Mary lurched over, mounted his bike and gunned it to life. Artie watched helplessly as he circled the clearing and tore off down the track, spraying mud everywhere – his unknown cargo trapped in the sidecar right beside him.
Meanwhile, Mr Budgie finished loading some televisions into the van. He clambered inside and began to manoeuvre it around in the mud.
Artie peered desperately at the van.
At the back of it there was a little metal foot grille and a door handle. Before he had time to think, he sprinted through the rain and leapt up onto the step, grabbing hold of the handle. The van sped up, splashing and thudding down the track, trying to keep up with the others. Stricken with fear and sprayed all over with mud, Artie clung on for his life.
Chapter 10
Artie was relieved when the drive down the bumpy, muddy track of Nail Can Hill finally ended and they were on a proper sealed road. But his relief was short-lived: the van started speeding up, until it was rocketing through the dark streets of the town. They skidded around corners and overtook cars. Artie gripped the door handle so tightly he thought he might go flying off and actually leave his hands behind.
Finally, the van slowed as they entered a dingy industrial suburb and turned up a dark side street. Ahead, Artie could hear the FUDFUDFUD of Mary’s motorbike slowing to a halt. The van stopped alongside a huge old factory with a high razorwire fence. There was a checkpoint at the gate, and two security guards with pistols on their belts.
The moment the van braked, Artie jumped down and sprinted to some bushes on the far side of the road. From this vantage point he watched as Funnel-web’s car and Mary’s bike crept forwards and stopped at the security gate. The two robbers began chatting and laughing with the sentries. Artie hoped frantically that the guards wouldn’t think to pull back the cover of Mary’s sidecar.
Somehow, he was going to have to get into the compound, rescue Bumshoe, and escape! But how could he get past the checkpoint? He obviously couldn’t jump onto the back of the van again. Even though he looked like a giant mud-patty after his journey, he’d be spotted immediately.
Think! Think! Think! Artie held his forehead. Why can’t I be brave and strong like my dad was? He would never have let a problem like this beat him! He would have…Well, what would he have done? thought Artie. He would probably have just run over to that tree near the gate, and climbed straight up it, and then dropped down onto the roof of Mr Budgie’s van to catch a lift past the guards without being spotted…
Artie thought no more. He ran as silently as possible across the darkened street, until he arrived at the trunk of the tree. Mary and Funnel-web had finished chatting with the guards and were now moving the motorbike and car into the compound. With a jolt, Mr Budgie’s van began trundling along behind. Artie had only seconds to spare!
He climbed up the base of the tree and, like a leopard, scrabbled out onto the long limb that dangled over the road. The branch bent alarmingly under his weight. As the van moved forward underneath him, he slid a tiny bit further, and the limb bowed even more, and began to crack!
Just as it seemed about to snap off and send him plummeting, the branch gracefully deposited Artie onto the roof of the van without so much as a thump. He let go and it twanged back up into the air. Wow…Cool! he thought, allowing a rare moment of self-congratulation as he lay splayed on the roof. And I didn’t even have time to be scared by the height!
Unseen by the gatekeepers, the boy on the roof breathed a sigh of relief as the van was waved straight through into the dingy compound. With a scraping of metal doors, the convoy lurched forward into the factory itself. Artie rolled onto his stomach and peered about. The building was gargantuan, and completely full of cars, equipment, thousands of boxes overflowing with stolen booty and hundreds of animals in cages. Dozens of workers were loading and unloading objects, zipping about on forklift trucks.
Artie looked about in disbelief. There were walls of TVs, fridges, computers, jewellery and paintings, all neatly stacked into sections. Teams of men were pulling cars apart and spraying them new colours. Other groups were pulling stolen computers and electronic equipment to pieces.
They’re changing the serial numbers on everything to resell it on the black market! thought Artie.
The van ground to a halt, and Artie heard Mr Budgie get out and slam the door. Somewhere in the building he heard the awful barking and howling of the zombie-dog. He wriggled to the edge of the roof and peered over, but could see no sign of Mary’s bike. Mr Budgie, still wearing his birdcage, had plopped himself nearby on a pile of chairs as workers began unloading the van. He opened the door to his birdcage and began excavating his nose with a finger.
