The Day My Butt Went Psycho

by Andy Griffiths

  ‘At least I’m not a know-it-all!’ said Zack, who’d had enough of Eleanor’s superior attitude.

  Eleanor wheeled around.

  ‘I’d rather be a know-it-all than an idiot!’ she yelled. ‘Did you happen to notice who else you just voted with? The Kicker. The man who tried to kill you. The double-agent.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure,’ said Zack. ‘You said yourself we have no hard evidence.’

  Eleanor snorted.

  ‘You are so thick!’ she said. ‘How much more evidence do you need? The fact that he voted not to go into the bumcano proves that he’s a double-agent. He knows I’m right. He knows that plugging the bumcano would solve nothing. He’s on the bums’ side—not ours.’

  Zack had an awful sinking feeling.

  Like he’d just stuffed up again. Big time.

  He wanted to go back and have his vote again. But it was too late.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘So am I,’ said Eleanor, and she turned and walked away.

  Zack felt bad about his decision but he didn’t have much time to worry about it. The rest of what was left of the afternoon was taken up with pulling bumnut tree saplings out of the ground, collecting jungle twine and trapping bums.

  By nightfall they had made a bum-cage and filled it with forty feral bums—enough to make at least two nuclear bums. Zack watched as the bums bounced off the walls, the floor and the ceiling of their cage, hooting and calling the whole time. The smell was appalling, almost as bad as the smell emanating from the bumcano.

  Near the cage were two nuclear bum launchers. They were made out of two long, springy bumnut saplings at the edge of the jungle, the tops of which had been bent right over until they were almost touching the ground. All that was stopping them from springing back up was a short length of jungle twine. One tree was aimed in the direction of the main bumcano shaft. The other at the vent on its side. When the nuclear bums were cradled in the top of the tree and the twine was cut, the trees would spring back up and, like catapults, hurl the nuclear bums at their respective targets. Zack had to hand it to the B-team: they really seemed to know what they were doing.

  As it grew dark they sat around a campfire eating roasted bumnuts. The nutty wood tasted slightly like burnt toast, but it was the first real food they’d had since their rations had disappeared in the tornado so nobody was complaining.

  Behind them the jungle was alive with the calls of feral bums. Luckily the smoke from their campfire masked their stink as well as the terrible stench of the bumcano.

  ‘We’ll launch the nuclear bums at first light tomorrow morning,’ said the Smacker, throwing a handful of bumnut husks into the fire and causing sparks to leap high into the black tropical night sky.

  ‘I say we do it tonight,’ said the Kicker, spitting bumnut shells onto the ground in front of him. ‘Why waste time?’

  ‘There’s not enough light now,’ said the Smacker. ‘We wouldn’t be able to aim the catapults accurately.’ Zack looked across the fire at Eleanor. She was sitting there sullenly, not saying a word. She had built the fire, but had made a point of not helping with any of the nuclear bum preparations. She was still furious with Zack and wouldn’t catch his eye.

  Zack lay down, stretched out his legs and looked up at the stars. He tried to pick out the familiar constellations that his grandmother had showed him: the saucepan, the Southern Cross and the Scorpion . . . but he recognised nothing. The only shapes he could make out were bums. Big bums. Small bums. Orion’s bum. A sky full of bums.

  Zack wondered if he would ever see his bum again. It was probably too late now, but despite everything it had put him through, he still missed it.

  The previous forty-eight hours had taken their toll though and before Zack could miss his bum too much, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  When Zack woke it was light.

  The Kisser was shaking him roughly by the shoulder.

  ‘Wake up, Zack!’ he said. ‘Have you seen Eleanor?’

  ‘Huh?’ said Zack.

  He opened his eyes and looked around.

  He saw that the campfire was out. And the stink of the bumcano was back in full force. Then he noticed the feral bum-cage. It was empty.

  The Smacker sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘And the feral bums have gone too.’

  They looked at the cage. The door was wide open.

  The Smacker punched the Kicker, who was still lying beside the fire, snoring loudly.

  ‘Wake up!’ she said. ‘We’ve got a situation.’

  ‘Eleanor must have let them out,’ said the Kisser.

