Jack Strong and the Red Giant

by Heys Wolfenden

  Jack Strong and the Red Giant

  By Heys Wolfenden

  Copyright: Heys Wolfenden, 2014

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Dedicated to the people of South Korea and China

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: School’s Out

  Chapter 2: Blast-Off

  Chapter 3: First Contact

  Chapter 4: Grunt

  Chapter 5: All Change

  Chapter 6: Padget

  Chapter 7: Vyleria

  Chapter 8: First Flight

  Chapter 9: Space Rescue

  Chapter 10: Trapped

  Chapter 11: Lost in Space

  Chapter 12: Lost and Found

  Chapter 13: Space Hospital

  Chapter 14: Home

  Chapter 15: New Varda

  Chapter 16: Space-Racing

  Chapter 17: Brave New World

  Chapter 18: Light Speed

  Chapter 19: Battlefield

  Chapter 20: Hit and Run

  Chapter 21: The Red Giant

  Chapter 22: The Prisoner

  Chapter 23: Crash

  Chapter 24: Hunger

  Chapter 25: Survival

  Chapter 26: Hunted

  Chapter 27: A New Hope

  Chapter 28: The Plan

  Chapter 29: Incarceration

  Chapter 30: The Search

  Chapter 31: Earthquake

  Chapter 32: The Volcano

  Chapter 33: Escape

  Chapter 34: The Eyrie

  Chapter 35: Blood and Fire

  Chapter 36: The Core

  Chapter 37: New Horizons

  Contact and Blog Details

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The boy pulled the bundle of furs close as the last of his fire rocks went dim.

  He couldn’t stop shivering. It was getting colder and colder every day now.

  Outside he could hear the Nagwhals calling, their shrill whine bouncing off the ice falls, reaching deep into the cave.

  He was so hungry. He hadn't eaten in days.

  Beneath the pile of rotten fur he held onto his brother, now stiff with cold.

  Down the dark tunnel he heard a long, piercing shriek and a loud splash. Moments later a big silver head followed by a long silver body squeezed out of the darkness and slid towards him, its huge, jagged teeth snapping at his rags.

  A yell and a lunge and it was all over.

  He let go of his brother as the Nagwhal tugged his body back down the tunnel.

  He was alone now - the last boy alive on a long dead planet.

  The boy shivered, and waited for the Nagwhal to come again.

  Chapter 1: School’s Out

  The boy slammed the front door shut and ran up the stairs. He went straight into the bathroom, locked the door and looked into the small mirror by the sink.

  It was worse than he feared.

  There were swishes and squiggles of red, black, blue, green and orange marker pen all over his face.

  He panicked.

  Not wanting to be seen like this by his mum and dad he turned on the taps and frantically began to rub his face with a large, yellow sponge. It took almost twenty minutes of feverish scrubbing to remove every last mark.

  After he finished dabbing himself with a towel, he walked across the landing, entered his small, sparsely decorated bedroom and slouched down upon the bed.

  He had lost another pen fight.

  It was supposed to be one against one, yet as soon as he said he wanted to fight there were five or six boys holding him down, scribbling and scrawling all over his face. He kept shouting at them to stop, but they just laughed and giggled, their pens thrusting and jabbing.

  He looked into the mirror one last time. After putting on a change of clothes, he wiped his blue eyes dry, neatened his short brown hair, checked his face again for pen marks and left his bedroom.

  The smell of food was now emanating from the kitchen and wafting under his bedroom door. Better get this over with, he thought, trudging down the steep flight of stairs into the kitchen.

  “How was school today, Jack?” asked his Mum as she spooned a dollop of lumpy mashed potatoes onto his plate.

  He shrugged.

  “Now come on Jack,” said his Dad. “Be nice to your Mum. She’s been cooking the tea for ages. The least you could do is tell her how your day went.”

  “It was okay, I suppose,” he said, stabbing away at a charred sausage.

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” said his Mum. “You may hate school now, but when you get older you’ll look back and see that it was the best time of your life. Trust me.”

  Jack grunted.

  “Now Jack,” said his dad, “what have I said about… Hey, what’s that on your face?”

  “What?” asked Jack, his face reddening.

  “That,” said his dad, reaching over a pan of soggy-looking carrots and pointing at a green streak on his chin.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” said Jack, his face brighter than ever.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing. Jack, is it happening again? Be honest with me.”

  “Is what happening again?” asked Jack, his face now like a beetroot.

  “You know full well what I mean.”

  “Oh… no… it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Me and my friends were just messing about. That’s all.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Jack trying to avoid eye contact with his dad.

  “Because if it has started again, me and your mum wouldn’t mind. You know that don’t you? It’s not your fault these things happen. You needn’t feel guilty about it.”

  “Sure, I know that,” said Jack, staring into the vacuum of his plate.

  “All it would take is one phone call. I rather like that new headmaster of yours. I’m sure he’d put a stop to it once and for all.”

  “Oh Frank, leave him alone,” said his mum. “You’re embarrassing him. Here Jack, I’ll get you dessert. That’ll cheer you up.”

