by Steve Cole
TBH, I’d sooner not relive those mucky moments as we flopped out of the monster’s colossal backside, but here is an artist’s impression of our escape:
Finally, huddled together and bracing ourselves against the sides of the cockpit – “WHOAAAAAAA!” we dropped from above in a swampy – luckily, the right way round. I tried to offer a grateful word of thanks to the heavens, but of course there was a gigantic hairy butt blocking my view and I wasn’t about to thank THAT for anything.
So we carefully got out of the helicopter on wobbly legs. The ground was rocky underfoot. A wild, whistling wind howled outside.
“We’re in a cave,” said Verity.
Alfie nodded. “A spooky cave.”
“I’d better take a look and see where we are.” Zola picked up a flat slate from the cave floor. “Tell you what! I’ll sketch the landscape in chalks, then come back and unveil it to you during a small ceremony.”
“Or we could just come with you and see for ourselves,” I suggested.
“No sense of occasion, you humans.” Zola looked glum and her snakes had drooped a little. “I’m just trying to put off going out there.”
“Oh, it can’t be as bad as all that. Can it?” Verity pushed her paw into my hand and took a deep, shaky breath. “Come on. Let’s view the view from Death-Eye Canyon.”
We followed her through a cold, damp, dark tunnel, silt and sand scraping under our feet.
“I hear tourists love Gorgonopolis,” said Alfie suddenly. “They come to visit – and they never leave! Ha! Ha . . . er, ha?” None of us responded. “Er, the joke is, they come here and get killed by being turned into statues so they can’t leave—”
“Maybe you should cut that one from the routine,” I broke in.
“Why did the gorgon cross the road?” Alfie tried again. “To kill someone by turning them to stone!”
Verity shivered. “And that one.”
“My gorgon has no nose,” Alfie tried again. “How does she smell? It doesn’t matter, because she kills anyone within sniffing distance by turning them to—”
“Could you stop, please?” I hissed.
“Sorry, guys.” Alfie sighed. “When I’m scared, I make jokes about it. It’s just kind of what I do.”
“Well, you’re right to be scared,” Zola called from ahead of us, standing on a ledge outside the cave. “Here it is. Night-time in Death-Eye Canyon.”
I joined her on the ledge, while Alfie and Verity held back in the cave-mouth, and peered into the misty, menacing gloom. A dim skybulb shone purple from a socket of rock. Drops of sharp-smelling water dripped from the stone heavens high above, falling like rain. The scree-covered slopes of the canyon were littered with strange rock formations.
Or that’s what I thought at first, anyway.
Then I saw they were statues. Some new and white, some old and moss-grown, all that now stood of monsters turned to stone while climbing desperately in search of safety. One last glance over their shoulder at their sinister pursuers, and they’d been petrified in more way than one.
There were other things in the valley. Tall and thin like people in the misty shadows?
Daylight snapped on as the skybulb flicked into life, a hard, pale purple. I jumped in alarm. Yes, I could see more clearly now. Other figures standing in the canyon and crouched on the slopes . . . green skin protruding from robes and capes, with hair like nests of vipers . . . or anacondas . . . or even boa constrictors . . .
The scene was suddenly 77% scarier.
“Gorgons!” Alfie whispered, cringing in the cave mouth, pointing down into the valley. “Loads of them!” Sweat was beading on his rubbery skin, his voice was growing more and more high-pitched. “It’s like a chorus line of gorgons out there! Look, see? Gorgons. ”
“Shhhh,” I hissed. “They’ll hear you!”
Alfie threw his head back and wailed:
“He’s hysterical,” Zola bit her claws. “Pythia’s pants, he’ll have every gorgon in the place after us.”
“Sorry, Alf, it’s for your own good!” Verity biffed him one in the chops and he fell over backwards.
Stunned into silence, Alfie blinked up at her with his wonky eyes. “Hey. You calmed me down with a boom!”
I would’ve groaned out loud but my teeth were too busy chattering in fear. Had the gorgons heard us? Zola and I joined Alfie and Verity beneath the overhanging rock.
“I don’t understand,” said Zola, staring out while her snakes looked at each other in confusion. “The gorgons . . . they’re not moving?”
