of burned rubber behind him. He was sweaty and out of breath. Smoke coiled up from the scooter’s wheels and the sole of his right sneaker was worn all the way through to the sock. The sock had a hole in it, too. His foot felt hot. He’d got here in less than two minutes. But not quickly enough.
There was a loud, mechanical roar and the whop, whop, whop of rotors. Dust swirled around him. Colt looked up at the sky as the orange belly of a helicopter passed low overhead and disappeared behind the wall.
Officer Katt had arrived.
Dropping the scooter on the road, Colt limped over to the gate. His right foot left sticky red tracks behind him. He still hadn’t regained his breath. He banged on the gate. It felt as solid as a cliff. There was a button that rang a bell inside. He pushed it and waited. Two security cameras pointed down at him. He wondered if anyone was watching. One of the rat cops, perhaps. They wouldn’t let him in. Ringing the bell was a waste of time. He banged the gate again. Thump, thump, thump. His mother was in there, along with Birdy’s parents, Captain Noah, and everyone else who worked and travelled with the circus. They were like Colt’s family now. The animals were in there, too – all the amazing Lost World animals that he and his mother had become so fond of since they joined the circus nearly a year ago. They were like his family, too.
Especially Lucy the elephant, who had probably had her baby by now.
Until recently – until today – she’d been the only elephant in the world. Nobody thought there’d ever be another one.
And now Officer Katt was going to kill both elephants, mother and baby. She was going to kill all the Lost World animals.
Unless Colt stopped her.
He peered up at the gate. There was razor wire coiled along the top, just like on the walls. It would cut him to shreds. James had warned him about pushing his luck too far. Colt was Superclown, his body could heal itself after most injuries, but what if he bled out? There’d be no coming back from that.
He turned his attention to the wall. It was made of bricks and mortar. A few weeks ago, he’d punched his way through a wall much like this one. But he’d wrapped a chain around his knuckles first. There was no chain here. Nothing to protect his fists. And the damage he’d do to himself might take hours to heal. A superhero with smashed-up hands wasn’t going be much use against Officer Katt.
Could he jump over the wall?
He backed away from it, taking deep breaths, flexing his leg muscles, swinging his arms. Superclown had never jumped that high before. And the razor wire on top made the wall seem even higher. He’d have to clear it by at least half a metre. Could he jump six metres? Then there was the problem of landing on the other side without breaking his ankles or legs.
Does it want to go in?
Colt’s scalp prickled. He knew that voice. But its owner was dead.
Does it want to go in? the voice repeated.
Colt turned in a circle. ‘Where are you?’
Near its feets.
He looked down. He was standing in the gutter next to one of those square iron gratings where rainwater flowed away. A white, whiskery nose poked up through one of the slots.
‘I thought you were dead,’ said Colt.
The nose twitched. We alive.
It must have been a different animal. They were 800 kilometres from Mimosa, where he’d seen the last one. Where he’d seen the last one die, he reminded himself. Why was the world suddenly full of talking ghost rats? Was he losing his mind?
Is it going to stand there all day? the rat asked. Or does it wants to go in?
Colt shrugged. ‘I want to go in.’
Follow us, said the rat, and disappeared down the drain.
It was like that famous book where Alice followed the talking rabbit down the rabbit hole. Total madness. But this wasn’t the first time today that Colt had followed a talking rat underground. He gripped the grating with both hands, flexed his muscles and heaved. The grating swivelled upwards, revealing a square hole barely wider than Colt’s hips. It looked dark down there. And deep. He couldn’t see the bottom.
‘Are you there?’ he called.
We not deaf! its voice came echoing up.
‘Okay, stand clear,’ Colt said. He didn’t want a repeat of what happene
d to the last ghost rat that had helped him. ‘I don’t want to squash you.’
Gingerly, he lowered himself into the open drain. His feet dangled for a moment, then they scraped on a horizontal surface. It felt cold and damp through the hole in his right sneaker. He let go with his hands and folded himself in a circular EcoCrete pipe. It was only half the size of the one back at Mimosa – Colt could barely squeeze into it. But at least he could see, thanks to his glowing eyes.
The rat was waiting for him, its long, white whiskers waving about like the legs of a daddy-long-legs spider. Follow us, it said.
‘I can’t. It’s too narrow.’
Slide on its belly.