  “Thanks mum,” said Jack, still trying his best to avoid his dad’s laser-eyed stare.

  His mum, cheeks reddening, put on some ragged, grey oven gloves and brought out of the oven a hot, steaming dish of gooseberry crumble. “There you are,” she said. “That’ll make you feel better.”

  Jack stared at the green, pulpy mass and gulped. Not gooseberry crumble again! Why couldn’t he get something better for a change?

  “What’s the matter?” asked his Dad. “Have you lost your appetite?”

  “No, of course not,” he lied, pouring a river of hot custard into a chipped dessert bowl. “I’m fine. No problem at all.”

  “Right well then hurry on and eat up. We haven’t got all day you know, Corrie will be on soon.”

  “Yes Mum.”

  Jack ate it in silence, gulping it down, mouthful after mouthful. The quicker the better, he thought. This didn’t work very well however, and every now and again a big, slimy wedge of gooseberry goo would get stuck at the back of his throat, causing him to wince and grimace. After he had dabbed up the last bit of gooseberry he got up from the table and walked towards the door.

  “Now Jack, what have we said about doing your chores?” said his Dad. “There’s a load of washing-up to do.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. You’ve been thirteen for a few weeks now. It’s about time you started facing up to your responsibilities.”

  “Okay fine,” said Jack, trudging over to the kitchen sink.

  Jack gripped the washing-up bottle
and squeezed out a green jet of liquid into an old washing-up bowl.

  “Don’t use too much of it,” said his dad. “It all costs money. Remember you only need to use a little. And make sure you wash them properly. Last time you didn’t do a good job and your mum had to wash them all again.”

  “Okay, I will,” said Jack, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice.

  “See that you do.”

  As soon as his mum and dad left the kitchen Jack began flinging the cups, plates, pans and cutlery into the sea of bubbles. He didn’t care about any correct order of doing things; he just wanted to get it all done and to get out of the kitchen as quickly as possible. He flung them in the drainer one by one, stacking them haphazardly on top of each other until a Mount Everest of pots, plates and pans arose from out of the drainer at least a foot high. It was the summer holidays now and he meant to enjoy himself.

  Once he was finished, he burst into the small living room, where a man in a grey suit was talking on the news about the latest tourists to blast-off into space.

  He was just about to plonk himself on the sofa when a sound like thunder came from the kitchen.

  CRASH!

  “JACK, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” his mum and dad bellowed at once.

  They rushed into the kitchen like a herd of stampeding wildebeest. All over the sticky, yellow lino floor were an assortment of broken cups and plates as well as several pans and a great many knives and forks.

  “Oh, Jack!” said his dad. “How are we going to replace all these? We haven’t got the money.”

  Even he for once was lost for words.

  “But I didn’t mean it,” he said.

  “Didn’t mean it?” said his dad, “I’ve told you before about not rushing the washing-up and stacking them properly. Why can’t you listen for a change?”

  “I was only trying my best,” said Jack, backing away towards the front door.

  “Trying your best?” he spat. “You never try your best. All you do is please yourself and make excuses.”

  “No, I don’t,” said Jack, his hand resting upon the door handle. “I’m always helping out with the washing up and making cups of tea.”

  “That’s enough! Say sorry to your Mum and then get to your room.”

  “I…”

  The door was open a crack now, the sounds of the main road invading their house like a hive of bees.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” barked his Dad. “Come back here at once.”

  “I don’t know,” said Jack, wrenching the door open. “Anywhere but here!”

  With that Jack left the house, slamming the door behind him. They tried to follow, shouting and bellowing. But it was no use. Like a fox he ran away into the evening as fast as he could and didn’t look back.

  He would never see his parents alive again.

  Chapter 2: Blast-Off

  Jack ran as fast as he could down a narrow, winding country lane, which cut through a string of fields and woods. Eventually he arrived at his cousin George’s house, which was on the sprawling Badgerton estate nearby.

  He grasped the shiny brass door-knocker and rapped it three times.

  “Oh, you’ve turned up I see,” said his Auntie Margaret opening the door. Her skin was almost as golden as her bracelets. “Your mum’s rang and she says you’ve to go back home now and clean up all the mess you’ve made.”

  “But I wanted to ask George if he wanted to play football.”

  “Well, he can’t. He's got homework to do, and besides you’ve to sort out that kitchen of yours.”

  “Oh come on Auntie Margaret. Just for an hour, then I’ll go back home and clean it up, I promise.”

  “No! Your mum says you’ve to go home now, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Okay, tell her I’m on my way,” he said, trudging back down the drive.

  “Oh no, you don't,” she said. “I can take you there myself. I'll just go and fetch my car keys.”

  But Jack didn't want to go back with her. Not tonight. Not ever. So as soon as she disappeared down the hallway he ran off as fast as he could.

  Jack jogged through a small wood towards the football pitch. There were several boys hanging around one of the goal posts, the shadows cast by the trees obscuring their faces. A thick pall of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. He’d gotten to within a few feet of them when one of the boys turned around and faced him. He recognised him instantly. It was Gaz Finch, self-proclaimed ‘cock’ of the school. Thick-set, tall and stocky, like a pit-bull terrier, he glared at Jack, his whole, ugly face snarling.

