The Mystery of Stormy Island

by Jennifer Gray

  Suddenly Ruth let out a gasp. Amy looked at her in surprise. They mustn’t make any noise or they might wake up Raptorov. Everyone knew that. She frowned. It wasn’t like Ruth to make silly mistakes. That was normally what she did!

  James Pond gave Ruth a furious look and waddled on towards the back of the cave. Amy was about to follow with Boo, but Ruth blocked their way. She pointed to the fossils, then reached inside the Emergency Chicken Pack and pulled something out. Amy blinked. It wasn’t one of Professor Rooster’s surprise gadgets: it was the book about bird evolution. Ruth leafed through it frantically until she found the page she wanted and held the book up for the others to look at. The picture was of a flying dinosaur with keen eyes, a huge bill, bony wings and razor-sharp teeth.

  Amy peered at it, trying to puzzle out what Ruth was telling them. The dinosaur bird looked remarkably like one of the granny hens: mean and scrawny and sly, except that the granny hens had false teeth and couldn’t fly. Unless they had a shot of dinosaur DNA, of course …

  Suddenly Amy had one of her occasional flashes of chicken genius. She knew exactly what Ruth was trying to tell them. Raptorov hadn’t eaten the grannies. He wanted to turn them into terrifying dino-birds, like the ones in the picture, using the fossils he’d collected. They had to get out of there fast! But first she had to warn James Pond!

  Amy scuttled to the back of the cave in search of him. But the duck had disappeared. He must have gone into the tunnel! Just then she heard a horrible noise coming from behind the wall of rock, followed by a frantic quacking.

  James Pond! Whatever it was that Raptorov had created, it had caught the duck agent. Swallowing her fear, Amy crept into the tunnel. She took a few steps and stopped. The holster containing the homing device lay on the ground next to a few feathers, but there was no sign of James Pond.

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  Amy froze. The creature was still in the tunnel somewhere up ahead. It must have heard her.

  SCRATCH! SCRATCH! SCRATCH! The sound of claws scraping on rock heralded the creature’s approach. It was coming towards her!

  Amy grabbed the holster and slung it over her shoulder. Then she shot back along the tunnel and across the cave as fast as her legs would carry her.

  The noise was getting louder. Amy glanced back. A shadow loomed against the wall. It was even more terrifying than the hunched shadow of Raptorov. She could see the outline of a hideous, hopping, bunched-up bird, like a pelican, only scrawnier, with bony wings and an enormous beak full of razor-sharp teeth. It appeared to be leaning on a zimmer frame.

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  Amy had reached the ledge. Boo and Ruth were waiting, just in case she needed help. But this time all three chickens managed their controls without problem. ZOOM! Up flew the warriors into the air.

  Amy looked down. Once again the ledge was empty. The creature had gone back inside the tunnel. But they had been too late to save James Pond.

  ‘So now what do we do?’ Amy, Boo and Ruth were holding an emergency meeting underneath the caravan where they couldn’t be overheard. The rest of the chickens had been rounded up by Boo and told to stay inside and not accept ANY invitations to parties, however tempting they might seem. Boo had also told them that Raptorov and Thaddeus E. Fox had tricked the granny hens into visiting Stormy Island, but not about the owl’s evil plan to turn the grannies into dino-birds. There was no point in spreading panic amongst the flock.

  ‘Maybe the dinosaur DNA will wear off,’ Boo said hopefully. ‘Then we can go and fetch the grannies back, rescue James Pond and send the villains packing, like we planned.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ruth. She shook her head ruefully. ‘I should have seen this coming.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Ruth!’ Amy said stoutly.

  ‘I should have realised though,’ Ruth insisted. ‘Remember what you said when Professor Rooster first told us about Raptorov, Amy?’

  ‘No,’ said Amy. She didn’t have a very large brain capacity for remembering things.

  ‘Well, I was telling you what genetic engineering is, and you said, “if chickens wanted to be really fierce, you could give them the DNA of a T. rex”.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Amy remembered now. She frowned. ‘But I swear you said that was impossible?’

  ‘I thought it was,’ said Ruth, ‘because dinosaurs died out sixty million years ago and I thought you couldn’t extract their DNA. But obviously I was wrong. Raptorov must have found a way of extracting dinosaur DNA from fossils. That’s why he’s been collecting them. I don’t know how I could have been so blind!’

  ‘But why does he even want to make dino-birds?’ Amy said.