Artie squirmed his way over to the other side of the van and peeked around that edge. A sofa had been deposited directly below. Right beside it was Mary’s bike – but the sidecar was uncovered and completely empty! Artie’s heart began pounding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Had the gang caught Bumshoe? Suddenly, way above Artie’s head, a gantry door was flung open and out of an office emerged Funnel-web and Mary. Mary was making a joke, and Funnel-web, his thumbs hooked into his braces, was doubled over with laughter.
Artie, sprawled on the roof of the van, was now clearly visible. Against all his instincts and horror of heights, he squeezed his eyes shut and let himself roll over the edge, plummeting onto the sofa below. Incredulous that he was still alive and apparently intact, he wriggled under the cushions.
Immediately, he was aware of the sofa being lifted, and was taken on a jolting ride.
‘Feels heavier than it did a second ago,’ an unknown voice grumbled.
‘End of the day …’ complained another. ‘Things always feel heavier. Not getting paid enough for all this.’
Artie felt the sofa dumped hard onto the ground, and the two workers grumbled off into the distance. Venturing a look, he realised he was in a dimly lit section at the back of the factory, surrounded by furniture, white goods and musical instruments.
Directly to the side of him lay a great hill of washing machines and dryers. And there, right at the very top of the pile, his head poking out from under a washing machine lid, was Bumshoe! Artie could barely contain his excitement.
‘PSSSST! PSSSST!’ he hissed.
Bumshoe spun around, and spying Artie, he beamed. But his sudden movement had set the machine wobbling. Overbalancing, it began to teeter and, as if in slow motion, started tumbling all the way to the bottom, gathering momentum as it went.
The mangled machine sat right in the middle of the aisle. Slowly the lid squeaked open and Bumshoe’s head poked out like a turtle’s. Artie could only watch from his hiding place, appalled, as he saw Funnel-web turn and begin clattering down the stairs from the gantry.
‘Well, well, well,’ croaked the spidery man. ‘Looks like we’ve got a little spy on our hands.’
In seconds, Bumshoe was surrounded by a small crowd of factory workers. They parted as Funnel-web stepped in closer to the boy, followed by Mr Budgie.
‘He looks a little grubby, fellas,’ leered Funnel-web, his sharpened teeth glinting in the light. ‘Maybe we should fire up that washing machine and run him through a couple of cycles!’
‘BRING HIM UP HERE,’ said a voice that sent a shiver down Artie’s spine. Slowly lifting the sofa cushion higher, Artie saw Mary’s tattooed face gazing down from the shadows of the gantry. ‘We love making new friends …’
Chapter 11
Artie watched, mortified, as the crowd dragged his friend out of the battered washing machine. Bumshoe, who looked transfixed with fear, stared at the floor.
‘HOLD ON A BIT!’ growled Mary from above. ‘I believe I’ve already met our chubby little friend! He’s one of the sneaky brats who’s been sniffing around the cave trying to film us. You’ve made our boss very angry, boy!’ he snarled down at Bumshoe, but then turned to the crowd. ‘But when I was chasing him, he had a little friend with him. A scrawny little squirt. I’m betting he’s here somewhere a
s well!’
Artie gasped in fear. His mind was doing somersaults.
Funnel-web turned to the little man with the birdcaged head. ‘Oi, Mr Budgie, get Tinkerbell out of my car. He’ll sniff him out in a jiffy!’
‘Stop calling me that! And why am I the one who has to get Tinkerbell?’ grizzled Mr Budgie. ‘I hate Tinkerbell …’
‘Awww. He won’t hurt you,’ smirked Funnel-web. ‘It’s cats who eat budgies, not dogs!’ At this he burst into wild guffaws, joined by the crowd of workers and Mary on the gantry above.
‘Not funny!’ cried the voice from inside the birdcage.
‘Why are we all laughing then, Mr Budgie?’ called Mary.
Artie watched helplessly as Bumshoe was frogmarched up to the gantry, and the little robber with the birdcage on his head set off to fetch the terrible animal. Artie was panicking. In seconds, the monstrous zombie-dog would be unleashed and tearing him to pieces!
