Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (33 page)

Boadicea
sighed.

‘There is only
one source of nutrition in that lot,’ she reached down and picked
up a large white, caterpillar like grub, held it up by one end and
dropped into her mouth.

‘Not bad,’ said
Boadicea between chews, ‘A bit like scrambled eggs, with a hint of
chicken.’

Fergus’s
admiration for Boadicea took a leap and he faced up to the implicit
challenge. He picked up the smallest of the grubs, popped into his
mouth and took a bite. It was sour and tasted of mould. Fergus felt
his stomach heave and he turned to one side to wretch.

‘Not that one
love,’ said Boadicea, ‘I’m pretty sure it’s dead. Just eat the live
ones.’

Fergus spat out
the grub and tried to wipe his tongue with his finger. Even though
this was his worst ever dining experience, he heard Boadicea call
him ‘love’ and even if it was just a Yorkshire phrase, casually
acquired, it made him feel just marvellous. He stood up and went to
the pond to swill out his mouth and get rid of the awful taste.

‘Wow, that is
one experience I won’t forget,’ said Fergus as he returned
grinning, ‘you won’t mind if I skip straight to the dessert?’

‘Skip through
the desert by all means,’ said Abbey, ‘We have enough of it.’

‘Nah, I really
mean it; dessert. Boadicea put your hand in my right hand jeans
pocket,’ said Fergus.

‘It’s sewn
shut,’ said Boadicea.

‘Come here,’
said Fergus, Boadicea stood and walked towards him. He pulled her
close, undid the top button of her jeans, and eased the zip halfway
down. Boadicea gave him a quizzical look, but did not object.
Fergus reached inside, grabbed something, and pulled hard. There
was a ripping sound and Fergus held the jeans pocket in his hand.
He held it up.

‘Something I
picked up from Dave. Kendal Mint Cake,’ said Fergus and like a
magician produced the famed white and red packet from the ripped
pocket.

‘You little
beaut,’ said Boadicea and hugged Fergus then turned her face up and
kissed him. After a few moments Abbey coughed.

‘Are you going
to share that, or are you too distracted by snogging your
cousin?’

‘Damn it all,’
said Fergus, ‘I hate it when you’re right.’ He and Boadicea
shuffled apart; they both looked a little guilty.

The Kendal Mint
Cake was divine and took away the awful taste of Wichetty grub in
Fergus’s mouth. The Noggin, after a few careful sniffs, refused the
mint cake, but polished off all the bush tucker with apparent
relish.

‘Time to get
going?’ asked Abbey.

Fergus nodded
and took the leather dungarees down to the pond to fill them. Soon
they were walking along behind the sniffing Noggin, Fergus sloshing
along with the dungarees tied around his neck, on their way to a
destination famed for lightning strikes.

Perhaps there
was a landing platform all the way around, or perhaps it was sheer
luck, for whatever reason, when Dave heard the gentle lapping of
waves against a solid surface, it wasn’t a sheer wall, but a low
ledge that they climbed easily. Once on solid ground, Dave took off
his sodden Harris Tweed jacket and poured the water out of his
Brogues.

Suddenly Dave
was blinded by light; after so long in the dark, the torch was
dazzling. All around them were wooden packing crates and obscure
machinery on pallets.

‘Right let’s
get cracking. Someone build a fire, I’m going fishing.’

‘Who died and
made you the boss?’ asked Trev.

Dave looked
Trev up and down.

‘Suit yourself,
but unless you want sashimi, I suggest you build a fire,’ said Dave
and stomped off back to the water’s edge.

Half an hour
later, Dave returned dragging a three-foot long headless, gutted
catfish by the tail. The Aussies crouched in a circle around the
torch.

‘No luck?’
asked Dave.

‘Don’t ask,’
said Trev.

Dave sighed and
dropped the catfish.

‘I suppose
asking you to cut that into fillets isn’t too much to ask?’

‘We can manage
that, but those crates are too tough for our knives and we can’t
lift anything off a pallet.’

Dave stepped up
to the nearest crate and made swiping gestures. Chunks of wood and
plank rained down onto the concrete floor.

‘That’ll get
you started; don’t tell me you can’t start a fire?’

‘What the hell
was that?’ asked Toomey.

‘Pruning
knife,’ said Dave, ‘we take gardening seriously in Yorkshire.’

