The Junior Novelization

by Martin Howard

  With a sniff, Shaun folded his arms and looked away from Bitzer. The sheepdog gave a final growl and sat heavily on his bed. Looking up, he saw a face looming above him. A large, creepy-looking dog was staring at him, unblinking.

  Bitzer looked away quickly, and then glanced back. The big dog was still there, eyes fixed on Bitzer.

  With a small yelp, Bitzer covered his face with his paws, peering between them.

  The creepy dog was still staring.

  Somewhere in the distance a door slammed. Shaun jumped as a loud alarm sounded. What was happening now?

  He was surprised to see that Slip didn’t seem scared. Instead, she licked her paws and smoothed her fur. In the other cages, the rest of the Containment Center’s inmates were combing their coats, hurriedly tying ribbons in their hair, and squirting breath-freshener. The tortoise buffed its shell to a shine with an old towel, while the rottweiler put his tattooed paws behind his back and shuffled his features into a friendly smile. The French poodle gripped a bone between its teeth in an attempt to look cute. The bone snapped in the dog’s powerful jaws.

  Shaun squinted along the corridor. By the door, two teenage boys dropped money into a donation bucket. With Trumper looming behind her, a female warden smiled and waved them in. One of the boys picked up an empty pet carrier and followed. A moment later, they stopped by a cage and murmured to each other.

  The first boy shook his head and walked on, the warden close behind.

  As they came closer, Slip yapped eagerly and fluttered her eyelashes.

  With a small cry of delight, the two young people grinned at each other. Shaun saw them nod, happily. They had found their new pet.

  Joy broke out on Slip’s face and she gave a bark of pure happiness. But it turned into a despairing whine when the two boys walked past her cage.

  Passing the goldfish, who fanned herself fetchingly with a seashell, the boys stopped at another cage. The warden reached up, opened the door, and dropped an iguana into the shorter boy’s arms. Grinning, the boys turned to leave. As they walked away, the iguana leaned over his new owner’s shoulder and blew a raspberry at the rest of the inmates.

  Scowling, Trumper held two fingers up to his own eyes and then pointed them at the departing iguana. The message was clear: I’ll be watching you.

  Shaun shook his head sadly as Slip slunk back into the shadows and curled up. Tears rolled down her peculiar face.

  Outside, the sun sank in the sky. Toward evening, the smiley female warden brought food for each of the animals. A little while later, the lights in the Animal Containment Center went out with a clunk. Shaun leaned back against the wall, holding Timmy’s teddy tight, wondering what sort of place the city was at night and how the Flock and the Farmer would manage without him. The poor man was probably alone and frightened, and it was all his fault. . . .

  At that exact moment, far away from the Animal Containment Center, the fan who had been snapping photos of the celebrity outside the hair salon clicked the mouse of his computer. The pictures he had just taken of the celebrity’s new hairstyle appeared on the Internet. Within seconds, they were spreading. Over and over again the words “FABULOUS NEW LOOK” were typed out by amazed style-spotters. The amount of “likes” next to the photos began to increase, speeding up until the numbers began to blur. Before long, a whole new website had gone up. In the center of its homepage was a picture of the Farmer, surrounded by arty pictures of the sensational new hairstyle he had created. An article appeared: “WHO IS MR. X?” More coverage followed, complete with posters of the Farmer holding clippers in the shape of an X, the words “HAIR HERO” beneath. Soon, someone had digitally edited his goofy smile into a cool, brooding frown.

  At the hair salon, Meryl couldn’t answer the phone fast enough. Every light on the switchboard blinked as more callers tried to get through. Frantically, she scribbled names in the appointment book while the Farmer gripped yet another customer by the scruff of his neck and swung a leg across his back.

  echoed down the grim corridor. In one cell, the rottweiler and French poodle looked up in panic. Between them they had dug a large hole in the floor — a hole almost big enough to escape through. Were the two dogs about to make a run for it?

  They dropped a bone into the hole and quickly filled it in again. No, they were just being dogs.

  Animal Containment Officer Trumper walked slowly past cage after cage, stopping now and again to sneer at the animals inside.

  Shaun blinked as Trumper appeared on the other side of the bars.

