by Paul Cooper
‘I said, “Pipe down, you little sucker!” That’s when he said he wanted his name to be the last thing in my mind. He told me it had a special meaning.’
With trembling trotter, Peregrine wrote the letters down on a notebook page. Lola wasn’t surprised at the name:
W
A
T
S
N
Then Peregrine wrote next to the letters:
W Who’s
A
T The
S Sucker
N Now?
‘That’s what he told me his name stood for: “Who’s the sucker now?” ’
‘What about the A and the O?’ asked Lola. ‘Didn’t he like vowels?’
‘I would have asked,’ huffed Peregrine, ‘only I was busy trying not to be eaten.’
‘And you’re sure the phone message was the same suckerfish?’
Peregrine nodded grimly. ‘I’d recognize that voice anywhere. If the rescue helicopter hadn’t pulled me out of the sea just in time, it would have been the last thing in the world I ever heard. That suckerfish is pure evil.’ He looked at the words CHUM Luxury Breaks on Lola’s computer. ‘Even the company name is a creepy little joke. It doesn’t mean chum as in friends – it means chum as in the bits of meat and blood people used to throw to sharks years ago.’ Peregrine sighed. ‘Whatever’s going on at Shark Island, he’ll be behind it.’
‘But what can we do?’ Lola bit her lip. ‘We’ve lost radio contact with the team.’
Peregrine shook his head. ‘We really must get some better radios.’
Then the Wing Commander got to his trotters and sighed. ‘There’s nothing else for it.’ He heard himself saying something he thought he’d never utter. ‘Hold the fort, Lola. I’m going back to Shark Island!’
CHAPTER 8:
Pig Hunt
Curly was horrified to have to swim one more time, but with Tammy’s help he made it from the airlock up to the rubber raft. Tammy pointed back to the other holding tank where Headstrong and all the other fish could be seen, their faces pressed against the glass wall. Some of them were waving their fins and tails urgently at the two pigs. Tammy waved back.
‘Can you let them out, as well?’ she asked the suckerfish.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Watson.
Curly wasn’t paying attention to any of this. He was watching three enormous pale shapes moving through the dark waters of the lagoon behind the suckerfish. As they got closer, three huge fins broke the surface.
‘Behind you!’ he shouted. ‘Great white sharks!’
‘That is most kind.’ The old suckerfish smiled calmly.
‘However, I am well aware of what is behind me.’
Suddenly Tammy understood. ‘You’re part of this, aren’t you?’ she said to Watson. ‘A group of evil sharks has set up this hunting ground, and you work for them. I’m right, aren’t I?’
Watson’s sucker-pad quivered. ‘You’re wrong! This place is a shark hunting ground, but I work for nobody.’ He smiled proudly. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you now. This whole place was my idea. I planned it, designed it, had the crabs build it. I wrote the job ad to attract our victims. And now today, we are finally open for business! These great whites are our first clients. They are Fang, Frenzy and – perhaps the most deadly predator in the ocean – Mrs Susan Prendergast. Our opening day is going to be quite splendid!’
Curly was confused. ‘What’s all this got to do with Neil Headstrong and his mission?’
‘The hammerhead came up with that entire scheme in his own pea-sized brain,’ answered Watson. ‘Naturally, I didn’t want some thicky shark wandering about inland and ruining my plans. That’s why I got myself a job with his team. I tried to convince him that his idea was pointless. Usually I can persuade sharks to do anything, but Headstrong lives up to his name. Once an idea has lodged in that misshapen head of his … So, in order to stop him ruining everything, I had to go to Plan B – instructing one of the crabs to snip his water supply.’
‘But he might have died!’ exclaimed Curly.
‘I don’t think he cares,’ said Tammy. She pointed at the main holding tank full of fish. ‘So you lied to all of them too?’
‘Not at all,’ Watson explained patiently. ‘I offered them an exciting job opportunity with plenty of exercise. And is that not true? Is it not exciting to be chased by a shark?’
Tammy snorted. ‘So this was all just about making money then?’
