But they weren’t like normal thistles. They seemed to be made of stainless steel—and they stank.
Luckily the needle-like thorns had missed Zack’s eyes, but he felt like they were stuck in every other part of his body.
But even worse was the terrible smell. It was hot and a strong wind was blowing.
What next? thought Zack. As if having his bum trying to take over the world wasn’t bad enough, now he’d caused the B-team to crash their bum-mobile.
For all he knew they could all be dead. And as usual, it was all his fault.
Then he heard Eleanor.
‘Zack, you idiot!’ she yelled. ‘I’m going to kill you!’
‘Can you get me out of these thistles first?’ he asked.
He felt Eleanor’s hand around his ankle and with one hard yank she pulled him free.
‘Aaaggghhh!’ screamed Zack, as hundreds of needles were pulled from his flesh at the same time. ‘Easy does it!’
‘Easy does it nothing!’ said Eleanor. ‘You’re in big trouble!’
Zack was lying on his back on hot sand, looking up at Eleanor’s face as if in a nightmare. Her eyes were bugged out and she appeared to be frothing at the mouth. Above her the sky was a bright brilliant blue. And the wind roared around them, blowing sand into Zack’s ears, eyes and mouth.
‘You idiot!’ she screamed. ‘You absolute idiot! You idiotic stupid moronic bloody idiotic idiot!’
‘But . . .’ said Zack.
‘Don’t interrupt me,’ spat Eleanor. ‘I haven’t finished yet, you crazy lame-brained pathetic dumb klutz fool!’
‘You forgot “idiot”,’ said Zack.
But Eleanor’s only response was to put her hands around Zack’s throat and start squeezing as hard as she could.
‘No, Eleanor!’ he yelled, but all that came out was a high-pitched strangled noise.
In the distance Zack could see the bum-mobile stuck nose-first in the sand. It was planted almost vertically. But apart from the bum-mobile there was nothing. Just desert as far as he could see. Hot windy stinky desert broken only by the occasional clump of the needle thistles. It was very much what Zack imagined Hell would be like, except without the flames.
‘I really don’t think you should do that,’ said a voice. ‘You might hurt him.’
‘That’s exactly what I intend to do!’ said Eleanor.
‘No,’ said the voice, ‘I think that’s a bad idea. Life is hard enough out here.’
‘You got any better ideas?’ said Eleanor.
‘Yes,’ said the voice. ‘Let him go. And have some of this oxygen. I think you’re suffering from methane madness.’
Zack felt Eleanor’s hands release their grip on his throat.
Zack looked up and saw a strange-looking man. He looked like a desert island castaway. He had a long beard and was wearing frayed and torn pants cut off at the knees. His skin was burnt a deep reddish-brown colour by the intense sun. But the really strange thing about him was that he was wearing scuba-diving gear—twin oxygen tanks on his back, a mouthpiece and a face mask.
He took the mouthpiece out of his mouth and gave it to Eleanor. She gulped deeply.
‘Hey, not too fast,’ he said. ‘Just take it slowly.’
Once she was calm, he knelt down next to Zack, who was still coughing and choking.
‘Here,’ he said, offering Zack the mouthpiece. ‘Take some of this. The methane in the desert wind is pretty poisonous. It does strange things to your head. Breathe it for too long and it will kill you.’
Zack took some deep lungfuls of oxygen.
It felt wonderful.
After a couple of minutes the man pulled the mouthpiece back out of Zack’s hands and took a few breaths for himself.
Suddenly Eleanor jumped up, screaming and slapping at her legs.
‘What’s the matter?’ said the man.
‘There’s something in my pants!’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s probably just stinkants. They won’t hurt you. Try not to squash them though.’
‘Why not?’ said Eleanor, still hopping and slapping.
‘Because if they pop, they stink,’ said the man matter-of-factly.
Eleanor immediately stopped her mad dance, and stood there squirming instead.
‘So what do I do?’ she said.
‘Just stand still,’ said the man.
He pulled a small cloth bag from the pocket of his shorts, opened the neck and poured some small white crystals around her feet.
‘What is it?’ said Eleanor.
‘Needleweed sugar,’ he said. ‘It’s very sweet. They love it.’