  ‘But why would she do that?’ said the Smacker. ‘It doesn’t make sense. She hates bums.’

  ‘Maybe they tricked her,’ said the Kisser.

  ‘She was on their side all along!’ said the Kicker who was pulling his boots on. ‘I knew it! She’s a bum sympathiser. I’m going to kick her bum!’

  ‘If you can catch her,’ said the Kisser. ‘Look—the bum launcher pointing towards the main shaft has been fired. Maybe they used it to send her up into the bumcano as a human sacrifice. We have to rescue her!’

  ‘But Eleanor is a smart kid,’ said the Smacker. ‘It just doesn’t make sense that the bums could trick her. She’s the Bum Hunter’s daughter after all!’

  ‘She’s been under a lot of pressure,’ said the Kisser. ‘We all have. It’s easy to make a small error of judgment.’

  ‘This is not a small error—this is a major error!’ said the Smacker. ‘It’s just not like her. It could be a trap. We go running in there to save her and they cream us.’

  ‘I think you’re both wrong,’ said Zack. ‘She was pretty cut up about the decision not to go into the bumcano. I reckon she’s catapulted herself inside and gone to find her father.’

  ‘Now that sounds more like Eleanor,’ said the Smacker, slamming a fist into her hand out of frustration. ‘She probably let the feral bums out to give herself more time. She knows it’s going to take us at least a couple of hours to collect new ones.’

  ‘But surely we’re not going to go ahead with that plan now,’ said the Kisser. ‘We have to go and help her.’

  ‘I say we collect new bums and proceed as planned,’ said the Kicker angrily.

  ‘But you’ll kill Eleanor,’ said Zack.

  ‘Better she dies than everybody in the whole world gets rearranged!’ said the Kicker. ‘She’s not stupid. She must have known the risk she was taking.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said the Kisser quietly. ‘But Zack’s right. We have to go in there.’

  The Smacker nodded.

  ‘All right!’ said the Kicker. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Eleanor was right about the Kicker, thought Zack. He must be a double-agent. Not only had he tried to kill Zack in the Sea of Bums, but here he was openly suggesting that they condemn Eleanor to certain death. Zack recalled Eleanor’s warning. He was going to have to watch the Kicker very carefully.

  ‘We’re going to need plenty of twine,’ said the Smacker. ‘We’ll have to climb.’

  ‘Why don’t we use the other nuclear bum launcher?’ said Zack.

  ‘Too much guess-work,’ said the Smacker. Near enough is good enough for a nuclear bum—but not for us. You could fall short, long—or, worst of all, get a hole in one and go straight down the bumcano’s main shaft—nothing to slow you down—straight into the . . .’

  ‘How do we know Eleanor made it?’ Zack said quickly before the Smacker could finish. He didn’t want to have to imagine such a gruesome fate for any-one—especially not Eleanor.

  ‘We don’t,’ said the Smacker, shrugging. ‘She could be lying injured on the far side of the bumcano for all we know. But we won’t be much help to her if we end up lying next to her with the same injuries.’

  Zack and the B-team were soon hacking their way through the jungle. Zack looked around him. He knew something was different, but couldn’t figure out what. Then he realised.
There were no bum noises. In fact, there were no bums. Not anywhere.

  ‘What happened to all the ferals?’ he said.

  ‘Probably massing in the bumcano with the other bums,’ said the Kisser. ‘Their hour of triumph must be near—they probably all want to be a part of it.’

  There was something about the way the Kisser said ‘hour of triumph’ that sent shivers down Zack’s spine. The thought that bums might soon be ruling the world was truly horrifying. Up till now Zack had clung to the hope that he still might be able to talk some sense into his bum. Now he wasn’t so sure. There wasn’t much time left and if Eleanor was right, maybe it wasn’t just his bum running the show anyway.

  After fifteen minutes of hacking and slashing they arrived at the bottom of the bumcano. In front of them was an almost vertical slab of black rock.

  ‘We’ll head up towards the side vent,’ said the Smacker. ‘It will take a little longer, but it’s not as steep. From there it will be a short climb to the top and then we can abseil down into the main vent.’

  The Kicker and the Kisser both nodded.

