by Pat Flynn
Yes, I think. He’s too afraid to go any further.
Then he bends down and waddles towards the hives, getting closer and closer with each step. It’s smart thinking – he’s so low the bees probably don’t even know he’s there. When he gets to the stilts, he quickly stands up, touches a white box and sprints back to me.
‘I touched it!’ He’s puffing with excitement. ‘With my hand!’
Far out! I don’t know how I’m going to win this challenge now.
I look at my watch. ‘I think it’s time we went back. Your mum said not to be too long.’
Chris puts his hands on his hips. ‘I didn’t hear her say anything.’
‘That’s probably because your ears are smaller than mine, ’cause you’re younger.’
‘So I won, then?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I just don’t have time to beat you.’
‘Well, that means I won.’
‘No, it doesn’t. If we had more time I’d win, but I’ll be a good sport and call it a draw.’
He pulls his shoulders back. ‘A draw? No way! I touched the bee box and you didn’t. I won, it’s as simple as that.’
‘No, it’s not. If I had time I’d easily touch it.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘I would but I don’t have time.’
‘Look,’ he says, ‘if you stopped arguing about how little time you’ve got and just touched it, you’d have done it by now. Admit it, I won.’
He’s got a good point but I’m not going to admit anything, especially if it involves saying that he’s beaten me.
Chris clasps his hands behind his head. ‘Aaahhh. It feels good to be a winner.’
That fires me up and there’s nothing like a bit of boiling blood to get my courage going. ‘All right, then, I’ll do it. But I’ll tell your mum it was your fault we were late.’
‘Go on. Do it.’
Drats! It looks like I’m going to have to follow through on my promise or he really will win. I suck in a breath.
They’re just little bees. If they land on me, I’ll swat ’em like mosquitoes.
I jog to the tree and stop, taking a look at the boxes. I can see some bees crawling around but they don’t look too mean. Perhaps all the stinging ones are away collecting honey?
At my feet is a large stick, so I bend down and pick it up. I’ve got an idea as to how I can win the challenge and not get too close to the hives.
I sneak up to the boxes and dig my toes into the ground. I take the stick back like it’s a baseball bat. Then, without thinking, I swing.
Crack!
I smack the box and the noise echoes through the bush like a gunshot. If it had been a baseball I hit, it would’ve gone for a home run.
Yes! Hitting the hive with a stick takes a lot more courage than simply touching it. I’ve won now!
I’m so happy I forget to move. And then, like a fire alarm has gone off, a million bees fly out of the hive. They look like they want to kill somebody. And the only person there is me.
Chapter 3
‘Run!’ yells Chris.
I take his advice.
I sprint away faster than I’ve ever sprinted before. Now I know how I’ll win the hundred-metre race at the next school sports day – get someone to let out a bunch of killer bees while I’m running.
But the bees are fast flyers and they won’t stop chasing me. I know this because I can hear buzzing beside my ears. Then I feel one land on me. I try to brush it off and it stings my arm, and the other bees go even more ballistic. I’m stung on the other arm.
Ouch!
I get stung a third time, on the leg. Oww!
I think I’m going to die of bee stings. Imagine what it will say on my grave?
Danny wouldn’t let the bees be,
and so they went on a killing spree.
He died beneath a gum tree.
Chris is running towards his house but I chuck a right and head for the creek, hoping that bees can’t swim.
I’m almost there when a monster jumps out from behind a bush and grabs me.
‘Hey!’ I yell.
It’s got a mask, a white suit and a laser gun. Come to think of it, I don’t think it’s a monster after all. I reckon it’s an alien.
I try to slip out of its grasp but it’s too strong.
‘Don’t move,’ he hisses. ‘It scares the bees.’
I’m not too worried about scaring the bees. I’m more worried about being scared myself, although I don’t know what I’m more afraid of – a bunch of psychotic bees or an alien.
‘Slowly lift up your arms,’ he orders.
