Mascot Madness! (16 page)

UTTERLY TERRIFYING!

I did the only thing possible in the circumstances.

I ran.

As fast as I could.

Or, more accurately, I attempted to run as fast as I could.

It wasn't easy running in a banana suit, but the sight of Chomp's narrowed eyes, rippling muscles, large pointy teeth and twin streams of drool flying backwards in the wind was all the motivation I needed.

Well, that and the memory of the lesson that Mr Brainfright had given us about what to do when you're being chased by wild animals.

When you're being chased by wild animals, RUN!

At that moment the decathlon, which would be the deciding event of the day, was about to start.

The competitors were all crouched at the starting line ready for the first event, the hundred-metre sprint.

The race official had his starting pistol in the air.

‘On your marks!' he said. ‘Ready . . . set . . .'

But before he could say ‘go', the crowd roared. The competitors, distracted, looked behind them and saw me—and Chomp—speeding around the track towards them.

The looks of terror on their faces said it all.

They abandoned their starting positions and scattered in all directions.

The official, apparently as scared as everybody else, accidentally fired his pistol.

The decathlon had officially started!

The crowd roared again as I raced down the track, Chomp hot on my heels.

There was no time to wave or clown around, though. I was running for my life. I didn't have to imagine there was a wild beast after me, either, as in Mr Brainfright's visualisation sessions—there really
was
a wild beast after me!

As I crossed the finishing line, the crowd roared once more.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!' shouted Flip. ‘We have just witnessed the fastest-ever hundred-metre sprint in the history of this competition! Unbelievable running from Henry McThrottle, in this, the first event of the decathlon. Closely followed by Chomp, from Northwest West Academy. And they're not going to stop there! They're heading towards the long-jump pit, the second event in the decathlon! Looks like they're going for a double-header! Two events for the price of one!'

Flip was right. We were headed towards the long-jump pit. But I wasn't the slightest bit interested in breaking running records or going for a double-header.

I just wanted to get away from Chomp!

I raced towards the long-jump pit.

Chomp was panting hard. I turned around, but
I couldn't see him. Then I looked down. He was right on my tail!

There was no time to think.

I jumped.

The crowd roared.

‘What a magnificent jump!' yelled Flip. ‘Longer than a spaghettified pipecleaner!'

But it wasn't long enough to get away from Chomp.

The crowd roared again.

‘Another magnificent jump!' shouted Flip. ‘I've never seen a dog jump like that! Or a banana, for that matter!'

‘That's my boy, Chomp!' yelled Mr Constrictor from the other side of the field. ‘Kill!'

I was pretty sure ordering your mascot to kill the opposing team's mascot was against the rules in the school handbook, but as Chomp had swallowed it, and as I was running for my life, it wasn't exactly possible to check.

I looked around me.

I was heading towards the shot-put circle.

There was a pile of the heavy metal shot-put balls in the middle.

I sprinted for them, trying to put as much distance between me and Chomp as possible. I reached the balls, leaped over them, and turned to face Chomp.

I picked one up and lobbed it at him. It shot out of my hand with the speed and power of a cannonball.

Chomp darted left.

I launched another one.

Chomp darted right, straightened, and then sprang through the air straight at me.

There was no time left.

I had to do this, and do it right.

I picked up the third and final ball, focused, then hurled it with all my strength right at Chomp's open slavering mouth.

Chomp just swallowed it whole, as if it were no more than a tasty snack.

‘Look at that!' called Flip. ‘Not only are we seeing the world's fastest decathlon out here today, but we're seeing some world-class shot-putting and shot-put swallowing! That dog is hungrier than a barrel full of water buffalo!'

I kept running.

So did Chomp, although he was slightly slower than before, thanks to the added weight of the shot-put ball in his stomach.

I ran towards the high jump.

Chomp ran after me.

I jumped.

Chomp jumped—not as high as me, but high enough to clear the bar.

The crowd roared. Both schools were going wild in support of their mascots.

‘It's mascot madness out there today!' shouted Flip. ‘Absolute mascot madness!'

I hit the track and ran around the outside, waving my arms, pleading for somebody to help me.

But everybody just waved their arms back, thinking I was mascotting.

If only they could have seen my face, they would have seen the truth.

But all they could see was the big smiling face of the banana.

The rest of the chase is pretty much a blur.

But somehow, as I ran for my life and Chomp ran after me, we not only managed to complete each one of the decathlon's ten events in the correct order, but we also broke each of the pre-existing records for each event.

We smashed the four-hundred-metre record.

We blew the hurdling record out of the water.

I threw a discus at Chomp and ended up throwing it further than a discus had ever been thrown in the Northwest stadium. (Chomp matched my achievement, however, by swallowing the first discus in Northwest athletic sporting history.)

I broke both speed and distance records for javelin-throwing after hurling a javelin straight at Chomp's heart. (Chomp kept pace, however, by breaking both javelin-catching and
javelin-chomping records, reducing the javelin to splinters only moments after launching himself into the air for a spectacular mid-air javelin catch.)

After reducing previous fifteen-hundred-metre records to rubble, I knew I couldn't run much longer.

I was getting tired.

The banana suit was heavy.

And Chomp, despite having swallowed a shot-put ball and a discus, was gaining on me.

Any moment now, he was going to catch me, leap on top of me and rip me—and the suit—to shreds.

The more tired I became, however, the more energised the crowd seemed to grow.

I stumbled and the Northwest West Academy grandstand erupted.

‘KILL! KILL! KILL!' they chanted, just in case Chomp needed any reminding about the reason he was chasing me.

‘And they're on the homeward straight, now,' said Flip. ‘There's only one event left—the pole vault!'

My heart leaped.

This was my chance to get away from Chomp once and for all.

If Jack could pole vault himself to safety then so could I!

Chomp was getting closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Despite my exhaustion, I grabbed a pole, ran down the track, planted the pole firmly into the ground, and launched myself up into the air.

It was a perfect pole vault . . . well, to begin with.

Unfortunately, Chomp lunged at me at the exact moment I left the ground and he managed to sink his teeth deep into the seat of my banana suit.

Up, up, up we went.

A perfect boy-and-dog pole vault—the first ever in pole-vaulting history!

We cleared the bar and fell onto the mat on the other side.

Chomp and I both sat there for a few moments, dazed and confused, before we regained our senses.

‘KILL!' came the command from the Northwest West Academy grandstand—a command that Chomp was only too eager to obey.

I don't know if you've ever had a vicious, shot-put-ball-swallowing, discus-eating, javelin-chomping attack dog leap at your throat, but let me tell you it's an ugly sight.

I'm happy to say that I can't tell you what it feels like, though, because with my last reserves of energy I pulled my banana head off, unzipped the suit and dived out.

Just in time.

Chomp dived on top of the suit and began tearing it to pieces.

It was ugly.

Forget mascot madness—this was mascot massacre.