B.A.S.E. Camp

by Rob Childs

  Young Taffy shrugged. ‘Not if the dogs get you first,’ he said with a sly grin.

  Loud barking could now be heard from the far side of the track.

  ‘Beat it, Foxy!’ urged Jacko. ‘Those brutes don’t ask questions.’

  ‘A fox hunt!’ cackled Young Taffy. ‘Tally-ho!’

  Adam shot him a dirty look, nodded to Jacko and was gone, lost to sight among the trees. He soon caught up with the rest. Their panicky flight had taken them into the wood on a different course from before and they had halted in a small clearing, trying to get their bearings.

  ‘Which way now?’ gasped Tom, red-faced.

  ‘Not sure,’ Gareth confessed.

  ‘We could try and skirt back round the lake,’ suggested Eddie.

  ‘What, with them great mutts on the loose behind us!’ exclaimed Adam.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Gareth. ‘The tunnel’s safer. It can’t be far away.’

  ‘Just find it, will you,’ Tom demanded. ‘I don’t want to end up as dog meat.’

  It was more by luck than judgement that the group stumbled upon the same path they had used when leaving the tunnel.

  ‘We’re OK!’ whooped Eddie in relief, pointing to some broken branches. ‘Here’s the trail Foxy got me to make.’

  ‘Good job you did what you were told for once,’ Adam grinned. ‘Well done, Wonder Boy!’

  They soon found the concealed entrance and disappeared inside the narrow tunnel that led to the brick wall. They scrambled through the gap and waited until Tom found the lever to re-close the wall and switch the light circuit back on.

  ‘Phew!’ breathed Gareth. ‘That was close. Can’t hear the dogs at all now.’

  ‘C’mon, let’s get back,’ urged Tom. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Huh!’ grunted Adam. ‘Don’t worry if you hear any rumblin’ noises, guys. It’s not the roof cavin’ in – just Tom-Tom’s belly playin’ up!’

  In single file, the boys made their way through the tunnel under the lake until they reached the ladder. Gareth clambered up it first and peered through the gap beneath the statue.

  ‘All clear,’ he announced. ‘We’re in luck.’

  It was only after they had all got out of the hole that a dark figure emerged from the nearby trees. He was not alone. Straining forward on a tight leash was a big, black dog.

  ‘Reckon our luck’s just run out,’ muttered Adam.

  ‘Welcome back to B.A.S.E.,’ Blackbeard said grimly. ‘Don’t forget to close that hole. Somebody might get hurt…’

  The boys were confined to their room for the rest of the day after being lectured by Blackbeard for straying off limits. The head coach also made them promise not to say anything to their families during the Open Day about what had happened.

  In exchange for their silence, they would be allowed to stay at B.A.S.E. Camp and complete the coaching course. It was an uneasy – and temporary – truce.

  ‘Thought human clonin’ wasn’t possible,’ said Adam, sprawled on his bunk.

  ‘Yes, it’s possible, all right,’ Gareth replied. ‘Just not done, that’s all.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Gareth shrugged. ‘Not sure. Might even be illegal, for all I know.’

  Tom picked at the remains of the meat-paste sandwiches, which had been sent up to the dormitory as their meal, along with glasses of juice. He was still hungry.

  ‘Scientists have done it with animals,’ Tom told them, ‘but it’s supposed to be very difficult with humans.’

  ‘Well, they seem to have managed it here somehow,’ reasoned Gareth. ‘YT’s the proof of that.’

  ‘Strange he didn’t mind admitting it,’ said Tom. ‘Even boasted about it, really.’

  ‘Old Taffy likes to show off, too,’ Adam muttered. ‘Maybe they are one and the same, sort of thing.’

  ‘You’re very quiet, Eddie,’ said Gareth. ‘What do you think about all this business?’

  ‘I think it stinks even worse than Foxy’s feet!’ he said, pulling a face. ‘YT’s a freak!’

  Chapter Eight

  Open Day

  ‘There you are, Gramps!’ Gareth exclaimed. ‘What do you think of that?’

  Gramps stared, open-mouthed, at the statue of his old schoolfriend. ‘Taffy Jones…’ he breathed. ‘I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘We said you’d be in for a big surprise,’ laughed Gareth. He exchanged grins with Adam, who had managed to slip away from his parents for a while to meet Gramps and show him what they had discovered.