Because he’s got a gun I do what he says.
He rips off my brown t-shirt and throws it away. Some bees fly over and land on it.
‘Hey!’ I say. ‘Whaddya doing?’
‘When they’re mad, bees will attack anyone wearing brown,’ says the alien. ‘Their natural enemy is the brown bear.’
I don’t know what planet he’s from, because any fool knows that there are no bears in Australia, besides the Koala bear. I don’t tell him this, though, as I’ve got bigger things to worry about. I’m standing completely still with no shirt on and thousands of bees buzzing around. This isn’t good.
The alien lifts up his laser gun.
Oh no! This is even worse.
He puts his finger on the button.
Oh no!
He shoots …
… at the bees.
Oh yes!
Smoke comes out of the gun and although they don’t fall to the ground, dead, the bees seem to calm down. It’s as if the smoke relaxes them.
‘Walk away. Slowly,’ orders the alien.
He leads me into the trees and the bees don’t follow. I don’t know how he did that. Perhaps he can communicate with them through mental telepathy?
He tells me to sit and then he starts taking off his mask.
Oh no!
Without a mask he looks just like … a man.
‘I’m the beekeeper,’ he says.
‘Oh,’ I say. I suppose that explains the funny suit and why he knows so much about bees.
‘Did you get stung?’ he asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘Show me.’
He uses his fingernail to take out the stings. Then he gets some cream out of his backpack and rubs it on my skin. Even though I’m still in pain, the stings feel a lot better than they did a few minutes ago.
‘Why were the bees chasing you?’ he asks.
‘Umm. Because I was wearing a brown shirt?’
He looks at me. ‘Bees never chase people for no reason. Tell the truth.’
So I do. It’s probably because the man still looks pretty scary with his suit and smoking gun. When I tell him about whacking the hive with a stick, he’s not happy.
He looks me in the eye. ‘You’re lucky you’re not allergic to bees. If you were, you could be dead by now.’
I gulp.
‘And if I hadn’t shown up when I did you’d have hundreds of stings all over you. At the very least, you’d be in hospital for weeks.’
He’s right. I’ve only got three stings and I’m not feeling too good at all.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Have you learned your lesson?’
‘Yep. I’ll never mess with bees again. They’re the pits.’
His face softens. ‘Bees aren’t bad. They’re actually really, really good. As well as making honey and beeswax, they pollinate fruit, vegetables and flowers. Without bees there’d be none of these things.’
‘Really?’ I didn’t know bees were so talented.
He nods. ‘They don’t like stinging people either, because if they do, they die.’
I can’t believe three bees just died because of me. I feel even worse.
He must have seen the look on my face. ‘Don’t worry too much. They only live six weeks, except the Queen. She lives for four years.’
‘What about the King?’ I ask.
H
e laughs. ‘There isn’t one.’
Drats! Chris is right.
The beekeeper lets me go and I begin to limp back to my uncle and aunty’s. I’m feeling sore and sorry for myself, and I’m finding it hard to think up a story so I don’t get in big trouble. Normally I’m great at making up stories, but I think the bees’ poison has seeped into my brain.
Even so, I can’t help but carry a satisfied look on my face. I can’t wait to see Chris, not to tell him he was right about the King bee, but to tell him something else.
I escaped the killer bees.
Beat that!
4
Chapter 1
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Although it’s one of the most annoying sounds in the universe, a small smile crawls across my freckly face. This is one animal that will soon be sorry it’s crossed paths with Danny, the famous insect hunter.
I’ve caught cockroaches in cardboard cartons, hunted hairy huntsmans in hallways, and flicked flies with fast fingers.
In other words, this mangy mozzie doesn’t stand a chance.
I creep out of bed and sneak across the carpet, imagining what I’ll do once I spot my prey. Even though mozzies are one of the most dangerous creatures on earth, spreading diseases like malaria, Ross River fever and itchy bitey-itis, I won’t make it suffer. No, that’s not my way. I like to kill quickly and quietly …
‘Ahhh!’ I yell.
