The worst part of the path is called the Valley of Doom. The track follows a brown, scummy stream, always buzzing with gnats and flies. For some reason my dad always calls the stream the Great Grey-Green Greasy Limpopo River, so I usually do too. One minute you're walking along quite happily with the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and the next minute there are steep muddy walls on either side of you and the trees have closed in over your head so it's dark even in the middle of the day. The birds stop singing in the Valley of Doom because it's such a horrible place.
I don't suppose there really are giant bloodsucking leeches in the Valley of Doom, but if they were to live anywhere in the world, then it would definitely be here.
The Valley of Doom took us right behind the enemy camp. It meant that we could sneak up to it without leaving the trees.
It had begun to rain when we set off. Not pouring, but just the sort of steady drizzle you usually get when you plan a picnic. We were walking in single file.
Jennifer was at the front. When you're on a mission in the army, the person at the front is called the 'Point Man', even if they're a girl, like Jennifer. They are probably called 'Point Man' because their job is to point at things – for example enemies that are about to attack you, or nasty patches of nettles that you have to walk around. Being Point Man is the most dangerous job, because you're usually the first one to get blown up (or stung by nettles).
I was next in line, then The Moan, then Noah. Jamie was at the back. The person at the back is always called 'Tail-End Charlie', whatever their real name is. Tail- End Charlie is the second most dangerous position, because you'll get mashed up if you're sneakily attacked from the rear – say by enemy paratroopers, velociraptors, cannibals, etc., etc.
The mission had been uneventful until we reached the Valley of Doom. No casualties so far. Well, except for when Jamie stepped in some kind of animal poo, and we had a big debate about whether it was fox poo or badger poo. I told them that the difference is that badger poo tastes of burnt almonds, but nobody volunteered to try it. Jamie was always unlucky with poo, and if there was any about, he'd be the one to step in it.
Apart from that, the patrol was going to plan. We were excited and a little nervous.
Then we reached the Valley of Doom. The rain got heavier, and it was so gloomy I had to peer to see Jenny a few steps ahead of me. Our line began to bunch together as the Point Man and Tail-End Charlie clustered in towards the rest of us. It was a classic error.
'Spread out,' I said in an urgent whisper. I knew that bunching up made us an easy target for velociraptors, etc.
Then Jenny put up her arm. That was the signal for 'Stop'. We had some other signals too. An arm stretched out to the side meant 'Look over that way'. A finger pointing upwards meant 'Danger, air attack' – for example from dive-bombers or eagles. And a high-pitched girlie scream meant 'Help, I've fallen in quicksand'. Luckily we hadn't had to use any of those yet.
'What is it, Jenny?' I whispered.
'I'm not sure,' she said. 'But I sense there's something wrong.'
'It's quiet,' I said.
'Too quiet,' she replied.
We all knew that was bad news. But it was too late to go back.
'The enemy den is just over there,' I said. 'Five minutes – that's all it'll take.'
Jenny nodded, and we moved on.
If only I'd listened to her.
The first we knew of the attack was when a huge hunk of mud landed in front of Jenny, splattering her nice clean jeans. For a second we didn't realize what was happening. Then more mud began to rain down around us, and we heard a horrible, unearthly war cry – a sound like the yelping of hyenas around a dying wildebeest. It was the jabbering racket that alien invaders would make just as they destroyed the last Earth city.
Dockery and his gang.
'Get the sissies!' they screamed, and worse things – if you can imagine them.
I looked up at the steep muddy sides of the valley. They were like the ramparts of a castle, a castle that completely surrounded us.
'Where are they?' I yelled.
'They're everywhere,' wailed Noah.
You can guess what he was on the brink of.
I reached for the binoculars in the case hanging around my neck. Everything was blurred. I fiddled with the focus, and then I saw them. Dark shapes at the top of the muddy slopes. I zoomed in, up to maximum power. It was Dockery, along with the others – William Stanton, James Furbank, Paul Larkin, Carl Hughes. All of them were bigger than us, plus a lot meaner.