The suckerfish looked hurt. ‘Good gracious, no!’ He pointed a fin at the huge sharks swimming laps below him. ‘Feast your eyes on them! They are perfection! The shark is a perfect eating machine, ideally designed to hunt its food – NOT to shovel disgusting, smelly kelp burgers down its pie-hole. They will hunt and eat any creature in the sea … except clown fish, that is – apparently, they taste funny. Sharks are, in a word … splendid.’
‘So you persuaded a bunch of weak-willed sharks to try to turn the clock back to the Bad Old Days of eating meat?’ spat Tammy.
‘Have you ever tasted a Burstin’ Bucket o’ Kelp?’ snapped Watson. ‘The box is tastier than the contents!’ He took a gulp of water, as if to rinse his mouth out. ‘And I’m afraid, Miss Snuffles, that I cannot agree with you. We are recapturing the glories of the GOOD Old Days. The thrill of the chase, the scent of blood, and then, of course …’, his sucker-pad jiggled excitedly, ‘… the kill!’
A giant head rose from the water. Its eyes were as black as night. ‘Did someone say KILL?’ snarled Fang.
A second head appeared. Its teeth were as sharp as knives. ‘We’re starving,’ growled Frenzy. ‘Let’s get started!’
A third head popped up. The lipstick around its giant mouth was as red as a cherry. ‘I just love what you’ve done with this place!’ twittered Susan.
Watson quickly explained to the great whites that they could choose their victim for the hunt now. He listed all of the different fish in the holding tank, mentioning each one’s speed and probable tastiness.
‘Octopus looks tasty,’ said Fang.
‘Eel looks good,’ said Frenzy.
Watson then waved a fin at the pigs on the raft. ‘Or … if you’d prefer to hunt something a little more exotic, we have two land mammals.’
The great whites eyed the two pigs on the raft, and Curly now knew what a baked bean must feel like as it sits on the toast with all its mates.
Fang scrunched up his nose and said, ‘I’m not sure I’ll like foreign food.’
Frenzy said, ‘Won’t the meat be fatty?’
But Mrs Susan Prendergast’s voice dropped to a terrifying, low rumble: ‘Today we’re hunting pig.’
‘As you say, Susan,’ said Fang hurriedly.
‘Pig it is!’ agreed Frenzy, nodding frantically.
‘How delightful!’ Mrs Susan Prendergast simpered, going back to her normal voice.
Watson smiled in approval of the choice. ‘Splendid.’
Back on the desert island, Pete’s snout twitched. ‘Can you smell bacon?’
‘That’ll be my skin,’ moaned Brian. ‘I burn in the sun. When I was at school, the other piglets used to call me Sunday Roast.’
‘But you covered yourself with Factor Thirty sunblock just five minutes ago.’
‘I know,’ agreed Brian sadly. ‘I can’t find the Factor Sixty.’
After a couple more laps around the island, Brian stopped again when his foot struck something half-buried in the sand.
‘A bottle!’ he cried out. ‘We can put a message for help in it!’
Pete wasn’t impressed. ‘It’d take days to reach someone.’ He pulled the bottle out of the sand. ‘Look, there’s a message already in here.’
He shook out the bit of paper and read: ‘TWO EXTRA PINTS OF MILK AND A RASPBERRY YOGHURT, PLEASE.’ Pete sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a date here too – Tuesday the eighth.’
‘That was only yesterday!’ said Br
ian.
Pete threw the note aside. ‘Tuesday the eighth twenty-three years ago!’
‘Oh … That yoghurt’s probably gone off by now then.’
Brian returned to his anxious laps as the hungry sharks went round and round.
Shark Island’s first ever pig hunt was about to begin.
‘What if we just stay on this raft?’ Tammy asked.
Watson smiled icily. ‘My guests would probably get a little cross. I imagine they’d just tip the raft over and eat you within seconds.’
Tammy stepped forward (though not far enough to fall off). ‘This isn’t fair! How can we outswim a shark?’
‘You don’t have to outswim a shark,’ answered Watson, pointing at Curly. ‘You only have to outswim him.’