Once again, Artie berated himself. Why couldn’t I have been born brave, like Dad? he thought. Or even just smart? Smart would be good! If I was smart and brave like Dad, I’d know exactly what to do. I mean, in a situation like this, Dad would just … well, he would … probably just … GET OUT OF HERE!
All activity in the factory stopped, as groups of workers began patrolling about trying to find Artie. It was a matter of minutes before he would be discovered. With nothing to lose, he lifted the cushion a bit higher and looked wildly about. Way up high on the back wall he spied a window, and below, leading all the way up to it, was a sort of staircase of musical instruments. In the other direction, towards the front of the factory, was a mountain of cardboard boxes. If he could just distract everyone for a minute! Right beside him, in a box of stolen junk, he spied a rubber chicken. Why would someone steal a rubber chicken? Artie thought. I mean, really, how much are they going to get for a second-hand rubber chicken?
Then, scolding himself for wasting precious time with irrelevant thoughts, he grabbed the chicken by the neck, sprang up, and with all the strength he could summon, he flung it as far as he could towards the pile of cardboard boxes.
The chicken walloped one of the boxes at the top, and they all began to tumble, spilling their contents and making a huge clamour. The workers spun around and sprinted towards the noise.
Meanwhile, Artie darted in the opposite direction and began clambering up over the mound of grand pianos, guitars, drum kits, piano accordions and glockenspiels. The noise was cacophonous!
It sounded like a symphony that might have been composed by Aunty-boy. Artie hoisted himself up onto a xylophone, its wooden bars tumbling everywhere. At last reaching the window, he tried to yank it open. It was stuck fast!
Below him the factory workers, realising they’d been tricked, were now attempting to scramble up behind him. But being much heavier and clumsier than Artie, they kept plummeting through kettledrums, smashing violins and double basses, and falling back to the ground.
GROOOOOOWRRRRR!!!!!
It was Tinkerbell! Artie spun around and saw the fiendish animal bounding up the hill of instruments, its eyes narrowed into yellow slits, its mouth pulled back to reveal a huge expanse of blood-red gums and razor-sharp teeth.
Artie tore at the window, but it wouldn’t budge! The hound was gaining on him. It snapped its jaws open and sprang right at him. He closed his eyes, giving in to his final fate as a doggie snack. But the awful animal, attempting to land on the xylophone, sent more bars tumbling off the instrument, lost its footing, and with an almighty it shot out of sight between some oboes and a tuba and disappeared down into the musical mountain.
Artie once again yanked at the window, which started to rattle. But from nowhere, a bony hand grasped his leg like a clamp. It was Funnel-web, who had scuttled up the hill like a spider.
‘Come on, little fella,’ he murmured. ‘We won’t hurt you. Just want a chat.’ His smile displayed the row of sharpened teeth, and he tightened his grip on Artie’s leg.
With a supreme final effort, Artie prised the window open. A gust of cold air blew in his face and he leant out. It was only then that he realised he was two storeys up from the footpath outside! He instinctively leant backwards, accidentally grabbing on to the elastic braces holding up Funnel-web’s trousers. Then, falling away from the hairy man, he tumbled clear out the window, clinging tight to the braces. Artie was sure he was going to die, but just as he was about to crash to the ground, he sprang right back up, like a bungee jumper!
As he bounced he saw Funnel-web trapped with his head out the window and his trousers dragged all the way up to his armpits! Artie realised that each time he fell he was giving Funnel-web a humungous wedgie!
Meanwhile Tinkerbell, who was back again, had apparently found an irresistible target, and was chomping and tearing at its master’s bottom.
‘OOOOOOOOWWW … MY BUM! MY BUM!’ screamed Funnel-web. ‘GET HIM OFF ME!!’
But the factory workers, terrified of the hideous beast, seemed to be scrambling away in all other directions.
Artie grabbed his opportunity. The next time he dipped down, he let go of the braces and landed with a thud on the pavement below.
Right beside him was a massive pile of stolen bicycles. He grabbed the first one he saw (which happened to be a hot-pink girls’ bike with little lilac flag on the back) and took off like a rocket, straight towards the checkpoint. Artie felt sick at leaving Bumshoe behind, but he knew that right now the only hope of rescuing him was to escape.
