The Shark Bites Back

by Paul Cooper

  He pulled the red cord. Immediately, a flap in his pack opened up and two cheese-and-pickle sandwiches, an orange and a hard-boiled egg flew out.

  Wrong cord!

  His trotter reached for the other cord, but panic had taken hold of him now. The cord was being blown backwards by the rush of air and he couldn’t get a trotter to it. He couldn’t think of anything else but the water he was freefalling towards. His mind searched frantically for something appropriate to say. Finally, it settled on the old classic:

  ‘AAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!’

  CHAPTER 3:

  Hammer Time!

  Back at PiPs HQ, Peregrine was on his feet.

  ‘Do you have a minute?’ he asked Lola.

  She quickly slid her copy of Pig Puzzle Weekly! under some work documents and nodded.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I react so strongly whenever I see a … you-know-what,’ said the Wing Commander.

  ‘Not really,’ replied Lola.

  ‘I’ll tell you then …’ Peregrine pulled up a chair in front of the radio operator’s desk. ‘This all happened years ago … before I joined the Porcine Air Force … before Animal Paradise was even set up!’

  Peregrine stared straight ahead, but he wasn’t looking at Lola’s pop posters on the wall. What he was looking at lay in the past – back in the Bad Old Days when some animals still felt it was OK to eat other animals just because they were tasty.

  ‘I was working on a merchant ship,’ continued Peregrine. ‘It was my first voyage, and it turned out to be my only one. That’s because we hit a reef and the ship began to sink. I found myself adrift at sea, sitting on top of a crate.’ His eyes met Lola’s, and she saw the look of horror in them. ‘The first of the sharks arrived before dawn. I spotted their fins, cutting through the water. Soon three or four tiger sharks were circling me.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I fell in.’

  Lola tried not to laugh. ‘What then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I half-remember a huge mouth full of teeth and the hungry blackness of a shark’s eye. After that, my memory is a blank,’ continued Peregrine. ‘The next thing I recall is sitting inside the rescue plane.’

  Lola thought this over. ‘If those sharks really wanted to get you, how did you manage to escape unhurt?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Peregrine, grimly rolling up one trouser leg. ‘See this scar?’

  Lola studied the mark on Peregrine’s calf. ‘That’s just cos your socks are too tight, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, not there. There!’

  Lola looked again and finally spotted a small pale scar. ‘That?’ she grunted. ‘You call that a scar? I’ve got bigger scars from when I fell over trying out my new flip-flops!’

  Peregrine had a haunted look in his eyes. ‘The real scars are on the inside,’ he whispered.

  ‘Sorry I clipped your parachute in mid-air,’ said Curly, dusting himself off.

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Tammy.

  In fact, Curly had crashed into the top of Tammy’s parachute canopy, tangling it up and sending her hurtling down to earth too. At the last minute, and completely by accident, Curly had pulled his blue cord. As his chute opened, a lucky gust of wind carried them past the mystery body of water. Just clearing a line of trees, they had finally landed on the ground like two sacks of spuds. All in all, it had not been a textbook PiPs operation.

  ‘And sorry I landed on top of you.’

  ‘OK.’

  Curly nudged the remains of a flattened orange with the toe of his boot. ‘And sorry I lost our packed lunch.’

  ‘OK, stop saying sorry!’ exclaimed Tammy. ‘We’ve got about four minutes to find that shark before he makes like a frog and croaks!’

  She consulted her compass, and the two pigs raced up one of the hills that ringed the middle of the island. When they got to the top of the ridge, they soon found what they were looking for – large, helmet-wearing sharks sprawled out on the ground were pretty easy to spot. Headstrong’s tail flapped weakly in the dust. The wheeled trolley lay upside down a few metres away. One of the wheels had come off.

  ‘Quick!’ said Tammy.

  Curly reached the stranded shark first. After that embarrassing mess-up with the parachutes, he was going to do this right. He was going to follow the guidelines of the PiPs Operational Manual to the letter.

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’ he said.

  The hammerhead shark turned its head feebly.