  “Baaa,” said Trumper, mockingly.

  He turned away and saw Slip gobbling down her bowl of food. Trumper’s lip curled as he watched kibble flying everywhere. Pulling a bag of crisps from his pocket, he began to mimic her. Half-chewed crisps sprayed from between his grinding teeth.

  Shaun’s eyes widened as Trumper leaned over Slip’s cage. Hanging from the animal cop’s belt was a large bunch of keys.

  Quickly, Shaun pressed up against the bars and stretched out a hoof. He could almost touch the keys. Straining, he reached further. Almost, almost . . .

  Along the corridor, a buzzer went off. Trumper straightened, watching as the door opened.

  Bleating under his breath, Shaun pulled his hoof away and glanced toward the door.

  His eyes grew wide in shock.

  Standing in the doorway was a figure. A figure with flowing blond hair and a long coat. A figure that looked very familiar.

  The Twins, disguised as the woman, walked toward Trumper, the top sheep smiling sweetly. To one side, a dog sniffed the air and frowned. He realized that the lady swaying down the corridor wasn’t a lady! She was an animal, like the inmates. He opened his mouth, his bark turning into a “whhuu-ump” as the Twins’ handbag hit him in the mouth.

  The disguised sheep passed Shaun and Bitzer’s cell. The Twin on top shot them a quick look, lips forming a “shhh.” Taking Trumper by the arm, the sheep-lady pulled him away. Together, they strolled farther down the corridor without a backward glance.

  Meanwhile, outside the Animal Containment Center, the rest of the Flock began phase two of the rescue. A sheep held up a banana and waggled it in front of Shirley’s nose. Drooling, she strained toward it, pulling on a rope that had been tied around her shoulders. The other end had been tied to the bars set in a high window.

  The rope went tight. The sheep waved the banana again. Sweat popping from her brow, Shirley heaved. There was a grinding sound behind her. The barred window shifted.

  The sheep gave the banana one last waggle. Once more, Shirley pulled.

  This time the bars came free as the whole wall collapsed onto the pavement below.

  With a happy bleat, Shirley leapt at the banana. An alarm went off.

  Waaaark-waaaark-waaaark!

  The sheep stared at the opening where the wall had just been. There was no sign of Shaun. Instead, caught in the light of a streetlight, two bank robbers stared back, frozen.

  The Flock looked at each other, and bleated: wrong window.

  Together, they turned. Across the street, Shaun and Bitzer looked down at them from between the bars of the Animal Containment Center, shaking their heads sadly.

  Waaaark-waaaark-waaaark!

  Trumper started at the wailing sound and dropped the lady’s arm. Head twisting from left to right, he looked around quickly, seeking the source of the alarm. There was an emergency going on, and Animal Containment Officer Trumper might be needed . . .

  His thoughts disintegrated as a wet pair of lips met his in an enormous squelching kiss. Trumper’s eyes closed as he kissed the woman back passionately, then snapped open again. There was something very, very wrong with the lady’s mouth, including the smell of her breath!

  Gagging, he pulled away.

  The Twins shoved him in the chest. Trumper stumbled back into a chair and squawked in shock as the attractive woman ran down the corridor, splitting in two as she fled. Still trailing a long coat, wig askew, the Twins shot through the
door and away outside.

  Realizing he’d been fooled, the Animal Containment Officer rose with a growl. Someone was going to pay.

  At the same time, an idea popped into Shaun’s head. He still had the chalk he’d used to draw a night sky on the camper’s window blind! Quickly, he rummaged around in his fleece until he found it. Now, all he had to do was . . .

  Moments later, Trumper strode down the corridor, his face set in a grim mask. Suddenly, he pitched forward and sprawled across the floor; Slip had poked her leg between the bars of her cell.

  Waaaark-waaaark-waaaark!

  On his knees, Trumper glanced into Shaun and Bitzer’s cell. It was empty. On the far wall was a hole!

  Trumper gasped. The alarm had gone off because Shaun and Bitzer were escaping! Hands trembling, he unlocked the cell door and threw himself inside, reaching into the hole. Then he yelped and jumped back, sucking his stinging fingers.

  The hole wasn’t a hole. It was a drawing of a hole.