In the dark, I’ve tripped over my skateboard and banged my knee on a marble. Not just any marble, either, but a huge steel one that used to belong to Josh O’Brien. At lunchtime today I bet my small cats-eye for his jumbo steely and I won, of course. I got to aim at a marble the size of a cricket ball, and he was shooting at a marble the size of a marble. He’s not the sharpest stick in the playground, ol’ Josh.
‘Shishkebab,’ I say, rubbing my knee.
When it stops throbbing I calm down and listen for the mozzie, but I can’t hear it. Maybe I scared it off and it flew out the rip in the window screen, which is probably how it got into my bedroom in the first place.
I go back to bed.
It’s quiet and my mind relaxes, imagining playing marbles at school tomorrow. I’ve been on such a winning streak lately that I’m considering challenging the school champion, Diana ‘Dead-eye’ McClymont. She’s only lost one game all year, and the rumour is that she let Nathan win because she’s got a crush on him.
I do a behind-the-back, side-spin shot that’s just about to kiss Dianas best marble like a movie star, when my dream is distracted.
Bzzzz! Bzzzz! Bzzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Stupid Mozzie, I think.
I get up again. This time I make sure to avoid both my skateboard and my jumbo steely. Before I’m at the light switch the noise stops.
I stop, too.
I think the bloodsucker’s landed on me.
I stand perfectly still, trying to sense it. I close my eyes so I can feel things better. I’m pretty sure there are tiny legs standing on my cheek. My face cheek, I’m talking about, not my bum cheek.
Slowly I lift my arm.
Smack!
I slap myself in the face.
‘Shishkebab!’
That hurt!
Hopefully, though, I’ve killed the mozzie. I turn the light on and search the carpet for evidence, but the only black speck I see is a piece of old chocolate.
I eat it and go back to bed.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzz! BzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz!
Far out!
This time I’m serious.
While it’s still buzzing I hurry to the light switch, flick it, and use my razor-sharp eyes to scan the room.
Normally it’s easy to find mozzies. First you follow the sound, then you look for their flapping wings -which are usually motoring towards the ceiling where they think it’s safe. Unfortunately for mozzies, my ceiling is painted white and the black dot stands out like a pimple. The other unlucky thing for them is that I own an extra long towel. One shot from me and the mozzie will fly straight to heaven.
The instant I flip the light switch, the buzzing stops. Not only that, the mozzie hides. It’s not on the ceiling, it’s not on the walls, it’s not anywhere.
This is unbelievable! It’s like this mozzie’s got a brain, and not a tiny one like Josh O’Brien’s. Josh is so dumb that when the teacher asked him what 3 times 3 was, Josh said, ‘What?’
‘What’s three, three times?’ said Mr Bath, making it even more obvious.
‘That’s easy,’ said Josh. ‘Three, three, three.’
No, this mozzie’s as smart as Carla Wright. Whenever Mr Bath doesn’t know something, he points at Carla and she spits out the answer like a computer. I reckon she should be getting half his teacher money. And, come to think of it, I should be getting the other half, because Mr Baths always making me do his jobs, like shutting the windows or putting up chairs, just because I occasionally like to talk while he’s talking.
‘If you don’t listen you won’t know the right answer,’ Mr Bath said to me yesterday.
‘If I want the right answer I’ll just ask Carla,’ I replied.
That comment got me another job – picking up rubbish for a week.
Yeah, I need to be smart like Carla if I’m going to beat this mozzie.
I close one eye to help me think, but it doesn’t work.
I open it and close the other eye.
I close both eyes. Now I can’t see.
That’s it! I need to trick the mozzie into thinking that I can’t see it.
I turn the light off and pretend to walk to bed, making stomping sounds on the carpet. Then I stand still as a statue, waiting with my hand on the switch.
Nothing.