Dave lay on
soft blankets, the packing crate he cut up was full of them, which
was a turn up. He let his thoughts wander in the soft green glow of
the luminous dial of his compass. The catfish’s slightly muddy in
flavour would benefit from salt, despite that it was one of the
most wonderful meals he’d eaten. Even Trev cheered up.

They were
making progress, despite it being a series of prat falls. They were
now at the bottom of the Workshops, where the control centre should
be and they had food and water. Maybe I can get out of this alive
thought Dave, despite what Engineer intended. I wonder what he
meant by that which you truly desire. What I actually desire
certainly isn’t stuck in a hidden complex miles underneath Ayer’s
Rock. Ah well, let’s see what tomorrow brings and with that thought
Dave drifted off to his first decent sleep in days.

It was dark by
the time they reached the Noggin’s intended destination. It wasn’t
much to look at, more of an overhang than a cave, but the Noggin
sniffed with apparent satisfaction, and shook its head a lot.
Fergus was freezing and the heavy, water filled leather dungarees
chaffed his neck and he couldn’t put them down even when they
stopped for a rest, so he was glad to find a suitable scrubby tree
on which he could hang their makeshift water carrier.

‘So what do we
do now?’ asked Fergus.

The Noggin
scribbled a note and handed it to him.

‘Run fast
straight at Kangaroo.’

Fergus was
feeling put upon and somewhat put out. The temptation to be wilful
overcame his normal common sense. So he ran fast straight at the
Kangaroo drawing on the wall and disappeared.

‘What?’ said
Abbey.

‘A portal I
expect,’ said Boadicea, ‘Come on, before that lughead does
something stupid.’ She ran full tilt at the wall and disappeared
too.

The Noggin
shrugged, shook its head, and showing surprising acceleration, ran
through the wall too.

‘Oh alright,’
said Abbey, ‘I’m coming too.’ and followed the others through the
Kangaroo wall to another world beyond.

Abbey arrived
to find Fergus, Boadicea, and the Noggin standing in a well-lit
tunnel. At the end was jungle. The air was humid and smelled of
mould.

‘Hi Abbey, did
you not think to bring the water, what with you being the last one
through,’ said Fergus.

‘You were
carrying the water, it’s your responsibility Fergus,’ said
Abbey.

Fergus realised
that he had accidentally entered into an argument with a woman
where he was right; a schoolboy error, but still open to the
apology and rectification gambit.

‘Ah, sorry. Of
course, you’re right. I’ll just go and fetch it.’

Fergus ran full
tilt into the flat rock wall at the end of the tunnel. He did not
pass through, he did not even pass go, instead he passed out; minor
concussion.

‘Fergus! Are
you alright?’ shouted Boadicea and rushed to the crumpled heap
lying next to the rock wall.

‘What? Is it
one way?’ asked Abbey.

The Noggin
nodded and flapped his hands, then wrote a note.

‘Thought you
knew? All ways into Workshops are now one way.’

‘Oh great, now
we’re stuck here,’ said Abbey and looked at Fergus, ‘Without water
too; just fantastic.’

Boadicea helped
Fergus to his feet. He swayed.

‘Can someone
help? He’s concussed,’ said Boadicea.

The Noggin
trotted over and sniffed at Fergus. It waved its hands, shook it
head and then walked up to the wall. It poked the wall a few times
and a blue rectangle, no bigger than a postcard appeared. A few
more presses on the blue rectangle and it disappeared.

‘How did you do
that?’ asked Abbey.

The Noggin
wrote a quick note.

‘Worked here,
long time ago. Wait help coming.’

Fergus leant
against the wall holding his head, apologising. It was the default
action for an outnumbered man, especially when he did not know what
was going on. Boadicea fussed about trying to make things better
and Abbey looked on disdainfully.

Suddenly a cart
shot out the wall halfway down the tunnel, turned and drove towards
them. It looked like a scruffy golf buggy. It drew to a halt just
feet from the Noggin, who leapt in and gestured for the others to
join it. No sooner had they all got in, Fergus helped by an
attentive Boadicea, then it trundled off, took a sharp left turn
and disappeared into the wall.

Dave and the
Australians breakfasted on smoked catfish, which convinced Dave to
keep salt about his person in future. The dark was oppressive and
the green glow of the compass was insufficient for most tasks,
which meant using the torch.

‘We’ll have to
preserve the batteries as much as possible,’ said Dave.