  Shaun was really quite a talented artist.

  Trumper’s head turned as the cell door slammed behind him. A key twisted in the lock. He caught a glimpse of Shaun and Bitzer running for the door at the far end of the corridor, releasing animals from their cages as they went. Defeated, Trumper slumped back on the cell’s bunk and looked up. The same scary-looking dog that had been staring at Bitzer was now staring at him.

  Beneath the streetlights outside, Shaun hugged Timmy and gave him his teddy back. Shaun turned to see Nuts pointing up. There, spread across an enormous billboard, was the Farmer’s face, with “MR. X” written above in huge letters. And in the corner of the billboard was a map showing the hair salon’s location. A cheer erupted.

  Slip bounded onto a trash bin and peered at the map, then woofed over her shoulder. She knew where the salon was. Did the Flock want to find Mr. X?

  The sheep nodded back at her eagerly.

  Hopping off the trash bin, Slip trotted to a hole in the fence and woofed at the Flock to follow.

  The moon rose higher in the sky as sheep slipped through ventilation ducts and over rooftops, Slip in the lead. Overjoyed that they would soon be reunited with the Farmer, several stopped to dance on the rooftops of old buildings, one sheep so energetically that she dropped down into a chimney and had to be pulled out, covered from head to hoof in soot.

  Eventually, the Flock slid down a waste tube on a building site and found themselves on a brightly lit street. Opposite was the hair salon.

  The sheep and sheepdog of Mossy Bottom Farm grinned at each other. Through the salon’s window was the welcome sight of the Farmer bending over, a pair of clippers in his hand, a customer locked between his knees.

  Bleating with joy, Shaun surged forward and bundled through the door. Shrieks split the air. A terrified customer grabbed at the arms of her chair, screaming. Stylists leapt onto another chair, clutching at each other.

  In the middle of the chaos, a sheep looked up into the Farmer’s face and bleated: It’s me, Shaun!

  The Farmer stared down at him.

  Shaun tried a smile.

  The smile quickly disappeared as the Farmer coldly shooed him away. Shaun blinked, devastated. Could it be true? Did the Farmer really want him to get lost?

  Bitzer’s urgent woofing jolted him out of his trance. Meryl was punching a number into her phone while thrashing at Shaun with a broom. It was time to go. Still staring up at the Farmer, Shaun shook his head. Bitzer grabbed his arm. Hooves squeaked as the sheepdog dragged him across the floor and pushed him out onto the pavement, Meryl close behind.

  Shaun barely noticed. He was lost in misery.

  in the lock on the cell door. Glowering, Trumper shoved the door open and stomped past the wardens toward his office. Behind him, the two wardens smirked at each other, enjoying the fact that the animals had outwitted the great Officer Trumper.

  Throwing open his office door, Trumper crossed the room, past photos of himself posing with various celebrities. His face like thunder, he snatched Shaun and Bitzer’s photos from the board that was headed, “CONTAINED,” and touched a keypad. Silently, the contained board slid back. The other wardens stared, aghast. Behind the secret wall, grabbers stood neatly racked in a line. Every one of them looked horribly cruel. Trumper didn’t hesitate. Snatching the most evil-looking contraption from the rack, he flicked a switch. Lights flickered. The machine gave a high-pitched buzz. A small, green picture of an animal turned into a red skull.

  Turning, Trumper pointed the machine at a cuddly toy on a shelf and pulled the trigger.

  The two wardens dived for cover.

  The smoking remains of the toy toppled over. Beside it, a toy robot whirred into life, putting its hands up in the air. With a satisfied grunt, Trumper stalked out of the room, the stun gun clutched tightly in his fist.

  Across town, Shaun looked up at the sound of a sharp yap. Farther down the street, Slip pushed away a sheet of cardboard to reveal a manhole cover. Opening it, she pointed down.

  Meryl’s angry shouts still ringing in their ears, the Flock hurried over and peered into the dark hole, bleating anxiously. It was dark down there — and smelly.

  Slip yapped again. Stray animals in the city needed to keep out of sight or Trumper would get them. They could use the underground tunnel to escape!