Colt had no choice but to obey. He had to get into the GovFarm somehow, and this seemed a better option than jumping over the wall. The rat scuttled off ahead of him, stopping every so often to look back.
Rat slow, it said once.
Colt didn’t even ask what that meant. He concentrated on worming his way along the pipe. Every second counted. How long was it since Officer Katt’s helicopter had arrived?
They came to a junction. Their pipe continued straight ahead, while another one branched off at right angles. This pipe had smooth PVC walls and was barely wider than Colt’s head. The rat scurried into it.
Not far now, it said.
Colt peered in. ‘I can’t fit in there.’
The animal came scuttling back. Rat make skinny.
‘I’m sure it’s no problem for you,’ Colt said crossly. ‘But I’m twice as big as the pipe.’
Rat bend its bones.
Colt gritted his teeth. Had he followed this stupid creature all the way in here for nothing? He should have tried jumping over the gate. ‘I’m not really interested in what rats can do,’ he said. ‘As you can see, I’m not one.’
The rat’s nose quivered. It smells like rat.
‘I do not!’
The animal edged closer and sniffed again. It didn’t say anything this time, but Colt knew what it was thinking. And suddenly it dawned on him.
‘Is that why you’re all helping me? Because you think I smell like a rat?’
The rat was silent for a few moments longer, then it said, It help us.
Whatever that meant. It was talking in riddles like the rabbit in the Alice story. But there was nothing confusing about the next sound Colt heard – the shriek of an enraged elephant. It came from the other end of the PVC pipe.
‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘I’m coming through.’
Colt had no idea how he squeezed himself into such a narrow space, but somehow he followed the rat. The pipe was so narrow that his ears rubbed against its sides. So did his nose – the PVC smelled faintly of cow poo. Something in his pocket went crunch. It was Channel 12’s special transmitter glasses. But the rest of him was okay, apart from a weird, tight feeling all along his body and a sickening sense of claustrophobia. All at once Colt felt a new respect for Mrs Procopis, the circus contortionist.
He could still wiggle his ankles. That’s how he was moving, propelling himself along the pipe with his toes. Luckily, the pipe was coated with slime – it smelled like cow poo but acted like oil, allowing him to slide through without getting stuck. But it was really scary. Only his concern for Lucy kept him from panicking. She’d sounded enraged, but it wasn’t a scream of pain. Colt held onto that thought. It mightn’t be too late to stop Officer Katt.
But he had to hurry.
Then he heard the rat again. Follow us!
‘I . . . am . . . following.’ (It was difficult to talk when his lungs were so squashed.)
It’s going wrong way. Must climb up now.
Colt raised his chin and tried to see ahead. The pipe dwindled into the distance. There was no sign of the rat. ‘Where . . . are . . . you?’
Above it. The rat’s voice seemed to come from behind him. Roll over.
Colt squirmed and wiggled. It was like twisting the cork in the neck of a bottle. Finally he made it around far enough to see the rat. Gravity told him he was lying on his back. Another pipe fed into the one where he was lying. It went straight up. About two metres above him was a stainless steel grille. Light shone through the slots. The rat clung to the underside of the grille, looking down at him.
Come up, it said.
‘I . . . can’t. I’m too . . . big.’
Bend its bones.
Making a right-angle turn in such a confined space would have stumped even Mrs Procopis. It was impossible.
Just like talking rats were impossible, Colt thought as he wormed his way up the pipe until his head was just below the impossible rat.
‘Can you move . . . out of my way?’
Can’t go anyplace, the rat said.
It was trapped between Colt and the grille. The grille had slots like the grating back at the road, but these ones were narrow – much narrower than the rat.
‘Bend your bones,’ Colt told it.
Holes too little, it replied. Humans put it here to stop rats.
GovFarms were rat-free facilities. Their outer walls were sprayed with a special deterrent to keep rats out. The stainless steel grille at the top of the pipe was there for the same reason – to stop rats getting in through the drains. But it couldn’t stop Colt.
‘Squeeze . . . past me,’ he said.
With a whole lot of squirming and squeezing and wiggling – and perhaps a bit of bone-bending – they swapped positions. Now Colt was above the rat. His head almost touched the grille. But because the pipe was so narrow, he couldn’t bring his hands up past his body to open it. So he had to use his head like a battering ram. Thump! The grille flew open.
Uh-oh, he thought.