After a minute my arm becomes sore from holding it up to the light switch.
Still nothing.
I’m getting tired, and like a cow I start drifting off to sleep while standing up. I begin to dream about -
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
I flick on the switch.
Where is it? Where? It’s gotta be here!
The buzzing stops.
I check behind the desk.
No mozzie.
I look in the cupboard.
No mozzie.
I open my money box.
No mozzie. And no money! My little sister Katy must have ‘borrowed’ it again. Luckily she’s too small to be able to go to the shop and spend it. She just keeps it under her pillow and pretends she’s rich. Tomorrow I’ll take my money back and leave something under her pillow as a replacement – like a dead lizard.
Finally, I go back to bed.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
I start going crazy.
‘Where are you?’ I yell. ‘Come out and show yourself like a … mosquito.’
Bzzzzzz!Ha., ha, ha! Bzzzzzz! Ha, ha, ha! Bzzzzzz! Ha, ha, ha!
Hey! The stupid mozzie’s laughing at me!
Hang on, I’ve never heard a mozzie laugh before.
I lean down, gently pull up the bedspread and peek under the bed.
My brother and sister are under there!
Both have their hands cupped over their mouths. Tommy’s going ‘Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!’ and Katy’s trying to stop giggling, although she’s not having much success.
Of all the low-down, lousy tricks … I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first.
I reach over to my bedside table and grab a bag of marbles. If it’s a war they want, it s a war they’re going to get. I open the bag and say loudly, This mozzie is making me lose my marbles.’
Katy giggles even louder.
I lift the bedspread and start flicking marbles at them.
‘Oww!’ says Katy.
‘Stop it!’ says Tommy.
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I haven’t lost all my marbles yet.’
I keep flicking until the marbles run out, then I grab two pillows, one for each hand, and wait fo
r the attack that I know is coming.
After a few seconds of silence, making sure I’m definitely out of marbles, Tommy says, ‘Charge!’
He and Katy roll out from under the bed like commandoes, but I’m ready for them. I start socking them with my pillows.
‘Get lost!’ screams Katy.
‘I can’t,’ I yell as I hit her. ‘This is my room. I know it too well.’
Soon my big bro makes it to his feet and jumps on top of me. Because he’s strong he pins my shoulders to the bed with his knees, and he and Katy start poking me in the chest and stomach. Even though I don’t want to, I start laughing. I’m really ticklish.
When I manage to stop laughing, I yell, ‘Get off me, you stupid insects!’
‘Not until you apologise for throwing marbles at us,’ says Tommy.
‘No way! You say sorry for hiding under my bed and pretending to be mosquitoes.’
‘We were just playing a joke,’ says Tommy.
Katy starts a chant. ‘You can’t take a joke! You can’t take a joke!’
I start kicking my legs. If I wasn’t trapped, I’d give Katy a piece of my foot.
‘Calm down!’ says Tommy, plunking more of his weight on my shoulders. ‘This is what we’re going to do. On three, everyone is going to say sorry at the same time. Okay?’
I don’t answer.
‘Okay?’
He gives me another poke to convince me.
‘All right,’ I say.
‘Good. Here we go. One, two …’
No one says anything.
‘That was a practice,’ says Tommy. ‘Now this time it’s for real. Whoever doesn’t say sorry is going to get a permanent wedgie. One, two …’
‘Sorry,’ mutters everyone.
Tommy lets me up. ‘No hard feelings?’ He puts out his hand.
I go to shake it but pull my hand away at the last second.
He gives me a friendly noogie, messing up my hair. ‘Night, champ.’
Katy takes a flying leap and lands on top of me. ‘Good night, Danny,’ she says, giving me a hug.
Even though Katy and I fight a lot we like each other. Sometimes.
‘I’ll be getting my money back tomorrow, too,’ I say.
‘What money?’ she says innocently.
They leave.
I lie back in bed and relax. Finally, I can sleep in peace.
