by Alan Nolan
Before Conor could explain to her that compasses don’t take batteries, Charlie had marched down into the fog. Conor gulped and followed her.
If going up a mountain in fog seemed foolhardy, going down a mountain in fog was downright dangerous, especially as the fog seemed even thicker as they descended. ‘Conor! Give me your hand,’ barked Charlie. ‘I don’t want to lose you!’
Conor did as he was told, yet again – and willingly this time. It was very nice to hold hands with Charlie. She was the first girl (apart from his mum) that he had ever held hands with.
They kept their eyes on the ground in front of them as they came down, but even so they stumbled a few times and slipped on loose shale. Charlie looked again at her compass as they walked. The needle was still spinning around like a demented breakdancer. Conor peered at the compass. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘We’re really los–’
But that was as far as he got into that particular sentence – only his third of the whole weekend – because at that moment Charlie’s foot caught on a rock and she fell head first into a gorse bush. Since Conor was holding her hand, he was pulled along behind her, and they both ended up in the bush’s scratchy, thorny branches.
‘Oh, brillia–’ began Charlie, but it must have been a day for starting sentences that were never going to be finished. Her words were drowned out by a loud rumble and then a loud crrrackkkkinngg noise, as the ground suddenly gave way beneath their feet, and Conor and Charlie found themselves falling through the air into darkness.
It wasn’t a long fall, you’ll be glad to hear – after two metres or so, they landed on a reasonably soft, soil-covered floor. Half a gorse bush fell with them. ‘Ouch,’ said Conor. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I think so,’ said Charlie.
They both looked up at the light source above, the foggy hole they fell through. They could see the other half of the gorse bush silhouetted in the jagged circle of light. They looked back at each other and could see their breath in front of them.
‘We’re in a cave,’ said Conor.
‘So … cold …’ shivered Charlie, her teeth chattering.
‘So dark, too,’ said Conor. ‘Oh! But I have a flashlight!’
He fished through the pockets of his scout shorts for a torch. Aha! He switched it on, and the cave lit up with its bright beam of light. The underground chamber they had fallen into was narrow and tunnel-like, with a sharply sloping floor, and when the two friends tried to get up they found that they were standing at an angle. A few stalagmites hung down from the cave’s roof. Or where they stalactites? Conor could never remember. Actually, he was pretty sure that stalactites hung down. Either way, they were creepy looking, like monsters’ teeth.
Conor shuddered and swung his flashlight’s beam around the stony sides of the cave. Sheer rock wall, sheer rock wall, sheer rock wall (you know, it’s going to be really hard to get of here), sheer rock wall, huge hunk of ice, sheer rock wa– Hold on. Huge hunk of ice?
Conor and Charlie looked at each other and patted the dust off their scout uniforms. They walked in torchlight over to the hunk of ice.
‘Ice?’ said Conor.
‘Oh! We did this in geography! This is a whatyoumaycallit! A glacier!’ shouted Charlie excitedly, her voice echoing around the cave.
‘But glaciers melted thousands of years ago,’ said Conor.
‘I suppose it’s probably cold enough in here to keep this bit frozen,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s only a small glacier.’
‘It’s not THAT small,’ said Conor, running the light of his torch over the ice. ‘It’s at least a couple of metres tall! It looks like it’s attached to the rock wall on this side.’ He peered closer. ‘There’s something frozen inside!’ He shone his flashlight at a long, dark-brown shape inside the ice. ‘It’s a stick. No, it’s more like a pole …’ He followed the pole shape upwards with his flashlight. ‘And it’s got a piece of stone attached to the top. It’s a … HOLY MOLEY!!’ Conor jumped back from the glacier as if he had been electrocuted.
‘What did you see??’ asked Charlie, alarmed.
‘Eyes,’ said Conor. ‘I saw EYES …!’
Chapter Three
Slip Sliding Away
Conor and Charlie crept slowly back towards the huge hunk of ice. They could feel the cold coming off the surface – the closer they got, the colder they became, and their breath hung before them in clouds of mist. Conor wiped at the ice with the sleeve of his weather-beaten jacket. There was the wooden pole alright, looking for all the world like the shaft of a spear, and beyond that, further back in the ice … a pair of blue eyes!
