Just Crazy (24 page)

‘No!' I scream.

But then in one amazingly fast movement, Dad reaches up, grabs the dog's neck, clamps its jaws shut with his hand and wraps the jeans around its muzzle and head. He ties the legs of the jeans in a knot and pulls them tight.

Dad leaps up onto the fence and swings his legs over onto the other side. The dog is staggering around the backyard, blinded by the jeans, furiously trying to shake them off its head. It crashes into a tree and falls over.

I drop down and join Dad.

‘That was brilliant, Dad!' I say. ‘Shame you had to give up your jeans, though.'

Dad is wired, electric, alive
.

‘Doesn't matter,' he says, beaming. ‘What do I need with jeans, anyway? I'm a MUDMAN!'

Mudman? He looks more like a madman. His hair's all stiff with mud and sticking out at crazy angles. His eyes are wide and white and he's got blood dripping from a wound on his shoulder where the bull terrier must have bitten him. He looks wild.

‘Come on,' he says. ‘We've got to keep moving.'

I can't believe how much Dad's got into this. It's like he's not even my dad anymore.

We make it through the next five backyards without any problems. We jump over the last fence into a laneway.

‘Not far now!' says Dad.

We sprint along the lane as fast as we can. At the end of the lane we flatten our backs against a wall. We look out across a busy highway. The traffic is bumper to bumper.

Dad's work is on the other side of the road. There is a factory, a warehouse and a two-storey office block. Dad's office is on the second floor.

‘We're almost there,' says Dad. ‘All we have to do is cross the road.'

‘Hang on,' I say. ‘Just one question. How do we get to your office? We can't exactly go through reception.'

‘But we're mudmen!' he says. ‘We can go anywhere we want!'

‘But not through reception,' I say. ‘Think about it.'

Dad thinks.

‘You're right,' he says. ‘Mrs Lewis might have a heart attack.'

We stand in the lane and study the buildings.

We're so close, and yet, so far.

I really thought we were going to make it.

It's hard to believe that we've come all this way for nothing.

Suddenly Dad grabs my arm.

‘I've got it!' he says. ‘See that shed near the fence?' He points to a small grey building just inside the gate.

I nod.

‘What about it?' I say.

‘It's a maintenance shed,' he says. ‘They keep overalls in there. We can put them on and go and get the key. No problem. No heart attacks. Let's go.'

The cars are still bumper to bumper.

‘Hang on,' I say. ‘Are we just going to run across the road? Shouldn't we wait until there's a break in the traffic?'

‘It'll be like this for another hour at least,' says Dad. ‘We haven't got time. Just keep your eyes straight ahead and don't look back!'

I look at him.

He pats me on the back.

‘Come on, mudboy,' he says. ‘You can do it.'

I put my hands up on either side of my face like blinkers. If I can't see them, they can't see me.

We thread our way through the cars.

People are yelling and hooting and honking their horns. They've obviously never seen mudmen before.

Dad is just in front of me, moving quickly through the traffic. We come to a four-wheel drive that is parked so close to the car in front we can't get through. Dad leaps over the bonnet in one bound. I take my hands away from my face and follow him.

‘Andy?' says a voice, as I clamber across the front of the car.

I look at the driver.

Oh no.

It's my teacher, Ms Livingstone.

‘Hi,' I say. ‘I know this looks a bit strange, but . . .'

She raises her hand and smiles.

‘Not to me,' she says. ‘I spent six months living with the Mud-people of Papua New Guinea. I'll never forget it. There was this one time . . .'

Uh-oh. Ms Livingstone's travel stories are fascinating, but once she gets started she can go on for hours.

‘I'd love to hear about it sometime, Ms
Livingstone,' I say, ‘but I'm kind of in a hurry right now.'

She smiles and nods.

‘I understand,' she says. ‘That's exactly how the Mud-people were — never still, always rushing here and there. I remember one time . . .'

I slide off the bonnet and keep running.

We reach the other side of the road and sprint along the fence to the front gates of Dad's work.

There's nobody around. That's good.

We cut across to the maintenance shed.

Dad tries to open the door.

It's locked. That's bad.

‘Damn!' says Dad, slamming his fist on the door. ‘The caretaker usually has this unlocked by now.'

He steps back from the door and looks at the shed.

‘What are we going to do now?' he says. ‘We're doomed!'

‘No we're not, Dad,' I say. ‘We're mudmen, remember? We can do anything!'

‘We're not mudmen,' he says. ‘We're just a couple of naked morons covered in mud. I should have known this wouldn't work. I
should never have listened to you. What on earth was I thinking?'

I look at Dad. Something has changed. A few minutes ago he was running through the streets without his clothes on, leaping over cars and fences, and fighting dogs with his bare hands. Now he's staring at me with wide desperate eyes. I have to take over.

I turn away from Dad and study the shed.

There's a set of louvre windows above the door.

‘Maybe I can get in through there,' I say. ‘I could slide out the glass and climb through.'

‘But how are you going to get up there?' says Dad.

‘On your shoulders,' I say. ‘Crouch down.'

Dad crouches and looks around nervously.

‘Okay' he says. ‘But hurry. People will be arriving any minute now.'

I put one foot on his mud-caked shoulders. The mud is half dried and gives my foot plenty of grip. I grab Dad's right hand and pull myself up onto his other shoulder. I grab his left hand and steady myself.

‘Okay,' I say. ‘I'm ready.'

Dad stands up and I rise up to the level of the window.

I let go of his hand and try to remove the first pane of glass. It's not easy though. It won't budge. I try to loosen it by rattling it and it moves a little, but not much.

‘I can't get it,' I call down to Dad. ‘It's stuck.'

‘Try the next one up,' he says. ‘Hurry!'

I try it. Much better. It slides out smoothly. I place the glass on the gutter above me and start work on the next one. It slides out easily too.

I go back to the first bit of glass.

It's still stuck.

I feel a drop of water on my head.

And another.

I look up.

Uh-oh. It's starting to rain.

Just what we didn't need.

There is an enormous clap of thunder. The clouds open up properly and the first few drops give way to the most incredible downpour. It's like the cloud above us has been holding on for weeks, months — possibly years. But not anymore. Down it comes. Right on top of us. On top of our mud. And begins to wash it away.