  ‘Good morning.’ Curly glanced at his watch. ‘Er, sorry, I mean, good afternoon. My name is Curly McHoglet and I am with the Pigs in Planes. Well, I’m only a trainee, actually, but anyway …’

  The look of hope in the hammerhead’s eye was starting to fade.

  ‘I just need to confirm one thing. Is your name …’ Curly looked quickly at his notepad, ‘… Neil Headstrong?’

  The hammerhead could only manage a faint gasp.

  ‘Of course that’s Headstrong!’ cried Tammy, joining them. ‘How many hammerheads do you think there are strolling around up here with giant water-helmets on their bonces?’

  She began to check the water supply. Maybe a rock had simply fallen on top of it? She followed the water line, but her hopes soon died. Just metres from where the shark lay, the line had been cut. There was no chance of joining the two ends with tape – they had been shredded.

  ‘We have to get him back into the water,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think we’ve got enough time to get him back to the sea.’

  ‘What about that lagoon in the middle of the island?’ Curly piped up. ‘That’s much closer!’

  Tammy nodded. She flipped the trolley back over and reconnected the wheel. Then together they began to haul the big shark back towards the trolley. Headstrong helped as much as he could, flapping his pectoral fins and tail, but his strength was almost gone.

  Finally, with most of the shark’s body back on the trolley, they managed to push it to the edge of the ridge.

  ‘This is too slow,’ said Curly, but Tammy had an idea. Once they were over the ridge, both pigs pushed the trolley downhill as fast as possible. When it had gathered enough speed, they hopped on to the trolley themselves, each holding on to the hammerhead’s dorsal fin. They were going to ride that shark all the way down to the water!

  Curly loved this. It was like riding the world’s coolest skateboard. ‘Wheee!’ he cried. ‘What a fantastic way to end the mission!’

  ‘It’s not over just yet, Curly,’ said Tammy darkly, reaching for her radio. ‘Pete, Lola, do you read me?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ came the reply from Pete.

  ‘We have a problem. It’s Headstrong’s water supply … It was no accident. I think somebody cut it.’

  CHAPTER 4:

  Something Fishy

  ‘Are you feeling OK, Bri?’ asked Pete.

  The two pilots had lowered the planes’ water-skis and landed SkyHogs 1 and 3 on the water off the west coast of Shark Island. Now they were bobbing up and down in a little dinghy. The swell of the sea was quite gentle, but Brian was a shade of green that went quite nicely with the yellow of the inflatable boat.

  ‘Ahem,’ said a voice from behind the boat. A fish was poking its head out of the water and Pete recognized it. It was that little suckerfish he had seen earlier on TV. Its grey sucker-pad looked even yuckier out of the water.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet the famous Pigs in Planes,’ it said. ‘Quite, quite splendid.’ His sucker-pad quivered. ‘I’d be happy to help in any way I can.’

  ‘You can start by telling us who you are,’ said Pete.

  ‘My name is Watson,’ said the suckerfish. ‘It has been my honour to work for Mr Headstrong for several months.’ After each sentence, the fish ducked under the surface to take in water through its gills.

  ‘Does he have any enemies?’ asked Pete, getting down to business. ‘Anyone who might want to kill him?’

  The suckerfish looked shocked. ‘Goodness, no! Surely today’s unfortunate events were an
accident.’

  ‘Think again, sucker-boy,’ said Pete. ‘But don’t worry – whoever tried to bump him off didn’t succeed, and now the PiPs are on the case. Even as we speak, two of our finest operatives are on the island. Your hammerhead’s in safe trotters.’

  The suckerfish blinked. ‘Oh, I see … Splendid.’

  ‘In fact,’ said Brian, ‘we’re waiting for them here. When we flew over the island, we saw a channel of water running down to this stretch of coast. Can you point it out for us?’

  Watson gave an apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken,’ he said. ‘There’s no waterway into, or out of, the island here.’

  ‘What about underwater?’ asked Pete.

  The suckerfish shook his head. ‘I can assure you there’s nothing. In fact, the sharks tend to avoid this spot. You could look for yourself, but it can be rather dangerous here. There are pockets of underwater gas under the reef.’