“Not one of them is looking our way,” I said quietly. “In fact, their eyes are all closed!”
“They’re . . . not doing anything much.” Alfie got back to his feet. “Hey, you don’t think they’ve turned themselves into stone, do you? That would be embarrassing!”
“No, they haven’t.” Verity pointed down into the valley, a look of awe on her hamstery face. “Look, where the water’s falling on them – you can see . . .”
She trailed off. Perhaps because Alfie, Zola and I gave a synchronized gasp as we saw what her keen eyes had already picked out. On the back of each gorgon’s head was something like a pink, pulsating veiny brain, clinging there with tendrils and tentacles. It was one of the grossest things I have ever seen (and if you’ve read this far, you already know the stiffness of the competition).
“Zooloobs,” Verity whispered.
At first I thought she was swearing. Then I remembered. “Those things your uncle thought might be controlling me?” I shivered. “They’re invisible till they’re wet, isn’t that what he said?”
“Correct,” said Zola. “They normally float about down on the very lowest level, looking for victims. Once they’ve stuck themselves onto the head of a monster, they push in their tentacles and feed on the brainpower. That means they can work their host’s mind and body by remote control.” She looked worried. “We used to get the odd one or two floating up from Level Seven, but never as many as this.”
“It looks like they’ve overrun the whole place,” I agreed, “and put the gorgons to sleep standing up. Maybe so they won’t notice each other’s zooloobs and kick up a fuss.”
Verity nodded. “Ooooh, Bob-ob-ob, I bet you’re right.”
“Know what? I like zooloobs.” Alfie grinned round at us. “Now we can whizz straight through this level and down to the Star Jewel without being noticed – am I right? Good old zooloobs. I love zooloobs! Mmm, y’know, I could probably marry a zooloob—”
“There’s one floating up here now,” said Zola.
“” Alfie jumped in the air, saw the horrible brain-thing bobbing up over the ledge through the dripping rain, its tentacles outstretched. But Zola pulled off her shades, fixed it with a gorgon glare, and – – turned it into a bright red balloon. As it floated to the ground, I jumped on the thing to pop it.
“Nasty, stinking zooloobs,” Alfie muttered. “I’ve always hated them.”
“Let’s away to the helicopter and get going while we can!” Verity raised a paw heroically. “But remember, it’s dry in here. We won’t be able to see any zooloobs. Wave your arms in the air about your head just in case.”
“Better still,” said Zola with a smile, “my snakes shall perform a rich, historical tragedy entirely through the medium of mime, to distract any zooloobs from attacking us.”
“By boring them to death?” said Verity, nodding. “Nice thinking, Zoles!”
I have to say, the sight of Zola’s head snakes in their little hats and scarves, wriggling against a make-believe wind was strangely moving – it moved me all the way back to the copter at record speed, flapping my hands round my ears like an infant chased by a bee on a picnic. Alfie was pretty much the same, except with his small claw he couldn’t quite reach his head. I was actually quite relieved to see that big old bum in the ceiling again, and our transport still parked beneath.
“All right, let’s go.” Alfie started up the engine as Verity and Zola bundled on board beh
ind us and slammed the door. The gloopy rotors began to turn. “Which way now?”
Verity was already checking her notes. “Head south out of here. We have to follow the course of the River Plurge Rapids.”
“Thank goodness we don’t have to take a boat or swim for it.” Zola patted her snakes’ heads to stop their mime. They looked a bit disappointed (one rebelliously continued pretending to feel its way round an invisible wall). “Anyone who’s ever tried to navigate the Plurge Rapids has been smashed into a billion pieces!”
“Nice,” I said, as Zola’s snakes mimed flopping down dead.
“Well, the rapids ought to lead us right down to Level Seven. And from there it’s only a short hop over to our final destination: The Star Jewel!”
“Really?” Hope fluttered uncertainly in my heart, like a sparrow caught inside a shopping-centre piazza. “It’s as easy as that?”
“Abso-bib-bobbb-ling-lootly!” Verity beamed. “Um, sort of.”
My hope-sparrow whapped into a shopping-centre window and flopped down onto the litterbin of despair. “Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?”