Zack watched, amazed, as a line of fiery red ants appeared at the bottom of Eleanor’s trouser legs, marched across her foot and swarmed all over the sugar.
‘Amazing things, stinkants,’ said the man. ‘They’re the only things that can survive out here—except for me and the needleweeds.’
Zack winced. He already knew about needleweeds.
‘You live out here?’ said Eleanor, staring at the man as if he was completely mad.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The Great Windy Desert is where the old farts come to die—including me!’
He laughed in a wheezy high-pitched way, which degenerated into a coughing fit. He took a few mouthfuls of his oxygen.
He held out his hand.
‘My name is Ned,’ he said. ‘Ned Smelly.’
‘Ned Smelly?’ said Eleanor. ‘Didn’t you used to be a Bum Hunter?’
He nodded slowly.
‘How did you know that?’
‘I’ve heard my father talk about you.’
‘Your father is a Bum Hunter?’ he said. ‘What is his name?’
‘Silas Sterne,’ said Eleanor.
‘Ahh! Silas!’ he said. ‘The greatest of the greats! We hunted together on many occasions. In fact, he was with me on my last hunt—the hunt that earned me my name. You see, I haven’t always been called Ned Smelly. But after our run-in with Stenchgantor, the Great Unwiped Bum, I was never the same.’
‘What happened?’ said Zack.
‘Well,’ said Ned, ‘to cut a long story short, I copped a full blast from the beast. To this day I haven’t been able to get rid of the stench. That’s why I live out here on the edge of the Great Windy Desert. My body odour is too offensive for normal human company.’
‘I can’t smell anything,’ said Zack.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Ned, raising his arm up and exposing his armpit.
Zack wasn’t even close, but it was the worst thing he had ever smelt.
The smell was so bad he started clawing at his nose to try to rip it off his face.
‘Hey, steady on,’ said Ned, offering Zack his oxygen mouthpiece. ‘Have some of this.’
Zack breathed it in and calmed down.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I needed that.’
‘Your father, as usual, came away from the encounter unscathed,’ said Ned. ‘But Stenchgantor remains, to this day, living in the Brown Forest.’
‘I thought it was the Black Forest,’ said Zack.
‘Not any more,’ said Ned. ‘Not since Stenchgantor took up residence there.’
Ned turned to Eleanor.
‘Is there anyone else in the bum-mobile?’
‘Oh no!’ said Eleanor. ‘The B-team! I completely forgot about them. Come on!’
Ned and Eleanor ran to the bum-mobile. Zack followed them, but he couldn’t run. His feet were still full of needleweeds.
By the time Zack got there, Ned and Eleanor had pulled the Kicker, the Smacker and the Kisser out of the bum-mobile and laid them in the shade of one of its wings.
They were all unconscious, but Ned used his oxygen tank to revive them and pretty soon they were all coughing and spluttering and the Kicker was threatening to kick Zack’s bum again.
After thinking that he might have killed them all, Zack felt relieved and almost happy to hear the Kicker’s threat again. In fact, he almost would have been glad if t
he Kicker had followed through. Zack knew he deserved it.
‘What brings you out here anyway?’ said Ned, passing the Smacker his mouthpiece.
The Smacker explained the situation.
‘That would explain all the flying bums I’ve been seeing lately,’ said Ned. ‘Thousands of them. All flying north. Big packs. There goes one now.’
They all looked up into the dazzlingly blue sky and saw a squadron of bums flying in a large bum-shaped formation, sounding like a squadron of bombers.
‘Wow,’ said the Kisser. ‘What a sight! There must be at least ten thousand of them up there.’
‘Wish my legs were longer,’ said the Kicker. ‘I could give ‘em what’s coming to ’em right now.’
The bums moved surprisingly fast across the sky. The group watched them until they disappeared into the horizon.
‘Why is the sky so blue here?’ said Zack.
‘It’s the methane,’ said Ned. ‘It intensifies all the colours. But it also makes you go a bit crazy.’
‘Everybody knows that,’ said Eleanor, looking at Zack pointedly.
Zack shrugged and looked at the ground.