  There was nothing else to do. One by one, the Mossy Bottom Farm sheep and sheepdog jumped into the hole. A second later, Slip followed them. Covering the hole with the sheet of cardboard, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Down the drain, it was worse than the pigs’ sty, Shaun thought to himself. With sheep sniffing and bleating in disgust, the Flock waded through a stinking stream toward a faint patch of light. At the end of the tunnel, Slip pushed a wire cover to one side. Gratefully, the sheep followed her out, and gazed around at a scene from a nightmare. Slip had led them to a hidden patch of wasteland at the heart of the city, a collection of junk under the graffiti-covered, concrete arches of an overpass.

  Unconcerned, Slip led the Flock and Bitzer past old boxes and oil drums and drifting piles of newspapers and filth. A few moments later, they arrived at her home — a kennel made from scraps of cardboard. Next to it was a patch of empty ground where the Flock could sleep.

  Shaun blinked, a lump of sadness in his throat. Beside the kennel, Slip had arranged a torn dog-food poster so that she could look out from her rickety home and see smiling, happy people — the kind of owners she would love to have.

  The bewildered and frightened Flock drew closer to a fire that burned in a rusty oil drum. This dirty concrete wasteland was so different from their cozy barn and green meadow.

  Shaun bleated at them to get some sleep. Dragging a discarded cardboard box onto a pallet, he tried to make a bed. Following his example, all the sheep soon had beds of damp cardboard. Sighing miserably, Shaun lay down on his own, pulling old newspapers over himself. Above, a graffiti cobweb had been scrawled across the underside of the overpass. Shaun stared at it, homesick for the clumsy spider above his own bed back at Mossy Bottom Farm. A tear glistening in his eye, he took out the picture of the Farmer and gazed at it.

  From nowhere, a gust of wind caught the old photo. Shaun let it go, tossing it upward. The Farmer no longer cared about them. There was no point in keeping it. The rest of the sheep followed his gaze, watching as the tiny photograph blew away until it was just a dot over the rooftops.

  Timmy began to cry. His mother gave him a hug, but it made no difference. His bleating sobs echoed around the arches.

  Shaun rummaged in his satchel. Pulling out the old cassette player, he set it on the ground close to the lamb. While the rest of the Flock leaned in, curious, Shaun hit the “PLAY” button.

  A voice wafted out of the speaker, filling the night air with music.

  Timmy stopped crying. His face brightened and he yawned, lulled into sleepiness by the music . . . that suddenly slowed down, mangled into gibberish. Words and tune became a horrible cacophony.

  As Tim
my began to howl again, Shaun scowled and pulled out the cassette. The ancient machine had chewed the tape. Crushed, he shook his head mournfully. Everything he did went wrong.

  Around him, the Flock looked at one another. One by one, they nodded.

  Shirley began, bleating a low bass line. Another sheep pulled a ukulele from his fleece and began to strum. The rest of the Flock began to sing, adding harmonies.

  Once again, the song wafted out across the wasteland.

  Last to join was Nuts. Taking a deep breath, he bleated out a single ear-jangling note.

  As the gentle bleating song went on, Timmy settled into his mum’s arms again. Soon, his eyelids drooped. And still the sheep sang, their music winding between the tall buildings and drifting across the city.

  In the back room of the salon, the Farmer heard faint music. Somewhere deep inside, the beginnings of a memory stirred. He knew this song. He looked toward an open window. As the song echoed around the skyscrapers outside, he suddenly felt lost and out of place.

  The Farmer blinked as the music stopped. The half-memory vanished. Growling with frustration, he pulled the crumpled medical chart from his pocket and glared at it. Who was Mr. X? Where was he supposed to be?

  Meryl’s voice barked, calling him back to work. With a sigh, the Farmer screwed the chart up, tossed it out the window, and turned away.

  The scrunched ball of paper disappeared into the night, dropping into a bent drainpipe. A few seconds later, it bounced across a road, down into the wasteland, and onto a pile of trash.

  A hoof picked it up and tossed it at the fire.

  Bitzer’s nose twitched. A second later, his eyes opened wide as he recognized the familiar scent: the Farmer! With a jerk, he sat up. Where was the smell coming from? His eyes darted this way and that, and finally settled on the ball of paper with flames licking around it.