The eyes were attached to a large face, a face with a big, wide nose and a massive, stubble-covered chin. Above the eyes was a big, bushy unibrow that looked like a frozen black furry prehistoric caterpillar.
‘Is that … a MAN’s face?’ asked Charlie.
‘I think it’s a man,’ said Conor. He had his own face pressed up against the icy surface, training his flashlight on the figure inside.
‘Is it … alive?’
Conor looked at Charlie and frowned. ‘Hard to tell, but either way – he must be chilly in there.’
The figure in the ice had long, matted hair and seemed to be wearing rough, shaggy animal furs. His hairy, bare arms stuck out of the furs, and he held the shaft of the stone-headed spear in one of his meaty hands. Conor thought he looked just like the drawings of cavemen that they had in their school history books.
‘Charlie, this must be a caveman!’ Conor searched frantically in his rucksack. ‘Maybe he was flash-frozen in a storm during the stone age – you know, like factories do with frozen peas. Maybe he was caught unawares?’
He found what he was looking for – his history book! He had an exam coming up, so he had brought it along to cram during quiet moments over the weekend. He pulled the book from his rucksack and flicked quickly through its pages until he found the section on the stone age. ‘Look, Charlie! Stone Age Man – it’s this guy! It’s got to be!’
Charlie stared at Conor, goggle-eyed. ‘Conor Corcoran, this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak in one go!’
‘But Charlie, this is HUGE! A real caveman, frozen in ice, and WE found it!’ Conor was back in his rucksack again, searching for something else. When he emerged, he was holding a small metal pickaxe with a wooden handle. Charlie’s eyes narrowed. ‘A good scout has to be prepared for every eventuality,’ said Conor. ‘We have to get this guy out of here!’
The problem was, Conor had no idea how to get the huge block of ice out of the cave. It must have weighed a couple of tonnes, and they would need to winch it up through the hole they had fallen through. Not that the hunk of ice had any chance of fitting through! It was, as I have pointed out (for those of you paying attention), pretty huge.
Undaunted, Conor clambered onto the block of ice. Or at least he tried his best to clamber – ice, being ice, tends to be fairly slippy. After three or four attempts, he turned to Charlie. ‘A little help here?’
She sighed and laced her fingers together, giving him a bunt up onto the huge hunk of frozen water. He whacked his pickaxe deep into the surface of the ice and hauled himself up to the top.
‘The ice is attached to the cave wall, so if I can just chip away with my axe right here …’
Conor lifted the tiny axe and gave a gentle tap at the point where the ice met the stony cave wall. There was a gigantic tearing noise, and suddenly the whole cave started to shake. Dust and small stones started to fall from the ceiling of the stone chamber. The huge hunk of ice lurched suddenly, and Conor dug his pickaxe into the side, holding on tight. Charlie squealed as the ice started to move, slowly at first, wrenching itself away from the stone cave wall it had clung to for thousands of years.
‘Conor! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!’ shouted Charlie, flattening herself against the opposite wall of the cave. The enormous slab of ice was sliding down the wall now, picking up speed, with Conor still hanging onto his axe on top.
‘I only gav
e it a tap,’ whimpered Conor.
His quiet voice could barely be heard over the roar of ice on stone. There was a massive WWHHACCKKK! as the ice slid completely off the wall and hit the floor. Conor, still holding tight despite the impact, bucked up like a rodeo rider on a bull and found himself in a sitting position, his bottom numb with the cold.
The ice started to slip on the sloped floor. ‘Uh oh! We’re moving again!’ shouted Conor.
Charlie backed away from the huge slab of ice, which was coming straight towards her, sliding easily on the angled floor. But there was nowhere to move out of its way – the tunnel-like cavern was too narrow. She broke into a blind, panicky run.
‘I can’t stop it!’ wailed Conor. ‘There are no brakes!’
The ice slid faster as it gained momentum, and Conor could see Charlie running wildly in the darkness in front of it. He knew that if the block caught up with her, she was going to be squished. Without thinking about it too much – which, given the circumstances, was probably quite a good thing – Conor stuck his flashlight between his teeth, and, hanging on to his pickaxe, which was still jammed into the ice, he inched forward on the block, his remaining hand reaching out for his friend.