  Adam glanced towards the house to make sure no one was watching and then stamped on the stone discus. ‘Watch this!’ he cried.

  Gareth enjoyed Gramps’ shocked reaction as the gap slowly appeared at the base of the statue.

  ‘It’s a secret passage,’ Gareth told him. ‘Just like in your stories about the school.’

  ‘Better than any of them, m’boy,’ said Gramps. ‘How on earth did you find it?’

  ‘He told us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Taffy!’

  ‘You mean the old boy’s still here?’ Gramps gasped. ‘You’ve actually met him?’

  ‘Sure have,’ said Gareth. ‘He might even own the place, for all we know.’

  Gramps shook his head, marvelling at such news. ‘Taffy Jones!’ he repeated in amazement. ‘Thought he were dead.’

  Adam laughed. ‘So did we at first. Thought he might have been one of your ghosts when I saw him disappear through a wall.’

  ‘Through a wall?’

  ‘Yeah – turned out to be another secret passage.’

  ‘The old devil!’ Gramps murmured. ‘Don’t like to say this now, but you couldn’t really trust Taffy as a kid. You never knew if he were just telling tales.’

  ‘Don’t reckon he’s changed much, then,’ muttered Adam, thinking of Taffy’s denial over Jacko. ‘Only I call it lyin’.’

  ‘Best close this up before anyone comes,’ Gareth said, heaving the discus back into position to seal the hole once more.

  ‘Do you know where it leads?’ asked Gramps.

  ‘Sure do. A group of us explored it,’ said Gareth. ‘Goes right under the lake.’

  ‘Goodness!’

  Before Gareth could say any more, he saw his mother heading their way across the lawn, carrying a bowl of strawberries.

  ‘I might have known you two would try to escape the crowds,’ she chuckled. ‘Come on, Gareth, introduce me to your new friend.’

  ‘This is Adam, Mum,’ he said and then pointed up at the statue. ‘We were just showing Gramps an old one – Gareth Taffy Jones, the great Olympic champion!’

  Mum choked and dropped a strawberry off the spoon down the front of her new dress.

  Tom and Eddie were finding it less easy to entertain their families. After a guided tour of the Camp’s training facilities, there weren’t exactly a lot of things to see and do – at least before the demonstration of some track and field events.

  Tom was sitting with his parents at one of the tables in the courtyard, conveniently near to where the strawberries were being served. Two empty bowls bore witness to his appetite and he was planning to go back for a third. He let out a loud burp.

  ‘Manners, Thomas!’ said his mother, frowning at him and hoping that none of the nearby guests had heard the noise.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said automatically. ‘Do you want any more strawbs?’

  Eddie was leading his parents from the running track when his father halted by the pool. ‘Been for a swim yet, son?’ he asked.

  Eddie pulled a face, recalling his humiliation by Blackbeard. ‘Just once, Dad,’ he replied, moving him on quickly. ‘Water’s too cold.’

  Eddie soon joined Tom in the queue for strawberries and cream. ‘Wonder why Blackbeard told everyone about the A.C.E. place?’ he said, referring to the speech of welcome, when the head coach announced that some boys might be invited to be coached at an advanced training centre. ‘Thought it was supposed to be a big secret.’


  Tom burped again. ‘Not any more,’ he grinned. ‘Not since us lot stumbled on it. Probably worried we might go and spill the beans.’

  ‘Huh! Bet all the kids strutting their stuff on the track later will be from there,’ Eddie muttered. ‘And I hope YT’s among them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Just like to see him in action again, that’s all.’

  ‘Hello, Davy!’

  Gramps whirled round. Nobody had called him by that name for years.

  ‘It is Davy, isn’t it? Must be.’

  Gramps stared at the old man with long, white hair. He had joined the Davies family on a grassy bank overlooking the running track, where sprint races were in progress. It was only the Welsh accent that gave away his identity.

  ‘Taffy?’

  ‘The one and only,’ he replied, and then chuckled. ‘Well, maybe that’s not quite true no more.’