‘Hold on,’ Tammy said. ‘You needn’t involve Curly in this. He’s just a piglet. There’s no meat on him anyway. He can’t even swim! Where’s the sport in that? If you’re looking for a challenge, I’m the pig you want.’
‘You can’t do that –’ Curly began, but Tammy hushed him quickly, whispering, ‘Use your head!’
The suckerfish consulted with the great whites underwater and then, to Tammy’s surprise, he popped up and said, ‘Very well. The piglet can stay here. As for you – we shall give you five minutes’ head start from the moment you enter the water. Don’t waste time looking for an escape – the walls are too high and the Exit Stream to the sea only opens from the other side. Do you have any questions?’
‘Yeah,’ snarled Tammy. ‘Will you stop pointing that sucker-pad on top of your head in my direction? It’s disgusting.’
If Watson was angry, he didn’t show it. ‘You needn’t worry your little land-based head about that, Miss Snuffles,’ he said. ‘My pad will most certainly not be on view … I shall be accompanying the lovely Mrs Prendergast on this hunt. And now, game on! Or perhaps that should be … gammon!’
With this, he swam down and attached his sucker-pad to a spot below the biggest shark’s jaws.
Tammy took one last look at Curly and then stepped off the raft.
The hunt was on!
Pete and Brian were no closer to finding a way off their little island.
But, after a few dozen more laps, Brian noticed a couple of pieces of driftwood washing up on the shore.
‘I know!’ he cried. ‘We can use these pieces of wood, along with your oxygen tank, to build a raft! We’ll tie them with palm leaves!’ He saw the look on Pete’s face. ‘Don’t worry – I’ve read all about this in An Illustrated History of Raft Design and Construction, volumes one to five.’
Pete wasn’t sure, but he shinned up the palm tree anyway. It swayed worryingly under his piggy weight. Minutes later the pigs had strapped together the driftwood and the oxygen tank to make a raft.
‘I’ve read all about sharks,’ said Brian. ‘They mostly rely on sensing vibrations in the water to catch their prey. So all we have to do …’
‘… is not vibrate very much?’ Pete guessed.
‘Erm, yes,’ said Brian, sounding slightly less confident. ‘If we drift gently towards the plane, there’s every chance the sharks won’t even know the raft is anything but another bit of driftwood.’
Pete thought it over. ‘Can we just give it a test run first?’
When the shark in the closest ‘lane’ had swum by, the pigs stood at the water’s edge and eased the raft slowly into the sea.
‘Well, it floats,’ said Brian approvingly.
Seconds passed.
‘This might just work,’ murmured Pete.
A huge grey head loomed out of the water and crashed down on to the raft, smashing it apart. The two pigs hopped backwards on to dry land just in time.
‘Then again …’ said Pete.
Tammy was a strong swimmer, but knowing that three great whites would soon be after her didn’t do much for her front-crawl technique.
She stayed close to the edge of the lagoon. She could never outswim her pursuers, so she was looking for a place to hide.
A distant cry reached her ears. It was Curly: ‘Tammy! They’re coming!’
Panic jolted through her. She swam towards a darker patch of water up ahead. She reached it and saw it was a patch of tall seaweed, almost up to the water’s surface.
An idea hit her. Treading water, she dipped into her top pocket and pulled out a ballpoint pen. She used her teeth to pull the cap off the bottom and pull out the pen’s inside bits. She popped the empty plastic tube into her mouth, then dropped below the surface. Her body was now hidden by the seaweed, and with her head tilted upwards, she could use the pen case as a snorkel.
From here, she could peek out of the seaweed and look around. She was in a shallow section of the lagoon. The seaweed clump she was hiding in was the last in a line of three clumps. The water around her seemed eerily empty.
But then something appeared out of the blue. Fang! He was taking his time, trying to use his shark senses to locate his prey. Tammy held her breath and kept as still as possible.
The shark swam a slow zig-zag, coming closer and closer. Tammy felt sure it was heading right for her, but it glided past, just metres away.