‘Thank goodness
you’re here, Mr Holmes, us poor blokes would have never thought of
that,’ said Trev

‘You know where
you can shove it,’ said Dave, ‘I have a plan.’

‘Ooo do tell,’
said Trev.

Dave handed out
long, thin sticks, one for each.

‘We use canes,
like blind people. Then we can move around in the dark without
bumping into things-’

‘Or falling
down deep shafts,’ said Hungry Joe.

‘Aye, and to
make sure no one wanders off we can rope ourselves together.’

‘The canes are
a good idea,’ said Trev, ‘but I don’t reckon on being roped up.
Better to have a hand on the shoulder of the man in front.’

‘Good man,
that’s a much better idea,’ Said Dave, ‘and what’s more, I think we
should use the torch till we are out this warehouse, it’s like a
maze in here.’

They packed up,
Dave with a blanket roll across his chest, Russian infantry style,
that contained the remaining smoked catfish, and the Aussies with
their rucksacks heavy with water sacks and firewood. The torch cut
a wide beam through the dark, showing walkways between the stacks
of crates and pallets of obscure machinery. Dave led, heading away
from the water and to the left, with the hope of hitting a sidewall
soon as possible.

They soon found
a huge square tunnel that curved upwards at the back of the loading
area. It had a smooth concrete floor and large light fittings along
the sides and ceiling.

‘Shame they
didn’t think to leave the lights on,’ said Toomey.

Dave stood
staring for a moment.

‘Change of
plan,’ said Dave, ‘I feel the need to roam. So I’ll keep the
compass open and hang it backwards, then you’ll be able to follow
me. If I get too far away, just shout or signal with the
torch.’

‘I like it,’
said Hungry Joe, ‘If there are any cliff edges or deep pits, we get
plenty of warning.’

‘Not actually
my main concern. I want to make sure we don’t miss any branches in
the tunnel. You three follow the left hand side, hand on shoulder
and I’ll do the right. Shout if you find a side tunnel.’

‘What do we do
if you fall down some bottomless shaft?’ asked Trev. Dave was sure
he was smirking, but couldn’t see his face in the dark.

‘Try not to
follow me in, as you roll about the floor laughing.’

They followed
the tunnel in complete darkness, the chatter died ages ago,
smothered by the oppressive blackness and silence. The only sound
the constant tap, scrape, tap of the canes as they swept around
checking wall and floor. If only it wasn’t so dark we could get a
move on thought Dave. The control room is going to be around here
somewhere, above the lake, but below the main access shaft. If this
is the main corridor and it winds right around the circumference of
the lake, then it must on a branch off here. Mind you it would help
if I could trust these Aussie to take it seriously. They don’t seem
to realise that finding the control room is our only hope and a
slim one at that. I have no idea how they control the portals, then
again we have plenty of time to experiment. Turning the bloody
lights on would help.

I wonder how
Fergus is coping with the Allotments, there is so much to do; I
should be there rather than farting about a derelict off world
factory. And Abbey; we have so much to talk about, no sooner is she
back than I am gone. Damned Engineer; bloody stroppy squid.

‘Oi, Captain
Invincible,’ shouted Trev, ‘We found a side tunnel.’

‘Ok, be there
in a tick.’ replied Dave.

‘You want us to
go down it?’ shouted Toomey.

‘Yes, but let
me catch up; unless one of you wants to go first?’

For Abbey and
Boadicea the next few minutes were a blur. For Fergus everything
had been a blur for a while and the Noggin seemed oblivious. They
shot through light and dark tunnels; walls approached and
disappeared. It was a constant series stomach churning turns until
suddenly they struck something in a pitch-black corridor. There was
a flash of Harris Tweed in the headlights and crisp four-letter
curse, as something catapulted over the top of the buggy, which
stopped dead throwing them all forward against the safety rail. Lit
up by the headlights, three sets of eyes peered at them out of the
darkness.

Dave
Trellis

One
Life, One Woman, One Shed

It was pretty
ugly, eight people trying to ride a four-man buggy. Dave spent the
journey with the Noggin on his lap and while it was warm, the
Noggin’s hair got right up his nose. Fergus was in no condition to
appreciate having the lovely Boadicea bouncing up and down on his
knees and the Aussies hanging on the back just moaned the entire
journey. So it was a relief to all when the buggy stopped. The
Noggin jumped out and lit by the headlights, sniffed around for a
few seconds and them poked at the wall. A blue rectangle appeared
and in a moment the room was flooded with light.