If you had a scale of meanness, with Jesus at 1 and Attila the Hun at 10, then the Dockery Gang would be a 9. Maybe even a 91/2. That's how bad they were.
They were lobbing huge clods of mud and earth down on us.
The Moan tried to escape by running up one of the slippery mud walls of the valley.
He got about halfway up, but then slithered back down.
There was no way out.
I hurled my cheese sandwich up towards the attackers, but it just flapped away like a dying seagull and flopped uselessly down onto the wet earth.
Jennifer rushed to my side. 'What shall we do?'
I was the Gang Leader. I had to decide. I looked all around. They were in front of us and behind us. We were cut off. There was no escape.
'I . . . I . . .'
'Quick, Ludo, you have to tell us what to do. It's your job.'
Now they were all looking at me. Jamie, his honest but not very bright face expecting me to come up with a brilliant plan. The Moan, waiting for me to mess up so he could moan about it. Noah, my oldest and best friend, ever faithful. Jenny, so brave and so sporty. There had to be something . . .
'Load the bombs,' I said.
'Under combat conditions?' said The Moan. 'But that's impossible!'
'Just do it. Remember your training. Exactly as we planned.'
And for the next two minutes I was incredibly proud of the Bare Bum Gang. Despite the deadly rain of mud and earth landing all around us, we prepared our counter-attack.
The Moan held the balloon, Jenny held the funnel, I poured in the Special Mixture Number Seven, and the first stinky balloon bomb was soon ready. The Moan passed it to Jamie. Jamie may not have been as brainy as Stephen Hawking, but he could throw like a champion. He sent the balloon bomb flying high towards a couple of the enemy gang. It detonated above them in the branches of a tree and sent a shower of Special Mixture Number Seven cascading down on them.
We all cheered.
'Keep going,' I said, and we made the next bomb. Again Jamie sent it flying, this time straight at Dockery. It hit him right on his fat belly and burst, covering him in the stinky green slime.
'One more,' I yelled, 'then we run for it.' I began to pour Special Mixture Number Seven into the funnel, but then disaster struck. One of the Dockery Gang managed a lucky shot. A mud ball landed right on the funnel as I was pouring. The whole thing seemed to explode, sending Special Mixture Number Seven splashing over all of us. It was in our hair and eyes and mouths and everywhere. It was like falling into the school toilet when it's been blocked for a week. We fell back on the floor, moaning and groaning, defenceless.
Then I heard Dockery yell, 'Charge!' I looked up and saw them coming down the muddy slopes towards us. This was it. We were about to be massacred.
The Bare Bum Gang was going to be utterly, completely, totally wiped out.
Chapter Five
RESCUE?
'Here! This way, quick!'
The voice was familiar, but it took me a few seconds to remember where I'd heard it before.
I looked around.
Nothing.
I tried with the binoculars. The first thing I saw was a rope, trailing down from the valley wall, snaking over the steep, slippery sides towards us. Looking up, I saw a flash of white hair.
It was the new kid. What was his name? Alfie, that was it. He'd tied the top of the rope round a tree to hold it secure.
Jenny was the first on
e to react. 'Come on, everyone, get up.'
She dragged Noah and Jamie to their feet. Dockery was coming, half running, half sliding down towards us from the other direction.
That was all we needed to get us going. With Jenny in the lead, we hauled ourselves up the rope, while our feet scrambled on the wet mud of the valley side. There were knots in the rope to help us climb, but it was hard work. In a few seconds Jenny made it. Then, gasping with the effort, I was near the top. The last metre was the hardest, slippery and steep. My hands were burning and sweat was stinging my eyes.
'Give me your stuff,' said Alfie, offering his hand. I gave him my pack and the binoculars in their case.
The Moan and Jamie were right behind me, and soon we were all panting on the wet grass at the top.
Only Noah was still on the rope. He wasn't very strong and he was famously rubbish at climbing. In fact if you listed all his favourite things in the world to do, climbing up a steep slippery bank using a knotted rope with a load of dangerous enemies right behind him would come well down, probably about number 7834, right after being beaten about the face and neck with a large fish.