The blow had nearly cracked his skull. His head throbbed, stars swirled across his vision, and he could feel something warm and wet in his hair that could only be blood. But none of that mattered. What worried him was his droopy eyelids. Suddenly he was beginning to feel tired. Kicking the football, breaking the road speed limit on a borrowed kids’ scooter, then squeezing through the pipes had taken a lot of energy.
His superpowers were beginning to wear off.
Colt oozed out of the vertical pipe and collapsed on a hard EcoCrete surface, his chest heaving as he gulped in great lungfuls of air. Slowly his head cleared. He sat up and took in his surroundings. He was in a big, echoey shed. Before him stood a row of narrow, gate-like stalls with milking-cups dangling from hoses. He knew this place. His mother had brought him here a few times. It was called the dairy. The GovFarm workers milked the cows here twice every day. But they weren’t here now. Colt was alone. Well, not entirely – the talking ghost rat had just scrambled out of the drain after him.
‘Are there more holes?’ Colt asked. ‘Does that pipe we were crawling along connect with other pipes that come up into the GovFarm?’
Comes up many holes, said the rat.
That explained it. When they heard Lucy shriek, she could have been standing near any one of them.
As if it could read his mind, the rat asked, Wants it to go back down?
Colt shook his head. He’d spent enough time in drains today. More than enough. He was inside the GovFarm and so was Lucy – as well as whatever it was that had upset her. (No prizes for guessing, he thought.) All he had to do was find them.
‘Do you know where the elephant is?’ he asked.
What is elephant?
‘It’s like a big . . .’ Colt began, then gave up. An elephant wasn’t like anything except an elephant. How could you describe one to a rat? ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said.
There was a roller-door at the other end of the dairy. Colt shuffled towards it. Somewhere in the drain system he’d lost his ruined right sneaker. The remains of his sock dragged along the floor behind him. His foot felt fine, though. And his head was no longer throbbing. But he still felt tired and sleepy. Everything seemed too bright. It was like being in a dream. Like sleepwalking. He yawned.
If he didn’t eat something within the next five or ten minutes
, he was going to pass out.
Colt reached the roller door and put an ear to it. There were noises outside. Shuffling hooves. Heavy breathing. And suddenly: Moo!
It was cows.
He lowered himself to his knees on the cold EcoCrete and raised the door just high enough to see under. Gross! There was cow poo everywhere. They were standing in it. Flies buzzed about. The smell was almost overpowering. A huge, hairy white-and-pink nose appeared in the gap, its wet nostrils sucking and blowing. Colt got a face-full of warm, smelly breath. But it was better than the other smell. He raised the door a few more centimetres and looked up at the cow. More cows stamped and jostled all around it. They looked huge from that angle.
‘Hey cows,’ he said softly. ‘Are you alone out there?’
The ghost rat had followed him to the door. It crazy? Cows can’t talk!
Rats shouldn’t be able to talk either, Colt thought. Perhaps he was crazy.
Just cows, said one of the cows.
Colt wondered if the rat had heard. Wondered if he’d heard. This was beginning to feel more and more like a dream. He crawled under the roller door and joined the cows outside. There were fifty or sixty of them, perhaps more. They were all crowded into a yard no larger than a tennis court. Colt could hardly see the ground for cow poo. It was impossible not to walk in it. Some of the cows moved aside to let him pass, others bumped and nuzzled him with their big, wet noses.
Hungry, said one of them.
They had no food. Colt wondered how long they’d been cooped up in here. Where were the GovFarm workers who were supposed to look after them? Even under quarantine conditions, someone should have been caring for the cattle.
At least they had water. A long rectangular trough formed part of the fence. It was full. Colt pushed between two black-and-white cows and nearly fell into it. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was. Kneeling in the filth, he drank as much as he needed, then dunked his head right under. He came up snorting and blinking, but feeling refreshed and more wide-awake. For the first time he noticed what was beyond the fence.
From within, the GovFarm looked less like a prison than from outside. Its inner walls were decorated with murals showing pre-rat flu times. There were skillfully painted hills and paddocks, dotted with farm animals – not just cows and sheep, but horses, pigs, turkeys, alpacas. There were old-fashioned farmhouses and barns, with dogs, geese and chickens running about. There were even wild birds flying in the artificially blue sky. Colt used to love coming here with his mother. It was like going back in time to a world that no longer existed – the Lost World.