  “Hey, look who it is,” he shouted through yellow, jagged teeth. “It’s Jack MONG!”

  His friends immediately howled and shrieked with laughter.

  “What d’you want Mongy?” He continued. “A new face and some new clothes?”

  “I don’t want anything,” said Jack. “I just wanna play football.”

  “What do you want to play football for? Yer RUBBISH!”

  “N-n-n-no, I’m not, I’m…”

  “N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n!” Gaz mocked back, to yet more howls of laughter. “Listen to him – what a spaz!”

  “Gaz… please. Listen...”

  “You tellin’ me what to do are yer? Yer startin’? Think you can come around here do yer, yer scrubber?”

  Gaz began to push Jack, inching closer and closer, spit spraying all over his face.

  Jack didn’t know what to do. He held out his hands to try and protect himself, but all Gaz did was slap them away.

  “Please. I just wanna play f-football. Honest. I don’t want to f-fight.”

  But his pleas only seemed to make Gaz angrier, and his pushes and shoves and his barks and yells became more forceful and more violent as he brushed and slapped away at his arms.

  “Yeah yer are, yer startin’!” Gaz yelled again. “Think you can take me do yer Mongy? I’ll show yer!”

  Gaz’s knuckles thudded into Jack’s face like a hammer. Immediately his skin stung and seared.

  “It hurts! Stop. Please,” he begged, trying to back away, his heart hammering like a pneumatic drill.

  But Gaz didn’t listen. He just kept on hitting him, his stinging fists swinging like wooden mallets.

  “COME ON! COME ON! LET’S FIGHT!” he yelled, punches landing all over his face. “COME ON! COME ON!”

  Jack spat out some blood. Gaz had bust his bottom lip. Then his nose erupted, a red river flowing down his face and onto his navy blue t-shirt.

  “Stop! Stop!” he kept shouting over and over again, his whole face an inferno. “Stop! Stop!”

  He didn’t know what to do. It didn’t seem real. He was trapped in a waking nightmare and he didn’t know how to get out.

  Still Gaz's fists swung and clubbed away, raining down like missiles.

  Finally, he did what he always did.

  He ran.

  Gaz didn’t chase after him though. He didn’t need to. He’d gotten his fun for the evening. Today it was Jack. Yesterday it was a younger boy with ginger hair and eczema. Tomorrow it would be someone different.

  Jack ran as fast as he could across some fields, through a haze of bushes and trees, and past flocks of startled sheep until eventually he came panting to Darnley reservoir.

  Jack sank down on one of its rough, grassy banks and put his head in his hands.

  He felt weak, lonely and pathetic.

  He was still bleeding from his bottom lip and his nose, and his shoes and jeans were smeared with mud. Thoughts whirred around his head. How am I going to explain all this to my mum and dad? Will I get black eyes? What will everybody say at school after the holidays? No doubt Gaz will tell the whole school about it. Everybody is going to have a right good laugh at me.

  He thrust his head into his hands again and began to cry. He felt humiliated. I didn’t even fight back, he thought, tears streaming down his face.

  He sat there for about twenty minutes feeling sorry for himself. Then he thought about what he’d said
to his mum and dad. He regretted shouting at them and for breaking all those dishes. Why does school always wind me up so much? Why do I get so angry sometimes? Despite his tantrums they always did their best for him. His mum was always buying him t-shirts from the charity shops and his dad would often bring home bags of chocolate from the factory where he worked. The thought made him smile. He would go home and make it up to them, even if it did mean getting told-off and being grounded for a few million years.

  He wiped away a red streak of blood from his chin and then trudged off towards home, spitting out a pink mixture of saliva and blood every few paces.

  It was now approaching ten o’clock and it was beginning to get darker. The Moon had long since been visible overhead, resting on a molten bed of red and orange, and now poking through the increasingly dark sky were the first glimmers of a vast armada of stars.

  Then one of the stars began to move. Slowly at first, but then quicker and quicker.

  He thought it was a plane at first but then it suddenly turned around and headed in his direction at incredible speed.

  It came at him like an arrow, piercing the clouds, getting bigger and bigger with every second.

  It was on him in no time, swooping down across the valley, shooting over the tree-tops.

  He tried to run, only for its shadow to engulf him like a wave.

  He looked upwards. A sea of silver arched over him, the dancing grass reflecting off its shiny, metallic surface.

  He was just about to try and run away again when a long silver arm whooshed out of the spacecraft, picking him up like a piece of litter on the pavement.

  There was a brief flash of light, followed-by a high-pitched whine and a tingling sensation. Then he was tumbling down a silver corridor like a human pinball.

  He turned around just in time to see a thin Jack-sized hole in the wall sealing up behind him.

  He was trapped.

  Chapter 3: First Contact

  Jack crashed to his knees and fell over, his right cheek bouncing off the floor.

  Something was on top of him, holding him down.