Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom

by S. B. Davies

  ‘No luck?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ said Trev.

  Dave sighed and dropped the catfish.

  ‘I suppose asking you to cut that into fillets isn’t too much to ask?’

  ‘We can manage that, but those crates are too tough for our knives and we can’t lift anything off a pallet.’

  Dave stepped up to the nearest crate and made swiping gestures. Chunks of wood and plank rained down onto the concrete floor.

  ‘That’ll get you started; don’t tell me you can’t start a fire?’

  ‘What the hell was that?’ asked Toomey.

  ‘Pruning knife,’ said Dave, ‘we take gardening seriously in Yorkshire.’

  Dave lay on soft blankets, the packing crate he cut up was full of them, which was a turn up. He let his thoughts wander in the soft green glow of the luminous dial of his compass. The catfish’s slightly muddy in flavour would benefit from salt, despite that it was one of the most wonderful meals he’d eaten. Even Trev cheered up.

  They were making progress, despite it being a series of prat falls. They were now at the bottom of the Workshops, where the control centre should be and they had food and water. Maybe I can get out of this alive thought Dave, despite what Engineer intended. I wonder what he meant by that which you truly desire. What I actually desire certainly isn’t stuck in a hidden complex miles underneath Ayer’s Rock. Ah well, let’s see what tomorrow brings and with that thought Dave drifted off to his first decent sleep in days.

  It was dark by the time they reached the Noggin’s intended destination. It wasn’t much to look at, more of an overhang than a cave, but the Noggin sniffed with apparent satisfaction, and shook its head a lot. Fergus was freezing and the heavy, water filled leather dungarees chaffed his neck and he couldn’t put them down even when they stopped for a rest, so he was glad to find a suitable scrubby tree on which he could hang their makeshift water carrier.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Fergus.

  The Noggin scribbled a note and handed it to him.

  ‘Run fast straight at Kangaroo.’

  Fergus was feeling put upon and somewhat put out. The temptation to be wilful overcame his normal common sense. So he ran fast straight at the Kangaroo drawing on the wall and disappeared.

  ‘What?’ said Abbey.

  ‘A portal I expect,’ said Boadicea, ‘Come on, before that lughead does something stupid.’ She ran full tilt at the wall and disappeared too.

  The Noggin shrugged, shook its head, and showing surprising acceleration, ran through the wall too.

  ‘Oh alright,’ said Abbey, ‘I’m coming too.’ and followed the others through the Kangaroo wall to another world beyond.

  Abbey arrived to find Fergus, Boadicea, and the Noggin standing in a well-lit tunnel. At the end was jungle. The air was humid and smelled of mould.

  ‘Hi Abbey, did you not think to bring the water, what with you being the last one through,’ said Fergus.

  ‘You were carrying the water, it’s your responsibility Fergus,’ said Abbey.

  Fergus realised that he had accidentally entered into an argument with a woman where he was right; a schoolboy error, but still open to the apology and rectification gambit.

  ‘Ah, sorry. Of course, you’re right. I’ll just go and fetch it.’

  Fergus ran full tilt into the flat rock wall at the end of the tunnel. He did not pass through, he did not even pass go, instead he passed out; minor concussion.

  ‘Fergus! Are you alright?’ shouted Boadicea and rushed to the crumpled heap lying next to the rock wall.

  ‘What? Is it one way?’ asked Abbey.

  The Noggin nodded and flapped his hands, then wrote a note.

  ‘Thought you knew? All ways into Workshops are now one way.’

  ‘Oh great, now we’re stuck here,’ said Abbey and looked at Fergus, ‘Without water too; just fantastic.’

  Boadicea helped Fergus to his feet. He swayed.

  ‘Can someone help? He’s concussed,’ said Boadicea.

  The Noggin trotted over and sniffed at Fergus. It waved its hands, shook it head and then walked up to the wall. It poked the wall a few times and a blue rectangle, no bigger than a postcard appeared. A few more presses on the blue rectangle and it disappeared.

  ‘How did you do that?’ asked Abbey.

  The Noggin wrote a quick note.

  ‘Worked here, long time ago. Wait help coming.’