  ‘We’ll just wait then,’ said Pete.

  ‘Splendid.’ Watson rubbed his front fins together. ‘Then perhaps I can get you something to eat? We do a tasty kelp burger here at Shark Island. Or perhaps you’d prefer a lovely seaweedy kelp fritter?’

  ‘No!’ said Brian, a little too quickly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Maybe a scrummy sun-dried kelp pattie?’ offered Watson.

  ‘That’s OK, thanks,’ said Pete. ‘But don’t worry – if we need kelp, we’ll call you.’

  As Watson swam away, Pete said, ‘No wonder he was sucking up to us. Did you see that sucker-pad on his head?’

  ‘At least he was helpful,’ commented Brian.

  Pete nodded thoughtfully. ‘Seems like a bit of an oily fish, though.’ He began checking his oxygen tank.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Brian. ‘That suckerfish just said these were dangerous waters.’

  Pete shrugged. ‘Danger is my middle name.’

  ‘Your middle name is Tiberius,’ corrected Brian.

  Pete swapped his shades for goggles. ‘I just want to check it out for myself, Bri. I know there’s a channel of water on the island because I saw it myself. I can’t help thinking there’s something fishy about this place.’ He gave Brian a wink as he pulled on his flippers. ‘Get it? Something fishy. You know, cos sharks are fish?’

  Brian stared blankly. He knew a lot about many things, but the captain’s awful jokes were often as murky to him as the water Pete now dived into with a huge SPLASH!

  As the trolley trundled along, Tammy and Curly could see the sparkle of water through the trees ahead. Not far to go now, but would they make it in time? The hammerhead shark had begun letting out some alarming gasping noises. His skin looked like a gigantic prune.

  At the bottom of the hill, the pigs hopped off and ran alongside the shark, pushing with all their strength. Once they cleared the trees, they saw a big lake right in the middle of the island. It was surrounded by a low concrete wall.

  ‘But this island’s supposed to be untouched!’ gasped Tammy. ‘How’s there a wall here?’

  A more pressing question was how to get a big shark over that wall. As they got closer, they realized they didn’t have to. There was a large, deep pool to the side of the lagoon with no barrier around it. It was their only hope.

  The pigs put on a final sprint. As they screeched to a halt at the pool’s edge, the trolley stopped, but the hammerhead shark didn’t. Headstrong shot straight into the pool and slammed head-first into the side. His helmet cracked in half and sank to the bottom as he drank in the lovely, oxygen-rich saltwater.

  It was only then that the two pigs realized the pool wasn’t empty. There were several fish swimming around in there, not to mention eels and octopi. Many of these hid in the corners when Headstrong plunged into the water.

  However, a cod did stick its head out of the surface and call to the two pigs. ‘OY!’

  ‘Good afternoon!’ Curly called. ‘My name is –’

  ‘No time for formal introductions!’ cut in Tammy. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘Go and get help!’ the cod shouted. ‘We’re prisoners!’

  An eel began to swim up to the surface to add something. It was still underwater so its words sounded like ‘BLUBBLUBBLUBBA!’

  A narrow strip divided this pool from a second, which had less water in it. The pigs ran out along this causeway now to hear the eel better. They didn’t notice the pile of seaweed until Curly skidded on it. He fell backwards, grabbing Tammy to steady himself.

  As both pigs tumbled back, the eel poked its head out of the water: ‘What I said was, don’t come any closer, or else you’ll slip on the seaweed.’

  But the pigs didn’t hear this because by now they had fallen into the other pool. They kerplunked into the murky water at the bottom.

  As salty water shot up his snout, panic seized Curly. He began flailing around and spluttering, ‘I’m drowning! Help meeeeeeee!’

  ‘Er … Curly?’

  ‘No! I’m drowning! I’m –’

  Curly paused.

  He looked at Tammy, who was standing up. The water came to just above her knees.

  ‘Oh,’ said Curly, getting up. ‘Right.’