The security guards, completely bewildered by the vision of a skinny boy cycling out of the compound on a girls’ bike, stared at him open-mouthed.
‘RABBITS!!!’ Artie yelled, and gave a little ting on his bell.
This confused them even more, and Artie flew straight past on his rickety bike. Bumshoe’s good old rabbit trick, he thought. Works every time!
He tore off down the dingy street, but behind him he heard angry shouting, the sound of car engines, and the distinct and ominous FUDFUDFUDFUDFUD of Mary’s motorbike roaring to life …
Chapter 12
Artie needed a plan. His little pink bike was no match for a car and motorbike. He belted down the long road surrounded by wet, empty yards and falling-down warehouses, which looked gloomy and sinister in the moonlight.
He heard the furious roar of the car tearing up behind him and was suddenly trapped in the glare of its headlights. Up ahead he spied a steep set of concrete stairs descending into muddy flatlands. Artie knew the area vaguely from explorations with Bumshoe. He knew that somewhere down in the dark beyond the marsh must be the river that weaved its way through the town. At the very last moment he threw his bike into a turn and thudded down the stairway.
He reached the bottom and took off across the boggy paddock. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the cars had stopped at the top, and Funnel-web and Mr Budgie were now running down the stairs on foot. But all at once they leapt out of the way as Mary came clattering down the staircase between them on his motorbike.
Skidding and slipping in the mire, Artie found himself being chased for the second time by Mary on a motorbike! This time, however, the terrifying man was even more angry and determined, and Artie no longer had the comfort of his friend by his side.
WHAPPAT!!!!
Before he knew what had happened, Artie was flying through the air. With a kersplash he landed in freezing cold water. Turning back he saw that Mary had whipped the frame of his bicycle and yanked it out from under him.
Artie realised that he seemed to be in a fast-flowing current. The river! He was in the shallows of the river! The terrible tattooed man dismounted and lumbered towards him in the moonlight, smirking and twirling his whip.
‘C’mon, out you get. You don’t want to catch a cold now, do you? Come on, boy. You’re coming with me …’
WHAPPAT!!!!
Artie felt a searing pain in his leg as Mary’s whip caught hold of him and snaked its way around his calf. Funnel-web and Mr Budgie arrived out of the da
rk marsh. Puffing and enraged, they started plodding through the mud towards him. Quick as a fish, Artie spun around and dived into the water, jerking on the whip as he went. Mary, holding tight to the other end, went flying face-first into the icy sludge. Cursing and screaming, he flailed about as his motorcycle boots were sucked into the mud. ‘GET ME OUT, YOU MORONS! I’M STUCK! HELP ME, YOU NINCOMPOOPS!!!’
Drifting away in the current, Artie watched as the ungainly crew splodged about in the shallows, dragging Mary back to shore.
‘I’LL GET YOU, BOY!’ the tattooed man bellowed across the water. ‘DON’T YOU WORRY! SOONER OR LATER, I’LL GET YOU!!!’
But Artie breathed deep and began stroking out into the darkness of the river. He knew it looped all the way back through the town.
He rolled onto his back, letting the current carry him away, and tried to calm his thoughts.
Bumshoe, was all he could think. I have to save Bumshoe!
Chapter 13
Artie stared at the feast laid out in front of him. Hot bread rolls, eggs, sweet tea, a strange purple soup, and, of course, Zoran’s nappy cheese.
By the time Artie had drifted back to the centre of town in the icy water, hauled himself out and trudged home, it was dawn. He knew his mum and sister probably wouldn’t have noticed his absence. Realising there was no way he could turn up at home now – filthy, soaking wet and having not slept all night – Artie had continued on to the Unpronounceable-enkos, where within minutes he had been ushered inside by Oksana and into a deep, hot bath. She had told him to leave his filthy clothes outside the bathroom door, and had thrown them in to wash while Zoran laid out a mountain of food for breakfast, which Artie now sat in front of, swaddled in Zoran’s gigantic dressing-gown.
Artie and the Grime Wave Page 4