  Gramps failed to appreciate the significance of the remark, and reached out to shake the offered hand. ‘Never thought that one day they’d be building statues of rogues like you,’ he said, grinning at his old school mate.

  ‘Oh, you’ve seen that thing, have you? Mind you, I had to pay somebody a small fortune to do it, didn’t I?’

  ‘And pay them to keep quiet about the tunnel underneath, no doubt.’

  ‘Young Gareth’s shown you that as well, has he?’ Taffy replied, slipping the boy a wink. ‘Thought he might.’

  ‘You got any grandkids, Taffy?’ Gramps asked him.

  ‘No, but there is someone who takes after me in a way,’ Taffy said and then grinned. ‘Chip off the old block, you might say, Davy. See if you can spot him in this next race.’

  Gareth knew what that must mean. When the bang of a gun signalled the start of the 800-metre event, he went to stand next to Adam and they were not surprised to see who burst into an early lead.

  ‘YT’s settin’ a real hot pace,’ said Adam. ‘Even Jacko can’t keep up with him.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone off too fast,’ Gareth suggested.

  ‘Nah, reckon he knows what he’s doin’. None of ’em will catch him now.’

  Gramps was not even aware of the other boys in the race. His mind had lurched back half a century and he could clearly see another young lad, in white, baggy shorts and vest, with the same upright running action.

  Taffy Jones was more interested in watching Gramps’ reaction. ‘Remember when my hair was jet black like that, Davy?’ he said.

  Gramps nodded, not looking away from the track. ‘Aye, and I remember how you ran, too. It’s uncanny. Almost identical style.’

  ‘It is identical,’ Taffy confirmed. ‘Coached him myself.’

  Young Taffy ran past them to complete the first lap, well in the lead. Then suddenly he found another runner hard on his heels.

  ‘Wonder Boy!’ gasped Adam. ‘Has he gone mad?’

  Eddie had been unable to resist the temptation to dash onto the track and chase after the leader, intent on revenge. Taken by surprise, Young Taffy slowed to glance back and check out his unexpected challenger. It gave Eddie the chance to close the gap and they rounded the bend shoulder to shoulder.

  ‘Now let’s see how you like it!’ cried Eddie.

  The two boys pounded along the back straight, cheered on by the spectators, who assumed it was all part of the entertainment.

  ‘That idiot’s really askin’ for it!’ Adam muttered. ‘Blackbeard will go berserk later, when his folks have gone home.’

  ‘Don’t suppose Eddie even thought about that,’ said Gareth. ‘He just wants to get his own back.’

  ‘He might do as well – YT’s already run one lap.’

  With about 200 metres to go, Eddie accelerated into the bend, hoping his fresher legs would drive him into the clear. He was running as fast as he could, hampered slightly by his tracksuit, but he wasn’t able to shake off his rival. Young Taffy was still only just behind him as they entered the home straight.

  ‘He’s gonna do it!’ screamed Gareth, dancing up and down.

  Adam wasn’t so sure. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it…’ he began and then gasped in astonishment as Young Taffy suddenly seemed to find an extra gear to surge ahead, making it almost look as if Eddie were going backwards.

  As the winner sprinted over the finishing line, arms aloft in triumph, Eddie sagged to his knees, crushed with disappointment.

  Adam and Gareth ran across the track to pull him back onto his feet and lead him away.

  ‘What got into you?’ Adam demanded. ‘That was a crazy thing to do!’

  ‘More like what they’ve got into him!’ Eddie stormed. ‘You saw what he just did. That’s not normal. He must be on drugs!’

  ‘Cool it, Wonder Boy!’ Adam warned. ‘Here come your folks. Don’t go rantin’ on to them about drugs and stuff. They’ll take you home.’

  Gareth and Adam moved off as Eddie’s family made a fuss of him.

  ‘What do you think he’ll tell them?’ said Gareth.

  ‘Not much,’ Adam grunted. ‘Not if he’s got any sense, he won’t.’

  ‘Well I’m going to tell Gramps about what’s going on here. We need somebody on our side – y’know, just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gareth said with a shrug. ‘That’s what bothers me.’

  Chapter Nine

  Out of Bounds

  ‘Hi, Foxy!’ cried Jacko, as the three boys emerged from the trees. ‘Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.’