“Well, Uncle says, before we can get at the crystal, we have to ‘brave the lash of Old Mother Poison, the final guardian’. Whoever that is.”
“Brave her lash?” Alfie’s claws wobbled on the control stick as he nudged the copter forwards through the dark tunnels. “What, like, a whiplash?”
“Or maybe it’s an eyelash?” said Verity. “Maybe she’s just an old lady with a really long eyelash, and you have to sort of get past it without tripping up.”
“Yeah, right,” I sighed. “That’s totally likely.”
The copter soared out of the cave and into the rainy haze of morning. I gazed down at the sleeping gorgons and their zooloob horror-headwear, and half-wished I was oblivious to all that was going on around me.
“Cheer up, Bob-ob-ob. She’ll be really, really old if she’s been guarding it all this time.” Verity nudged me with a furry elbow. “Hey, for all we know, she dropped dead a few centuries back. And even if the old broad is still clinging to life somehow – c’mon, we can take down an old lady, right? Four of us against one ancient old crone with a lousy whip?”
Reluctantly I considered the percentages, as usual. “I guess the odds are on our side.”
“Right,” Zola agreed. “So long as we don’t fly into any rawks.”
As one, Alfie, Verity and I turned to her and echoed: “Rawks?”
“Yes. Big birds made out of stone,” she explained. “The rawks live among the gorgons because they’re immune to our glares. You should see their poops! It’s like showering in rubble.”
“I think I’ll pass,” I said. “Are they friendly?”
“Oh, yes. Well, so long as you stay well away from them,” said Zola. “No one tends to fly anywhere in Gorgonopolis, because at the first whisper of an engine in their air-space, they attack.” Suddenly her snakes dived for cover, hiding their heads under their coiling, quivering bodies. “Like, um, those rawks heading for us now . . .”
I could already see them: a flock of misshapen, menacing gargoyles. The rawks numbered maybe twenty, with wings like gravestones, beaks like cones of concrete and glittering gravel for eyes. Veering towards us, they squawked loudly, a nerve-jangling sound like metal scraping granite.
“I’m guessing we’re entering rawk air-space.” Alfie had turned pale as the porridge stains on the windows. “Newsflash just in, guys – they’re heading straight for us!”
Before I could even draw breath to yell in super-scared fear, the rawks had descended on us. It was awful! The copter tumbled and pitched, as stony claws and concrete beaks swung and smashed at the windows. It was as if we’d been thrown into the ‘concrete wash’ in some insane sky-launderette.
“Lose altitude, Alfie!” Verity shouted, “Dip down to avoid them!”
Alfie pushed on the control stick, and we dropped – with a horrific shattering of rotors.
“Or not,” Verity added quickly, “you decide!”
“We came down too fast,” Zola said fearfully. “The rotors smashed into the rawks—”
“Yep, noticed, thanks!” Alfie was trying to steer, but the copter was swinging round, barely under control. “Now we’re in trouble. This bird is falling!”
Spiralling below I saw a wide, frothing ribbon of water. “Is that the river whatsitsname?”
“The River Plurge! Yes!” Verity nodded feverishly. “Head that way, Alfie. Head that way!”
“I can’t! We’re out of control,” Alfie shouted. “We’re going to crash!”
Down with the boom, I thought grimly. “If we hit at this speed, we’ll all be killed. 100% certain!”
“No. There’s a chance.” Zola’s claws were poised on her dark glasses. “I can use my gorgon glare on you – transform you into something that might survive the crash.”
“Seriously?” I stared at her. “What about you?”
“Maybe if I look in the mirror, I can change myself too?”
I was thrown against Zola as one last rawk slammed into the side of the copter. Her shades fell free, and as Alfie turned round to her in wild panic –
One glance, and he was transformed into a bright yellow inflatable!
“Pilot down!” squeaked Verity, grappling with gravity and the blow-up Alfie as she took over the controls. “We’ve got to hit the river . . .”
“Verity, you could hardly steer a bus!” I reminded her, panic stricken. “What makes you think you can handle a helicopter?”
“Dumbness and optimism,” Verity admitted, as the copter jerked downward on its erratic course.