‘Go easy on Zack,’ said the Smacker. ‘We’ve all got to learn sometime and I reckon Zack’s been on a pretty steep learning curve in the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Yeah,’ said Eleanor. ‘Now he knows all about why it’s a dumb idea to remove the spare gas cans from a bum-mobile.’
‘I oughta kick your bum,’ said the Kicker, staring at Zack with his unblinking red eyes, his face impassive and his voice low and dangerous.
‘Here, have some oxygen, you two,’ said Ned, rushing across with the mouthpiece. ‘You’re getting overheated.’
As Eleanor and the Kicker gulped their oxygen, Ned turned to the Smacker.
‘I’ve got to get you all inside,’ said Ned. ‘Methane madness will send you all insane. Why don’t you come back to my shack? It’s air-conditioned. Rest. Have a meal.’
‘Impossible,’ said the Smacker. ‘We haven’t got time. We have to get to the bumcano before it’s too late.’
‘And how exactly do you plan to do that?’ said Ned. ‘You won’t be going anywhere in that bum-mobile in a hurry.’
Zack could see that he was right. The bum-mobile was a mess.
‘Do you know where we can get another bum-mobile?’ said the Smacker.
Ned shook his head.
‘The only bum-mobiles around here are the ones that crash. I keep a shed full of spare parts. I trade them occasionally for oxygen tanks. I may be able to fix yours.’
‘How long would it take?’ said the Smacker.
‘Hard to say,’ said Ned. ‘One, maybe two weeks. Perhaps a month.’
‘We haven’t got that much time!’ said the Smacker, jumping up and grabbing Ned by the collar. ‘Don’t you see? It could be all over by then. A world controlled by bums. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT???’
She was screaming and shaking Ned by the throat.
‘Help!’ gasped Ned. ‘Oxygen!’
Zack grabbed the tank off Eleanor, rushed it to Ned and offered him the mouthpiece.
‘Not me,’ said Ned, pushing it towards the Smacker, ‘her!’
Zack pushed the mouthpiece into the Smacker’s mouth.
She breathed deeply. Her arms relaxed. Ned removed her hands from around his throat.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the Smacker. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Ned. ‘The effects of methane madness are nothing new to me. It can really do strange things to your head. I spent the first six months of my time here in a methane delirium. I thought I was the king of a large country and all the stinkants were my subjects. That was until I was able to build a shack and rig up a basic air-filtering system and calm myself down.’
Zack wasn’t sure that Ned wasn’t still in some sort of delirium. After all, he lived in the Great Windy Desert—one of the vilest places on Earth as far as Zack could see. And smell.
‘The truth of the matter,’ said Ned, ‘is that you can’t make it without a bum-mobile.’
‘We’ll go by foot,’ said the Smacker.
‘Are you kidding?’ said Ned. ‘Look, I’ve been to this vol . . . I mean bumcano.’
‘You have?’ said Eleanor.
‘Yes,’ said Ned. ‘I went there with your father once. It’s located on a small island in the middle of the Sea of Bums. Heard of it?’
‘Of course,’ said Eleanor. ‘The sea contains some of the oldest bums in the world.’
‘And some of the most dangerous,’ said Ned. ‘Bums with teeth. Bums with electrical charges. Huge stinging bumrays that span twenty metres and . . .’
‘Are you trying to scare us?’ said the Smacker.
‘I’m just trying to make you see reason,’ said Ned. ‘To get there by foot you’re going to have to face three of the most impossibly difficult—if not downright suicidal—challenges in the world. You’re going to have to cross the Great Windy Desert. A tall order for starters. And if by some miracle you survive that, you’re going to have to fight your way through the Brown Forest, which is full of stinkbogs and home to Stenchgantor. And then supposing, just supposing, you beat the odds and survive both of these challenges, you’re going to have to sail across the Sea of Bums. No easy matter, considering it’s not only full of the deep-sea bum monsters I have mentioned, but also home to Siren Bums and some of the wildest and most unpredictable storms on the face of the Earth . . . and all this without a boat!’
It sounded to Zack like a pretty convincing argument to stay put, but the Smacker just smiled.
‘What’s so funny?’ said Ned.
‘I thought you said it was going to be difficult,’ she said.