  ‘But how do we get up?’ said Zack. ‘It’s too steep. And there are no handholds.’

  The Smacker smiled.

  ‘I’ll soon fix that,’ she said, tying a length of twine around her waist.

  She stepped up to the rock-face, jumped up and smacked it hard. A number of small hairline fractures appeared in the rock. The Smacker jumped and smacked it a few more times until the impact had caused one of the fractures to grow into a crack big enough for her to wedge the fingers of her right hand into. She pulled herself up and, still hanging, started smacking the rock above her with her left hand. It was slow-going, but it was the only way they had.

  The Kicker followed, making the cracks even bigger by applying an explosive kick to each of them.

  Zack was next and the Kisser brought up the rear.

  Crack by crack, Zack fought his way up the bumcano. But even with the help of the handholds and the Smacker’s rope it was hard work.

  They climbed solidly for two hours without talking. Some sections of the climb were easier than others, but by the time the side vent came into view Zack’s fingers were raw and bleeding. However, he still had to climb a final vertical slab of rock, more sheer and difficult than anything he had encountered so far. The Smacker climbed this section by herself and then threw down a length of jungle twine for the Kicker to pull himself up with.

  Then it was Zack’s turn. By the time he made it to the top of the rock-face he was exhausted.

  The Smacker reached down and pulled him up over the ledge. Zack collapsed onto his back and lay there staring up at the dark steaming mouth of the side vent, his chest heaving. He noted with relief that from here the top of the bumcano was not far and that there was no more vertical climbing—just a steeply graded slope. He could also see the Kicker was a few hundred metres up the slope. Zack was studying the Kicker closely for any signs of suspicious behaviour when he heard screaming coming from below the shelf. He stood up and looked over the edge.

  He was shocked to see the Kisser hanging onto the edge of the rock-face by one hand, his legs dangling and kicking over the long drop below.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ said the Smacker who was trying to grab the Kisser’s free arm. ‘Try to concentrate and give me your hand!’

  She knelt down and extended her powerful arm towards him.

  Zack couldn’t see exactly what happened next because the Smacker was in front of him, blocking his view of the Kisser.

  All he knew was that suddenly the Smacker screamed, tumbled forward and disappeared over the edge.

  Zack heard her scream. He heard her scream until she fell out of range and he couldn’t hear her any more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE BUMCANO

  Zack was stunned.

  The Smacker? Dead? It was impossible!

  He looked around for the Kicker, who was running back down the slope towards him.

  The Kisser managed to pull himself over the ledge just as the Kicker arrived. He lay on the ground, breathing hard.

  ‘What happened to the Smacker?’ said the Kicker.

  ‘She seemed to lose her balance,’ said the Kisser, panting. ‘She was helping me up . . . and she slipped. I tried to save her . . . but I couldn’t do anything. She fell.’

  The Kicker was staring down at the Kisser. ‘Get up,’ he said coldly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said the Kisser.

  ‘Get up so I can kick your bum,’ said the Kicker. ‘Like I should have done a long time ago.’

  ‘Look,’ said the Kisser, standing up, ‘I know you’re upset. I am too, but at a time like this we have to stick together. We’re mates, remember?’

  ‘You’re no mate of mine,’ said the Kicker. ‘You killed the Smacker!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said the Kisser. ‘It was an accident. Wasn’t it, Zack? You saw it.’

  But Zack couldn’t speak. He was still too shocked. Besides, he hadn’t seen exactly what happened. All he knew was that one moment the Smacker was there and the next moment she wasn’t.

  ‘Accident, my bum,’ said the Kicker. ‘The Smacker was a great bum warrior. She doesn’t just fall off the edge of a cliff for no reason. Not unless she was pulled over.’

  ‘Think about what you’re saying!’ said the Kisser.

  ‘I have thought about it,’ said the Kicker. ‘I’ve had my suspicions about you for a long time. And now I’m going to kick your bum.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ said the Kisser. ‘That I’m on their side?’

  The Kicker’s only reply was to come sailing through the air and kick the Kisser in the stomach. The Kisser staggered backwards, almost over the cliff.