I went back, leaned over the edge of the bank and stretched down, trying to reach his arm. It was too far. His eyes, filled with fear and pain, looked up into mine, begging me to do something.
Dockery, bellowing like a bull, began to climb the rope. Noah felt the tug, and made a tragic whimpering noise. It was like Jack and the Beanstalk, but in reverse with the ogre chasing Jack up, not down. I felt useless.
Then Alfie, who was taller than me, pushed me out of the way, reached down and hauled Noah to the top.
Dockery was halfway up the rope. He looked up, probably expecting to see me ahead of him. He wore a puzzled expression for a moment when he saw the strange, white-haired figure standing there. That look turned first to rage and then to fear as Alfie took out a penknife and with two quick slashes cut through the rope.
With his fat hands still clutching the useless rope, Dockery slithered down. He landed with a splat right on top of the rest of his gang, who were clustered at the bottom.
It was a truly great moment, but we were too tired to laugh. Not just tired in our bodies, but in our heads as well. It had been such a close-run thing. We were seconds away from utter destruction. Who knows what horrors Dockery and his heavies would have performed?
Chapter Six
THE DISCOVERY
'Everyone OK?' I asked.
'No thanks to you,' moaned The Moan.
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that you led us into a trap, and we could have been wiped out. I don't know what we'd have done without Alfie.'
There was a general murmur of agreement from the rest of the Gang, even Noah.
'And we stink,' said Jamie.
That was true. Special Mixture Number Seven was certainly a glorious success. We stank like something you'd find coming out of an elephant's bum. But no one said how clever I was for inventing it.
'We should get out of here,' said Alfie. 'I mean, before that lot get their act together.'
He pointed down into the valley, where Dockery and his gang were starting to pick themselves up.
'That's for me to decide,' I replied, a bit miffed about all the praise Alfie was getting. The others looked at me in a funny way. 'Right, let's get out of here,' I said.
So we set off back to our den. It was a bit rubbish, because we had to go back through the trees and not along the path. That meant serious nettle trouble. Noah was our Gang Doctor and he always carried lots of dock leaves with him, but soon his supplies were used up. By the time we reached the den we were sore and tired and soaking wet from the rain.
I decided I had to cheer everyone up.
'I think we've earned a visit to the sweet stash.'
'That's the first good idea you've had in about two years,' said The Moan.
'That's not fair,' said Noah. 'Ludo's had lots of good ideas.'
'Name one.'
'Well . . . there was . . . um . . . I can't remember, but I'm sure there must be one.'
All this was going on as we were squeezing through the door of the den.
When we were all in, I saw Alfie's head and shoulders following us.
'Excuse me,' I said. 'What do you think you're doing here? This is our den and you have to get special permission to come in.'
'Oh, sorry, I—'
'Ignore him,' said Jenny. 'Just come on in. You can share our sweets as a thank-you for saving us.' Then she turned to me. 'Actually, Ludo, I'm ashamed of you. We owe Alfie a big thanks, and you've just been rude to him.'
'I haven't been rude! I was going to let him come in, but I wanted him to ask permission first, not just barge in like that.'
'He didn't barge in,' said Jamie. 'He came in in the normal way, crawling like the rest of us.'
'That's not what I— Oh, fine.'
'No, Ludo's right,' said Alfie. 'I should have asked first. Is it OK if I come in?'
'Yes!' they all shouted.
'Everyone happy now?' I asked, still a bit disgruntled. 'Right, let's get the stash.'
We didn't have carpet on the floor any more because of having been weed on by you-know-who. What we had now was newspaper, which wasn't very classy, but better than the raw earth. We had considered putting dried grass on top of the newspaper, but decided against it in case it made us look like rabbits living in a hutch.
Jamie was nearest, so he peeled back the newspaper from over the hole and took out the biscuit tin. Whenever we did this, it was always a very solemn and serious occasion, a bit like going to church, because the sweet stash is the soul of our gang. If we'd been living in the Olden Days we'd probably have worshipped the sweet stash as our god and danced around it wearing special hats.