The huge block of ice was easily outpacing Charlie, who was running in the dark, not knowing if she was going to trip on a stalagmite (or were they stalactites that grow up from the floor? Like Conor, Charlie wasn’t 100% sure about that either) or hit a rock wall at any moment.
Then three things seemed to happen at once. Let’s see if I can describe them. The first thing that happened was that Charlie DID trip, but not on a stalagmite or even a stalactite – she tripped on a plain old rock, and she started to sprawl forward into the darkness with her arms flailing. The second thing that happened was that Conor got himself far enough forward on the rapidly moving block of ice that he was able to reach for the back of Charlie’s coat tail and, using all his strength, swing her up onto the ice slab before it flattened her. And the third thing that happened was that the ice block itself, which had been sliding so quickly and noisily down the long, sloping cavern inside the hill, hit the stone wall end of the tunnel, SMMASSSHEDD! through the rock and shale with a dusty explosion, and flew out into the open air on the side of the mountain with Conor and Charlie on top!
The icy slab, no doubt having gotten used to the idea of sliding, kept on doing so. Charlie and Conor quietly gritted their teeth as they rode the glacial lump, both scared rigid and holding onto Conor’s pickaxe for dear life.
And on it slid, as luck would have it, right the way down the southern path that Conor and Charlie had trudged up not half an hour before. The ice slid silently past the spot where Damian and Gulliver had goofed off to have their picnic, a discarded crisp packet and an empty bottle of blue ink the only evidence that they had been there. Conor tutt-tutted to himself; he hated people who littered, especially when they were scouts and should know better. But he hadn’t much time to think that thought – the ice was moving too fast!
The slab was approaching the scouts’ base camp now, and it was almost flying! The rain had stopped and the sun had come out, which was good news for the scouts in the camp, but less good news for the two friends who were riding a slippery block of ice down a steep slope at high speed. It picked up pace as it slipped right between two of the scout tents, dislodging a toe rope and causing one of the tents to collapse like a slowly deflating balloon. Conor was sure he saw the blue ink–stained face of Gulliver looking out of the crumpling tent’s door flap. Swiftly and noiselessly the ice slid past the sleeping figure of scout leader Dennis Deegan, propped up in a foldable chair with his binoculars on his lap.
As much as they wanted to howl in terror, Conor and Charlie kept quiet. Although they had done nothing wrong really, they were sure that Dennis, with his suspicious mind and mean outlook, wouldn’t see it like that and would find some way of punishing them. Especially if he caught them riding a massive hunk of frozen water right through the scout camp at breakneck speed.
The ice slid on through the sloping field and through an open gateway, towards the lake.
‘Conor,’ said Charlie, who had opened her eyes for the first time since the slab burst out of the cave, ‘em, you see that tree?’
‘The one beside the lough?’ replied Conor.
‘Yup, that’s the one. Is that an elm or an oak?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Conor. ‘It’s hard to see at this distance.’ He grimaced. ‘But I think I’ll be able to tell you for sure in about five seconds! Five, four, three, two –’
KER-ASSHHHH!!!
With a loud ker-boom, the huge block of ancient glacial ice hit the tree (which turned out to be an oak, incidentally). Conor and Charlie were thrown clear by the impact, landing in the soft grass and rushes at the water’s edge. Snowflake-like crystals of smashed ice and wobbly edged oak leaves fell on their heads like a gentle rain.
‘Charlie, are you okay?’ asked Conor. He was a bit out of breath, but unharmed. That ride, as scary and potentially life-threatening as it was, was most definitely the most exciting experience he had ever had; he actually felt like laughing.
‘I’m fine, I think,’ replied Charlie, and then she did laugh. Conor joined in, and they rolled in the soft grass at the side of Lough Dan, holding their tummies and howling with relief that they were both still alive!