  Fergus leant against the wall holding his head, apologising. It was the default action for an outnumbered man, especially when he did not know what was going on. Boadicea fussed about trying to make things better and Abbey looked on disdainfully.

  Suddenly a cart shot out the wall halfway down the tunnel, turned and drove towards them. It looked like a scruffy golf buggy. It drew to a halt just feet from the Noggin, who leapt in and gestured for the others to join it. No sooner had they all got in, Fergus helped by an attentive Boadicea, then it trundled off, took a sharp left turn and disappeared into the wall.

  Dave and the Australians breakfasted on smoked catfish, which convinced Dave to keep salt about his person in future. The dark was oppressive and the green glow of the compass was insufficient for most tasks, which meant using the torch.

  ‘We’ll have to preserve the batteries as much as possible,’ said Dave.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Mr Holmes, us poor blokes would have never thought of that,’ said Trev

  ‘You know where you can shove it,’ said Dave, ‘I have a plan.’

  ‘Ooo do tell,’ said Trev.

  Dave handed out long, thin sticks, one for each.

  ‘We use canes, like blind people. Then we can move around in the dark without bumping into things-’

  ‘Or falling down deep shafts,’ said Hungry Joe.

  ‘Aye, and to make sure no one wanders off we can rope ourselves together.’

  ‘The canes are a good idea,’ said Trev, ‘but I don’t reckon on being roped up. Better to have a hand on the shoulder of the man in front.’

  ‘Good man, that’s a much better idea,’ Said Dave, ‘and what’s more, I think we should use the torch till we are out this warehouse, it’s like a maze in here.’

  They packed up, Dave with a blanket roll across his chest, Russian infantry style, that contained the remaining smoked catfish, and the Aussies with their rucksacks heavy with water sacks and firewood. The torch cut a wide beam through the dark, showing walkways between the stacks of crates and pallets of obscure machinery. Dave led, heading away from the water and to the left, with the hope of hitting a sidewall soon as possible.

  They soon found a huge square tunnel that curved upwards at the back of the loading area. It had a smooth concrete floor and large light fittings along the sides and ceiling.

  ‘Shame they didn’t think to leave the lights on,’ said Toomey.

  Dave stood staring for a moment.

  ‘Change of plan,’ said Dave, ‘I feel the need to roam. So I’ll keep the compass open and hang it backwards, then you’ll be able to follow me. If I get too far away, just shout or signal with the torch.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Hungry Joe, ‘If there are any cliff edges or deep pits, we get plenty of warning.’

  ‘Not actually my main concern. I want to make sure we don’t miss any branches in the tunnel. You three follow the left hand side, hand on shoulder and I’ll do the right. Shout if you find a side tunnel.’

  ‘What do we do if you fall down some bottomless shaft?’ asked Trev. Dave was sure he was smirking, but couldn’t see his face in the dark.

  ‘Try not to follow me in, as you roll about the floor laughing.’

  They followed the tunnel in complete darkness, the chatter died ages ago, smothered by the oppressive blackness and silence. The only sound the constant tap, scrape, tap of the canes as they swept around checking wall and floor. If only it wasn’t so dark we could get a move on thought Dave. The control room is going to be around here somewhere, above the lake, b
ut below the main access shaft. If this is the main corridor and it winds right around the circumference of the lake, then it must on a branch off here. Mind you it would help if I could trust these Aussie to take it seriously. They don’t seem to realise that finding the control room is our only hope and a slim one at that. I have no idea how they control the portals, then again we have plenty of time to experiment. Turning the bloody lights on would help.

  I wonder how Fergus is coping with the Allotments, there is so much to do; I should be there rather than farting about a derelict off world factory. And Abbey; we have so much to talk about, no sooner is she back than I am gone. Damned Engineer; bloody stroppy squid.

  ‘Oi, Captain Invincible,’ shouted Trev, ‘We found a side tunnel.’

  ‘Ok, be there in a tick.’ replied Dave.

  ‘You want us to go down it?’ shouted Toomey.

  ‘Yes, but let me catch up; unless one of you wants to go first?’