  They looked around. This pool was the same as the other, except with much less water in it. The two pools – which were beginning to seem more like fish-tanks – were separated by a solid wall. However, the side of the tank alongside the lagoon was different. This was made of clear, thick glass, which meant they could look out into the deep, dark waters of the lagoon.

  ‘This is so strange,’ said Tammy. ‘Who has built all of this? Supposedly no one has ever come on to this mainland before. And here’s another question for you – why? Why is there a big lagoon that doesn’t even appear on the map of Shark Island?’ She grabbed her radio to contact Lola for the answer, but as she held it up water seeped out of the sides. ‘Oops.’

  Curly’s radio was leaking water too. ‘I’ve got another question,’ he said. He pointed at the smooth walls of the tank all around them, much too high to climb. ‘If we can’t call for help … how are we going to get out of here?’

  CHAPTER 5:

  Be a Chum

  Pete usually loved diving. It was like flying, but with added fish and bubbles.

  But today was different. Something about this whole situation here at Shark Island bothered him. As he swam, he checked the rocky coast carefully. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but Pete listened to his gut feelings and dived deeper, into the darker waters where the island rose from the seabed. He ran his underwater torch beam across waves of thick seaweed. Still nothing.

  He was about to swim back up to the surface, when he caught a glimpse of something. Inside a crack in the rocky seabed, surrounded by seaweed, there was something colourful. Something with writing on it – a poster.

  Pete was able to fit only his head and one arm into the crack, but it was enough for him to grab the tattered poster. It said:

  Puzzling, thought Pete.

  He was a pig of action; puzzles just gave him a headache. He needed Brian to apply his enormous brain to the problem. As he turned to go, Pete’s wetsuit snagged on a rock. As he unhooked himself a giant shark emerged from the gloom, gliding like a ghost in the darkness – a three-tonne ghost with a great big mouth full of serrated choppers, that is. It was a great white shark, the most fearsome shark of all. Just the slightest flick of its mighty tail powered it forward.

  Pete slunk further back into the seaweed that was hiding him.

  Two more shadows appeared. These sharks were just as big, their jet-black eyes just as scary.

  The sensible thing to do was swim up and question them. That’s what the PiPs Operational Manual would recommend. After all, Pete had no reason to believe that they were up to no good. Why shouldn’t there be sharks at Shark Island?

  But Pete put more faith in his own gut instincts than the PiPs manual, and right now his gut was screaming, ‘Don’t go up there, boss! PLEASE!’

  He crouched down in the seaw
eed and watched as the three sharks came to a halt above him. A little pilot fish shot ahead of them to a spot halfway up the rocky side of the island. It nosed aside a starfish and started prodding at a button.

  Moments later, a large circular panel in the rock slid open. A hidden entrance!

  Pete guessed this must be where the channel of water on the island joined the sea. He watched in amazement as the three sharks followed the pilot fish into this secret entrance. Seconds later, the panel door slid shut behind them.

  Pete’s mind was racing. Whatever was going on here, he didn’t like it. He kicked up towards the surface and the waiting dinghy.

  Behind him the sea floor was quiet and still … at first. Then something stirred. It looked as if the seabed itself was moving. In fact, it was an angel shark. Its body was as flat as if it had been run over by a steamroller. This, along with its sandy-patterned skin, allowed it to hide on the seabed. It was the perfect underwater spy. The eyes on top of its head had watched Peter Porker’s every move.

  Now all it had to do was go and report everything to the Big Boss.

  Curly looked in alarm at the blood stain on Tammy’s flightsuit. ‘You hurt yourself in the fall!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Stay calm, kid,’ Tammy said, holding up a can of drink. ‘That’s just Cherry Slurpo-Pop.’ She belched as she studied the walls of the tank. ‘I’ll have us out of here in two shakes of a piglet’s tail.’

  As well as a multi-pack of Slurpo-Pop, Tammy’s backpack also contained a trusty length of rope and a grappling hook. She never went anywhere without these – even the supermarket or disco.

  Tammy whirled the hook around a few times, then threw it up to the edge of the tank. On the first go, the hook didn’t catch on anything; it came crashing back down into the water. The same thing happened on the next throw.