Plus, of course, eating sweets is about the best thing you can do with your mouth, or probably any part of your body. Not that you can eat sweets with any part of your body except your mouth, although at a pinch you could stuff them up your nose, and I know for a fact that Jamie has tried that a few times.
Jamie put the sweet stash down in the middle of us. There was always a few seconds of silence before I shared the sweets out. I looked around the circle of faces. We'd been through a tough time, but there's nothing so bad that eating sweets won't put it right, except maybe toothache.
Jamie slowly removed the lid.
There followed a completely different kind of silence – the sort of silence that actually sounds louder than bombs.
The tin had been full of every kind of brilliant sweet. Chews, lollies, chocolate, wine gums. You name it and we had it.
Now there was nothing.
No, worse than nothing. There were some stones. Not even cool stones like diamonds, rubies or sapphires. Just plain stony stones.
'Is this some kind of joke, Ludo?' said The Moan, looking at me without smiling. 'Because this isn't a good time to be joking. Have you hidden them? If you have, I think you should get them out. Now. Right now.'
'No . . . I . . . I don't know what's going on.'
Then there was quite a lot of general mayhem. The Gang lost its cool in a big way. They were all shouting at me and looking around the den, in case the sweets had been hidden in some nook or cranny.
I didn't know what to do or think, but just sat there like a dummy.
After a couple of minutes they all stopped searching, and gathered back around me. It was like the Spanish Inquisition, whatever that is, only worse.
'Ludo,' said Jenny, her face grim, 'do you know what's happened to the sweets?'
'Of course I don't. I'm as puzzled as you.'
'But you were the last person in here before we set off on the mission, weren't you?' said The Moan.
'Well, maybe. I can't remember. But even if I was, I could hardly have scoffed all our stash then, could I? You'd have to be a circus freak to eat that many sweets all in one go.'
'To be honest,' said The Moan, 'I don't know what you're capable of. For a
ll we know you might have a part-time job in the circus eating sweets.'
'Do they need anyone else?' asked Jamie hopefully.
Everyone ignored him.
'Do you promise,' said Noah, I think trying to be helpful, 'that you haven't stolen our sweets?'
'Of course I haven't. I've never . . .' But then I paused, and that pause was fatal.
You see, I couldn't promise that I'd never, ever had the odd extra sweet out of the stash. Being Gang Leader, I did more work than the others, especially high-grade thinking work, such as coming up with new plans, traps, etc., etc., etc., so I sometimes needed extra energy – for example from sweets. Plus I put the most sweets into the stash in the first place, especially ones I don't like, such as coconut-flavoured Quality Street.
But that pause after 'never' made them all point at me, and say things like: 'See, see, he did it, it was him.'
I tried saying no, but I was drowned out. I felt weak and helpless and I wanted to cry, but I didn't because I'm brave. Instead of crying I hung my head.
After a minute Noah said, 'Ludo, do you absolutely swear on the Holy Bible that you never took any sweets out of the stash?'
'That's not fair,' I began, 'I . . .'
And I was going to explain about the odd sweet I'd taken in the past, and after that I'd swear on any bible from any religion in the world they liked, including Hindu, Buddhist, Eskimo, Inca, etc. etc., that it wasn't me that had scoffed the whole stash this time, when Jenny's clear voice rang out.
'What's this?'
The Gang swivelled towards her. She was holding up my binocular case. There was something different about it. A tiny corner of shiny gold paper was poking out from under the flap of the case. Jenny popped it open. The case was crammed full of sweet wrappers. In fact it was so full they literally burst out like a firework display, all gold and green and red and silver and blue.
I think I'd have been happier then if they'd all gone crazy. But what happened was worse, much worse. It was a sort of groan, long and sad and desolate. The sound you sometimes hear on an animal programme when a baby whatever – say zebra or whale – loses its mother.
The Bare Bum Gang and the Valley of Doom Page 2