  Adam had snatched a word with Jacko after the race and arranged to meet up at the old boathouse during their free Sunday evening, after all the families had left. Gareth and Eddie had come with him.

  ‘You know me, man,’ Adam laughed. ‘But how did you get here?’

  ‘A chain is only as strong as its weakest link,’ Jacko said with a sly wink.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘It means there’s a small hole in the fence.’

  ‘You on your own?’ demanded Eddie. ‘Or is that freak with you?’

  Jacko’s grin faded. ‘If you mean YT, he’s at the Centre, celebrating his victory.’

  ‘Wonder Boy here reckons YT must be takin’ drugs, the way he stormed through to win like he did,’ Adam said.

  Jacko gave a casual shrug. ‘We’ve all had a little extra help.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘Artificial help,’ Jacko admitted. ‘Just like you lot.’

  ‘We’re not taking anything,’ Eddie denied hotly.

  ‘Oh, yes, you are,’ Jacko told him. ‘It’s not just fruit in all that juice they make you drink. It contains special vitamins, too. Y’know, stimulants, like.’

  Eddie was not surprised by that revelation. ‘I wondered why they keep trying to force it down us. Tastes awful. I pour it away, if I can.’

  ‘Tom-Tom can’t get enough of it,’ Adam said. ‘He’s hooked on the stuff.’

  ‘Well, it is meant to be addictive. Where is your fat friend, anyway?’

  ‘Probably goin’ round the tables, helpin’ himself to any leftovers,’ Adam chuckled.

  Gareth kept on with the questioning. ‘It can’t be just the juice, though,’ he said. ‘What other kind of help do you lot have at the Centre?’

  Jacko didn’t see the need to hide anything. ‘They gave me an injection at Easter,’ he said. ‘It’s supposed to help muscle growth and increase power. Seems to work, anyway. I’m loads fitter and faster than I used to be.’

  ‘Doesn’t it wear off after a while?’

  ‘Don’t think so – not for years. The muscles just keep on getting stronger.’

  Eddie nodded, satisfied that his suspicions about Young Taffy had been confirmed. ‘Explains how YT could run so quickly after 800 metres.’

  Jacko grinned. ‘Well, he is something of a special case of course. Y’know, with him being a clone, like.’

  ‘Yeah, I still
don’t really get that business,’ said Adam. ‘Is that kid just another version of Taffy Jones?’

  ‘Not just another version. T3 is a sort of souped-up version – a de-luxe model, if you like. He’s not even dyslexic.’

  Eddie was startled by that fact, as much as by the use of the T3 code name for Young Taffy.

  ‘There’s no cross for T3 on the island,’ he said, staring at Jacko. ‘Are the others for Taffy’s clones that didn’t survive?’

  Jacko shrugged but made no effort to deny it.

  ‘I once read a science-fiction story about this kind of thing,’ said Gareth. ‘Scientists messed around with a cloned baby’s genes and created a monster.’

  ‘Well, it’s science fact now. It’s called genetic engineering,’ Jacko told them. ‘YT isn’t a monster, but he sure is superhuman!’

  Munday

  Felte good to be back in traning today. I do’nt know how far we ran but even I was a bit tried by the end. Coach told us we’ll be haveing midweek races agenst some kids from a club in towne. Hope thay give us some good…

  Eddie was going to use the word competition but realised that he had no idea how to spell it. He decided to write contests instead.

  …kontestes.

  He put down his pen and closed his training diary with relief. He always found writing more tiring than running. He was also relieved – and surprised – that his gatecrashing of the race seemed to have gone unpunished. His humiliation on the track still rankled, but at least he had run some of that disappointment out of his system today.

  Adam had not yet started his daily diary and his glass of juice remained untouched. He was still brooding over what Jacko had told them about Young Taffy – and the long-lasting effects of the injection to improve physical performance.

  ‘Can’t be that bad for you,’ he mused, doodling on a piece of paper. ‘I mean, Jacko seems OK…’

  ‘Fancy yourself as a bit of an artist, do you?’

  Adam jolted upright and realised that Blondie was peering over his shoulder at the design of an interwoven letter and number on the paper.

  ‘Sorry, Coach,’ he mumbled. ‘Er… just thinkin’ what to put, like…’