One hour later, after Ned had managed to convince the B-team that at the very least it would be folly to attempt to cross the Great Windy Desert without the benefit of his spare oxygen tanks, they were sitting in Ned’s shack while he prepared a meal.
‘I hope you’re hungry,’ said Ned, ‘because there’s plenty here.’
Zack was surprised at how spacious Ned’s shack was. It appeared to have been mostly cobbled together from the debris of crashed bum-mobiles. The chairs had been ripped from bum-mobile cockpits—the windows made from their windscreens.
Ned placed an enormous colander of what looked like steaming dark green seaweed on the table in front of the group. Whatever it was, Zack didn’t think it looked very appetising. And it smelt even worse.
But that was heaven compared to what came next. Ned placed a sizzling frying pan onto the table. It was full of something that was bright red and the smell of which made Zack’s eyes water and his nose burn.
‘Well, don’t be shy!’ said Ned. ‘Eat up! Needleweeds and stinkants are best eaten hot.’
‘Needleweeds and stinkants?!’ said Eleanor.
Zack could see he was not alone in his reaction. He watched as everybody at the table—except for Ned—sat there, smiling politely, not knowing whether to vomit or to simply pass out.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Ned. ‘I’ve de-needled the needleweeds. And I’ve un-stunk the ants. It’s perfectly safe. And very nutritious. I’ve eaten nothing else for years now.’
And so saying, he heaped a large steaming pile of needleweeds onto his plate, sprinkled it with the stinkants and placed a big spoonful into his mouth. Then he pushed the colander towards the Kicker.
‘I’d rather eat dog sick!’ muttered the Kicker.
The Smacker gave him a huge jolt with her elbow.
Ned looked up. His mouth was full of needleweeds and he was frowning.
‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.
‘He said, “I’d better dig in quick”,’ said the Smacker, seizing the serving forks and putting a small amount on the Kicker’s plate. ‘Because it looks so delicious it might not last long.’
‘Oh, no need to worry about that,’ said Ned. ‘There’s no shortage. This is the Great Windy Desert, you know. If
we run out I can easily scare up some more.’
The Smacker served the Kicker, ladled out a tiny amount for herself, and then pushed the bowl across the table to the Kisser and Eleanor whose faces were both white.
‘After you,’ said the Kisser to Eleanor, pushing the bowl towards her.
‘No, after you,’ said Eleanor, pushing it back.
‘No, no, no,’ said the Kisser. ‘Ladies first. I insist.’
‘You’re too kind,’ said Eleanor, her eyes narrowed.
‘Don’t mention it,’ said the Kisser.
‘Oh, but you are,’ said Eleanor, taking the serving forks. ‘The least I could do is to serve you first.’
And with that Eleanor began piling the Kisser’s plate high with the evil-smelling concoction.
‘That’s enough,’ said the Kisser. ‘No more, I beg you!’
‘Don’t be silly. You haven’t even got any stinkants yet,’ said Eleanor, upending most of the bowl onto his plate.
‘Yep,’ said Ned, who was shovelling his food into his mouth at an incredible rate. ‘Great source of protein! What about you, Zack? Not eating?’
Zack was trying to think of an excuse for not eating when Eleanor grabbed his plate.
‘I was just about to serve him,’ she said.
‘No, that’s quite all right!’ said Zack, trying to grab his plate back. But Eleanor was too quick. She piled what remained of the needleweeds onto his plate along with what was left of the stinkants.
‘There you go,’ she said, flashing Zack the fakest sweet smile he’d ever seen. ‘Eat it all up now. There’s a good boy.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But what about you? Don’t you want some too?’
‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘But I’m on a diet. I can eat pretty much anything I want except for stinkants and needleweeds. It’s a pity—they look delicious.’
‘I’ve got some spurts in the cupboard,’ said Ned. ‘Left over from the last plague. They’re a bit dry, but quite edible.’
‘No, it’s okay thanks,’ said Eleanor quickly. ‘Besides, I’d better get our gear ready. We’ve got a long trek ahead of us and we want to get as far as we can before sunset.’
‘Okay,’ said Ned, picking up his plate and licking it clean. ‘I’ll come and prepare your oxygen tanks.’
The Day My Butt Went Psycho Page 6