They were guffawing so loudly that they didn’t hear it at first: the low moaning sound that seemed to be coming from the other side of the broad trunk of the old oak tree. But as their laughter subsided, the noise began to register in their brains – a deep, rumbling, moaning, groaning sound that echoed slightly out across the lake water, bounced off the shallow waves and travelled back to their ears. An almost unearthly, gravelly noise that sounded like ancient iron doors being pushed open for the first time in centuries.
They looked at each other, their eyes wide. Then suddenly the groaning stopped, and there was a little coughing sound. A-heh. This tiny, almost dainty cough was followed by a massive, gigantic, gi-normous SNEEZE! The leaves on the oak tree (those that were left, following the collision) shook with the noise.
Conor and Charlie tiptoed to the tree and cautiously crept around its wide trunk.
They. Could. Not. Believe. Their. Eyes.
Sitting on the ground, amidst broken shards of primeval glacial ice, was the biggest, hairiest, most tough-looking man (at least, they thought it was a man) that either of them had ever seen. He blinked his deep-set blue eyes twice, then scratched his jutting forehead with one hand and wiped his huge, wide nose with the hairy wrist that was attached to the other, leaving silver, snotty streaks up his arm. He slowly turned his head towards the two friends and did the very last thing that either of them could have predicted: he smiled.
Chapter Four
Walk Tall
The caveman (well, thought Conor, what else could he be? They did find him in a cave, after all) reached out and grabbed his spear. Charlie jumped back a little in fright, but the recently defrosted cave dweller hugged the spear to his huge chest and shivered. He looked a bit blue.
‘Oh,’ said Charlie, ‘the poor thing’s freezing!’ She took her rucksack off her back and produced a picnic blanket from it. ‘This might warm him up a bit.’
She placed the blanket carefully around the caveman’s shoulders, and he pulled it tight around him. He gazed at Charlie with what looked like gratitude, then he fixed his eyes on Conor and pointed to his mouth in short, urgent, jerking movements.
‘W-w-what’s the matter, fella?’ asked Conor. He took half a step towards the hulking figure. ‘Is it toothache? No?’ Conor was close enough to look into the creature’s mouth. ‘Ugh! Morning breath!’ Conor recoiled, holding his nose.
‘Ogg,’ said the caveman.
‘Ogg? Is that your name?’ The caveman kept pointing at his mouth. ‘So not toothache. And I don’t have any mouthwash for your breath. That’s what six thousand years of not brushing your teeth will do to you. Of c
ourse! He must be hungry! He hasn’t eaten for thousands of years!’
Conor and Charlie searched through their backpacks and found a couple of chocolate bars. Charlie held one out to Ogg, who took it daintily with his huge fingers and popped it into his mouth, wrapper and all. He chewed a couple of times and swallowed. Then he smiled. Conor thought it was a nice smile, mainly because it made Ogg look slightly less blood-curdlingly scary. Conor passed the other chocolate bar to Ogg, and he gobbled that one as well. He was looking less blue-ish and more human now in the sunlight. More human, that is, until he stood up.
With a creak and an oof, the giant caveman raised himself off the grass to his full height. He was MASSIVE! Conor thought he must be at least as tall as Hightop McArdle, the captain of the local basketball team, the Clobberstown Dunkers, and almost as wide.
‘He’s a big lad, isn’t he?’ said Charlie.
‘Holy moley,’ said Conor, ‘he’s HUGE.’ He stuck out his hand towards Ogg. ‘Well, Mr. Ogg, eh, welcome to Wicklow.’ He frowned. ‘I suppose when you were frozen in that glacier, it wasn’t called Wicklow … You and your people probably had your own name for it. Don’t know what it was. Probably Ugg-low or something. But. Doesn’t matter. Hmm. I’m babbling. Charlie? Am I babbling?’
‘Yes, you’re babbling,’ replied Charlie. ‘First you won’t speak at all, then you meet Ogg and you won’t shut up. Here …’ She lifted Ogg’s free hand and placed it over Conor’s. ‘Shake hands, boys. I think the two of you are going to be great pals!’
Both smiling shyly, the boy scout and the caveman shook hands. Ogg smiled, showing big, white, slightly uneven teeth.
The sound of car horns came from the distance. Charlie looked at her watch. It was nearly three o’clock! The first parents were arriving to pick up their kids from the scout camp!