  For Abbey and Boadicea the next few minutes were a blur. For Fergus everything had been a blur for a while and the Noggin seemed oblivious. They shot through light and dark tunnels; walls approached and disappeared. It was a constant series stomach churning turns until suddenly they struck something in a pitch-black corridor. There was a flash of Harris Tweed in the headlights and crisp four-letter curse, as something catapulted over the top of the buggy, which stopped dead throwing them all forward against the safety rail. Lit up by the headlights, three sets of eyes peered at them out of the darkness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Worrying never fixed anything.

  Dave Trellis

  One Life, One Woman, One Shed

  It was pretty ugly, eight people trying to ride a four-man buggy. Dave spent the journey with the Noggin on his lap and while it was warm, the Noggin’s hair got right up his nose. Fergus was in no condition to appreciate having the lovely Boadicea bouncing up and down on his knees and the Aussies hanging on the back just moaned the entire journey. So it was a relief to all when the buggy stopped. The Noggin jumped out and lit by the headlights, sniffed around for a few seconds and them poked at the wall. A blue rectangle appeared and in a moment the room was flooded with light.

  Room hardly describes the place. It was more like a cross between a laboratory and a robot car assembly line. The Noggin gestured at Fergus, and Boadicea and Dave guided the groggy Fergus over to a table surrounded by robot arms. The helped him up and let him settle back on stainless steel surface. The Noggin waved his hand a large bright blue square appeared in mid-air. It poked at the square a few times and the robotic arms lurched and started moving over all parts of Fergus’s body. The Noggin shook its head a few times then carefully pressed the blue square. All the robot arms relaxed back to their starting positions and a shimmering hemisphere appeared covering the top of Fergus’s head. There was sharp snapping noise and a wisp of smoke crept out of the side of the shiny bowl. The Noggin clapped its hands and the shiny bowl disappeared. It seemed satisfied.

  ‘So is this medical bay?’ asked Dave.

  The Noggin scribbled a note and handed it to Dave.

  ‘Veterinary surgery and abattoir.’

  ‘Oh.’ Dave decided not to mention it to Fergus, who now seemed much improved.

  The Aussies perked up now they had some light, they formed a circle and made the fixings for a fire. Hungry Joe was working hard, rotating a stick in a hole. It was already smoking.

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone brought any tea?’ asked Dave. There was no response.

  ‘Thought not; bunch of amateurs.’

  ‘Hey Dad, aren’t you happy to see us?’ asked Abbey.

  ‘Yes love, of course I’m happy to see you, but also annoyed; I thought you were safe back at the Allotments. I also hoped that some sensible people remained there to cope with the mess.’

  ‘Give us credit Dad, we came to rescue you.’

  ‘Aye well, you could have thought to bring some supplies.’

  Abbey glared at Fergus, now aware enough to look guilty.

  ‘Sorry love, but you being here doesn’t help matters, it just means more people to take care of.’

  ‘I can take care of myself, thank you very much.’

  ‘In that case, why are you trapped in an abandoned factory with no food or water?’

  ‘We came all the way from the Allotments to help you.’

  ‘I didn’t need help. I needed rescuing. What’s your plan for getting us out of here? Where is your back up? Who have you told about your plans, so that they can come and rescue all of us?’

  ‘That’s hardly fair Dad.’

  ‘You’re not a kid any more Abbey and the world isn’t as forgiving as me. This is half-arsed and you know it. Now, we are going to get ourselves organised and-’

  ‘You tell he like it is, Captain Invincible. Me and the lads will get a brew going,’ said Trev.

  ‘Who rattled you cage?’ said Dave and glared at Trev, who smiled.

  The Noggin walked up to Dave, nodded, and put a note in his hand.

  ‘Want tea?’

  Dave just nodded. The Noggin walked off and Dave followed, drawn by the promise of decent cuppa.

  The corridor outside the room was lit. Dave assumed the Noggin had switched on all the lights. They walked for a while and pushed through a set of double doors. Inside was a refectory the size of a football pitch, with table and chairs stretching out into the distance. The Noggin pointed at a vending machine the size of a removal van, it waved its hand and a large blue rectangle appeared. The Noggin pressed it a few times and gestured; Dave leant forward and read the menu.