“At least Alfie will float.” Zola considered. “I’m not sure about the colour though. Do you think the yellow’s too bright—?”
“Just change us!” I begged her. “Quick!”
“I’ve never transformed a human before,” Zola admitted. “Who knows what might happen?”
“Do it!” I pleaded. “It’s got to be better than a mahoosive—”
Another rawk flew right into us, its white stony beak smashing through the window, sending us into a faster spin. What if Alfie gets a puncture? I thought.
Then I lost my grip on the seat and was thrown out through the broken window. And all I could think was, NOOOOOOOO!
“Bob-ob-ob!” Verity yelled. I saw her as if in slow motion, reaching out a paw to me. But it was too late. I was in freefall. Tumbling through the air like a skydiver, in a world where the sky was solid and the rivers would probably kill you with a single—
Ker-
I struck the surging white waters (I say ‘waters’ – who knew what it was) of the River Plurge. It was like landing on a slide in the wildest water park ever, only accelerated by around 92%. And 100% less fun. From the smell and thickness of the stuff I was now drowning in, it was clear that no chlorine had been close – it smelled more like raw sewage. I saw the copter, battered and dented and smashed, whistle and spin overhead like a trashcan comet, but the roar of its dying rotors was lost in the wash and bubble of the stinking rapids. The current was insanely strong. It sucked me under, sweeping me away.
“Ugh!” I spluttered. Where was the copter now? I saw something dark race by. A rock! I lunged for it, hoping to hang on – AAAAGH! The jagged edge almost sliced off my fingers. No traveller had ever survived this river, Zola had warned us, and now I could see just why . . .
I HATE THIS MONSTERLAND! I would’ve shouted if my mouth wasn’t full of toxic sludge and if I wasn’t exhausted already from fighting to stay afloat. I SHOULDN’T BE HERE. I JUST WANT TO GET HOME!
Then, as I rounded a bend in the river, my sludge-splashed eyes widened. Hope flared somewhere inside. Because it occurred to me, perhaps those poor old travellers met their doom because they lacked a particular something.
They didn’t have their own, bright yellow, Alfie-shaped inflatable to cling onto!
I saw the luminous lifesaver swoosh down the raging river towards me; Alfie must’
ve been hurled from the copter too. But where was it now? I couldn’t see anything in the sky besides rawks, raining their rubbly droppings over the river like a deadly hail. I ducked under the water again and was nearly sliced in two by a razor-sharp rock beneath the surface. When I broke the surface again I saw the Alfie-inflatable bearing down on me, and caught hold of his big claw. Carried into an even faster current, we rocketed away.
Clinging to that buoyant claw, I could’ve wept for joy. I was so wet anyway, no one would’ve noticed. With a determination born of sudden, unlikely hope that I could survive, I clambered on top of the inflatable and clung on with frozen limbs. It meant that my face was pressed up against Alfie’s butt, but he would never know and I wasn’t planning on telling anybody (oops – keep it to yourselves).
Shivering cold, fighting to keep my grip as the water tossed us this way, that way, 7% further that way, back as much the other way –WHOAAA, how far THAT way did we go? Urghh . . .
How long did the River Plurge go on for? Did it ever end? Did it flow into some incredible subterranean sea, swirling ever deeper, round and round, until it fell boiling and steaming into the Earth’s core?
I wished. That sounded like a walk in the park (or, perhaps, a soggy paddle in the lake) compared to the reality I saw stretching ahead in the distance.
Perhaps half-a-mile away there lay a churning, foaming mass of water and spray exploding over a fearsome array of jagged rocks, and beyond that . . . nothing. The world fell away, screaming.
It was a waterfall.
A water-heck-of-a-fall – but how far, and into what?
“Well. Guess this is goodbye.” I knew then, this was it – the unhappy ending of my own Bob Bee B-movie. Thanks a bunch, Fate! I thought bitterly. But I knew Fate couldn’t hear a thing, too busy laughing her mystical stockings off at the idea that Bob, the boy who loved monster flicks above all else should meet his end in a land of monsters . . . trying to escape monsters . . . while floating on top of a monster . . .