  ‘No, Kicker!’ yelled Zack, finding his voice. He knew one of them was a double-agent, he just wasn’t sure which one. He’d thought it was the Kicker, but after what had just happened to the Smacker, he wasn’t so sure any more. Then again, perhaps it really had been an accident.

  ‘Keep out of it,’ said the Kicker over his shoulder. ‘This is between me and him.’

  The Kisser leapt to his feet. ‘Please, Kicker,’ he said, stepping away from the cliff edge, ‘you’re making a big mistake.’

  But the Kicker ignored him and moved in closer, circling like a shark.

  The Kisser raised his hand to his mouth, kissed it, and then blew the kiss at the Kicker.

  The Kicker ducked, as if dodging a bullet.

  ‘Cut it out!’ he yelled. ‘Fight like a man, you lousy bum sympathiser!’

  The Kicker charged forward and kicked, but was blocked in midair by another one of the Kisser’s hand-kisses. He fell to the ground with a crash.

  Zack knew he had to do something. He had to stop them before they destroyed each other.

  The Kicker and the Kisser were grappling on the ground at the edge of the cliff. The Kisser was on top of the Kicker trying to kiss his neck, but the Kicker’s legs were under the Kisser’s stomach, holding him at bay.

  Zack searched in the pouch of his utility belt for the bum-gun given to him by Eleanor. He didn’t want to shoot anyone but he had to bring them both to their senses. Without their help Zack knew he didn’t have a hope of getting into the bumcano and helping Eleanor. He found the gun and released the safety catch.

  ‘Hold it right there,’ yelled Zack. ‘Or I’ll fire.’

  They both froze and looked across at him.

  ‘Good work, Zack,’ said the Kisser, getting off the Kicker and walking slowly towards Zack. ‘Give me the gun, there’s a good boy. I’ll handle this.’

  Zack looked at the Kisser. He sounded so reasonable and trustworthy that any doubt Zack had about him completely disappeared. He was about to give the gun to the Kisser when the Kicker yelled.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ he said, as he jumped to his feet. ‘Don’t let him charm you. He’s been working for the bums all along. Give me the gun.’ The Kicker started moving towards Zack as
well.

  ‘Hold it right there,’ said Zack, suddenly full of doubt again. ‘Both of you.’

  Zack didn’t know who to believe. He swung the gun from the Kicker to the Kisser and back again.

  It was impossible to work out who was telling the truth. And yet he had to be sure. The fate of the world depended on it.

  Suddenly there was a noise.

  Zack glanced to his right.

  A bum-mobile was landing beside them.

  BH-007.

  It was Eleanor’s bum-mobile. But that’s impossible, thought Zack. The last time he’d seen the bum-mobile it had been a crumpled mess in the Great Windy Desert, fit only for Ned Smelly’s junk collection . . . unless . . . Zack held his breath as he saw the hatch handle spinning.

  The top flipped open.

  Ned Smelly poked his head out.

  ‘Ned!’ said the Kicker, clearly glad to see him.

  ‘Ned?’ said the Kisser, his face white as if he’d just seen a ghost.

  ‘Ned!’ said Zack, ‘but how . . . ?’

  Ned pulled himself out of the hatch, walked across the roof and jumped down. He was armed with Eleanor’s leaf blower.

  ‘I came as soon as I could,’ he said. ‘I fixed the bum-mobile. I had to warn you about the double-agent on your team, but I see you’ve already found him, Zack.’

  ‘Well, sort of,’ said Zack. ‘I’m just not exactly sure which one he is.’

  ‘I think I can help you there,’ said Ned, his leaf blower pointed at the Kisser.

  The Kicker swore. ‘Traitorous dog,’ he said quietly.

  ‘It’s the Kisser?’ said Zack.

  Ned nodded grimly. He wasn’t smiling any more.

  ‘But how can you be sure, Ned?’ said Zack.

  ‘He came back to my shack after you’d left,’ said Ned. ‘He tried to kill me.’

  ‘I did kill you,’ said the Kisser. ‘I gave you the kiss of death. It never fails. How did you survive?’

  ‘My stink protected me,’ said Ned. ‘I’ve often been told it’s strong enough to wake the dead—which is exactly what it did. I came as soon as I could to warn the others.’