  Beverages

  Snacks

  Starters

  Main Course

  Pudding

  Breakfast

  Afternoon Tea

  Supper

  Sundries

  Dave pressed the option for ‘Afternoon Tea’ and marvelled at the selection. He was surprised that the Tea menu option had a further level. After due consideration of the difficult circumstances Dave selected Assam with milk and extra sugar, scone, clotted cream and strawberry jam.

  There was a gentle hum and a beep. Dave slid aside translucent door in the serving hatch and looked in. On a black plastic tray was a china mug full of steaming, tawny coloured liquid, a large scone and two small bowls, one seemingly clotted cream and the other jam. With sincere hope Dave lifted the mug to his lips and sipped.

  ‘Ahh, bloody nectar. This is amazing, how can it be still working after all this time.’

  The Noggin just shrugged and nodded its head its head. Dave took his tray of delights and sat at the nearest table. He thought about fetching the others, but that could wait. He needed time to collect his thoughts and enjoy one of life’s little pleasures.

  The staff area of the Workshops held other joys. Dormitories with showers and real beds were the second glorious surprise after everyone had eaten their fill. There was slight whinging from the Australian contingent that they had built a fire for no reason. Everyone departed to separate rooms for a full night’s sleep, despite some good-natured begging.

  As he lay in a comfortable bed after a meal and a decent cigar courtesy of the sundries option, Dave regretted his harsh words to Abbey. Yet he was disappointed she let her enthusiasm and excitement guide her actions rather than strong, level-headed, pragmatism. He’d taught her better than that. As for Fergus and Boadicea, well they were more your Warrior type, prone to going off half-cocked. They were also distracted. Dave considered telling Fergus about the Tuatha practise of honoured adoptions then thought the lad could wait. He was surprised Boadicea had forgotten and then again she was rather antipathetic towards the old ways. Ah, young lust, thought Dave, you couldn’t beat it for screwing up your life. Who was he fooling? He was bad if not worse than Fergus. One woman, one life? Mind you he’d got the one shed bit right.

  If there weren’t enough bumps in the smooth road of courtship, Fergus had a speed hump of county council proportions ahead of him; Boadicea
was properly, Princess Boadicea, beloved only daughter of a proud Tuatha De Daanan king. A scruffy human wasn’t the favoured option for a son-in-law. Love conquers all? In the stories perhaps, but round here it does bugger all except putting up with dalliance in a shed. Well the lad could work it out for himself. Dave rolled over, plumped the pillow, and descended into a well-deserved sleep.

  Breakfast was a spirited affair. The Aussies claiming the Full English Breakfast or FEB was a gilded lily, and a proper breakfast required nothing more than eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and a slice of toast. Dave put his full weight behind the addition of black pudding, beans, and a fried slice. He went far left field and asserted that fried spam was a suitable addition to the norm. It would have run and run, except that Abbey demanded a fair hearing for fruit, yoghurt and muesli and the enthusiasm deflated like an omelette on a cold plate.

  ‘Right then, enough debate, let’s plan,’ said Dave.

  ‘Whatever you say, Captain Invincible,’ said Trev; Toomey sniggered.

  ‘I suggest we split into search parties and map out this part of the Workshops. It seems the most likely place for a control room. Abbey, the Noggin and me will be one party. You half-hearted breakfast types another, Boadicea and Fergus will make up a third. Take food and make a picnic out of it if you like, but keep track of where you are going. We have no communications and I don’t want to waste time searching for a lost search party. We meet back here for dinner.’

  ‘By dinner do you mean lunch or tea?’ asked Hungry Joe.

  ‘Shall we say dinner at eight?’ said Dave.

  Dave and Abbey followed the Noggin as it sniffed along like a dog in a park. The brightly lit corridors here were clean and without dust or debris. There were no signs, but the Noggin sniffed the wall regularly and seemed to know where it was going. Every time they passed a junction Dave paused and chalked a backward pointing arrow, even though Abbey was drawing a map in a notepad; Dave was a belt and braces man.

  ‘So you’re sure your mother came here?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Hmm hm,’ said Abbey as scribbled the latest junction down on her pad.

  ‘The lads say they followed a woman in here and that she had a nice arse, so it could be your mum.’