Tammy breathed a silent sigh of relief. This feeling lasted for about five seconds, until Fang swept back into view. He had completed a wide loop and was now back at the first clump of seaweed. He paused, and then attacked, ripping into it. Shredded weeds and dust from the bottom flew everywhere in a slow-motion underwater explosion. If Tammy had been in that clump of weeds, she’d be diced ham now.
Next, Fang swam the short distance to the second clump of seaweed. Tammy watched in horror as he started to attack it.
It didn’t take a genius like Brian to work out what was going to happen after that. Fang would turn his attention to the seaweed she was hiding in.
CHAPTER 9:
Swimming with Sharks
If they didn’t get off this little desert island surrounded by sharks soon, Pete was going to go bonkers. The only way to mark time was by watching Brian slowly turn a deeper and deeper shade of red.
‘If you get any more sunburned, you’re going to start smoking,’ Pete said. ‘But then maybe someone will spot the plume of smoke?’
Brian paid no attention. He was scribbling some calculations on a scrap of paper. At last, he looked up with triumph on his face.
‘I’ve got it!’ he said.
‘Is that “Got it!” like the last few Got its? Cos I’m not sure they were really Got its, technically speaking.’ Pete didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings, but he didn’t want to get gobbled up in a feeding frenzy either. ‘Sorry, Brian. Your ideas are brilliant. They’re just not always practical.’
Bri pushed his glasses up his snout defiantly. ‘This time I’ve really got it. One of us is going to FLY off this island!’
Worrying that the medic must be suffering from sunstroke, Pete asked gently, ‘How’s that then, Bri?’
Brian pointed to the palm tree. ‘I got the idea from The Illustrated Pop-Up Encyclopaedia of Medieval Weapons,’ he explained. ‘We’ll turn that tree into the biggest catapult ever!’
Pete shook his head. ‘Sounds crazy,’ he said. ‘Sounds dangerous.’ He adjusted his mirror shades. ‘Sounds like my kind of fun! Let’s do it!’
Tammy swam as if her life depended on it. Which, in fact, it did. She didn’t dare look behind for a telltale fin racing towards her.
As she headed further into the open water in the middle of the lagoon, her arms and legs started to feel like lead, but there was something poking out of the water ahead of her. It looked like a coral reef, but turned out to be just a plastic model. Like the small stone castle and the statue of a deep-sea diver she’d spotted on the lagoon bottom, it was just there to make the chase a little more interesting.
Tammy swam around the ‘reef’, looking for good hiding spots. There were none. Allowing herself a moment to catch her breath, she held on to the fake reef with one trotter and scanned the surface. With her other sh
e unzipped a pocket in her flightsuit and pulled out the last can of Cherry Slurpo-Pop.
‘According to the advert, Slurpo-Pop makes everything better,’ she thought grimly. ‘Let’s hope that’s true.’
But when she popped the ring-pull, some of the fizzy drink gushed out into the water. As Tammy saw the spilt pop forming a crimson cloud in the water, she knew exactly what it looked like – blood! She remembered Brian saying that sharks could detect even a few drops of blood in the water from hundreds of metres away. Well, Slurpo-Pop didn’t smell like blood in the water but it certainly looked like it. If one of the sharks spotted it …
‘Uh-oh,’ Tammy murmured.
Back on the raft, Curly hadn’t a clue what was happening out in the lagoon, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t good. He was sure of something else – whatever they had promised, when the sharks had got Tammy, it would be his turn next.
The trainee’s mind was galloping. What should I do? The last thing Tammy had said was, ‘Use your head’. What did she mean by that?
He glanced back at Holding Tank 1. How long before those poor sea creatures were released to be hunted down as food? He wondered what the hammerhead Neil Headstrong must make of this. What thoughts were going through his oddly shaped head?
Hold on, thought Curly. Maybe I shouldn’t use MY head … maybe I should use SOMEONE ELSE’S head. If only he could get Headstrong out of that holding tank!
Curly remembered where Watson had opened the control panel for the smaller tank. It was probably the same for the bigger one.
There was just one problem – it would mean going back in the water. Just the thought made all the bristles on the back of his neck stand to attention.