  Ruth shrugged. ‘Power, I suppose. That’s what makes most villains tick, apart from revenge. Think about it: with an army of granny raptors at his back, Raptorov will be the most powerful bird in the world. Now tell us again, Amy. What exactly did you see when you went after James Pond?’

  Amy described the hideous shadow of the dino-bird.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ruth, ‘that’s bad, very bad. It sounds like he’s given the grannies a shot of raptor DNA.’

  ‘Is a raptor a type of dinosaur?’ asked Boo.

  Ruth nodded. ‘Yes, one of the most ferocious types that ever lived.’

  ‘More ferocious than a T. rex?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Possibly,’ said Ruth. ‘Raptors were smaller but they hunted in packs. They were more intelligent too.’

  Amy shivered. The idea of the granny dino-birds hunting in a pack was horrible. The grannies were bad enough when they were just playing beach volleyball and stamping on other chickens’ sandcastles. ‘Why didn’t it come after us when we took off?’ she wondered.

  ‘My guess is the granny raptors’ wings aren’t strong enough,’ Ruth said. ‘I mean, chickens can’t fly much anyway, especially if they’re old: adding raptor juice isn’t going to change that. If Raptorov wants his dino-birds to fly, he’s either going to have to choose different birds to experiment on or find a fossil of a pterodactyl and give some of that to the grannies. A pterodactyl is one of the flying dinosaurs I showed you in the book, by the way.’

  Yikes, thought Amy, remembering how fearsome they looked.

  ‘If he does that, he’ll spread terror across the sky,’ Ruth said. ‘No animal will be safe: not even humans. And no chickens either. We’ll get minced.’

  ‘We have to stop him!’ Amy cried.

  ‘I agree,’ said Ruth. ‘The question is how.’

  ‘At least we’ve got the homing device,’ Boo said.

  ‘We don’t have the laser torch though,’ Amy pointed out.

  ‘Maybe there’s something in the Emergency Chicken Pack that we can use,’ Boo suggested. ‘The professor always gives us some good gadgets.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’ Ruth untied the string of the backpack and shook the contents out onto the ground.

  ‘Silly Billy’s Favourite Chicken Party Songs.’ Amy grabbed the CD. ‘I love that!’ It had all the tunes she had enjoyed singing along to with her friends at Perrin’s Farm, like ‘Do the Funky Chicken’, ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ and the ‘Hokey Kokey’.

  ‘What’s it for though?’ Boo wondered.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Ruth was going through the items individually. ‘Well, the owl cave sat-nav is for us to find our way around the cave system, and we can use the body armour to help us fit the homing device …

  ‘What about this?’ Amy held up the ballet outfit.

  Ruth looked at it thoughtfully. ‘Maybe it has something to do with Raptorov’s passion for the composer, Tchaikovsky? He wrote lots of ballet music.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ll work it out when the time comes.’

  Maybe, thought Amy. The chickens usually managed to find a use for most of the contents of the Emergency Chicken Pack when they got into dangerous situations. The problem was, this time Professor Rooster had only packed things to defeat Raptorov: he wasn’t expecting Thaddeus E. Fox or a pack of genetically modified raptor h
ens to show up as well. This was turning out to be their toughest chicken mission yet.

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else?’ she asked.

  Ruth gave the Emergency Chicken Pack a shake. A small round plastic box fell out. She picked it up and twisted the lid off carefully. Inside were three sets of tiny headphones. ‘Wow!’ said Ruth.

  ‘What are they?’ asked Boo.

  ‘They’re silent communication devices,’ Ruth replied. ‘They allow us to talk to one another just by picking up our brainwaves so Raptorov won’t hear us.’

  ‘You mean like a sort of walkie-thinkie?’ said Amy, who used to watch action movies with her dad when she lived at Perrin’s Farm.

  Ruth grinned at her. ‘Exactly. You’re getting really good at this science stuff, Amy.’

  ‘Okay, so when do we make our move?’ asked Boo.

  ‘It’s too late to do anything else this afternoon,’ Ruth said. The day had slipped away. It was already late afternoon and it wouldn’t be long before the nocturnal eagle owl would be awake again. ‘I don’t like it much but we’ll have to wait until first light. Meanwhile we need to protect the flock.’

  Boo and Amy nodded grimly. Another night in the caravan was another night of danger for the chickens of Stormy Cliff, especially with an army of granny raptors hiding a short distance away in the caves of Stormy Island. It would be easy for them to cross the causeway again at low tide under Raptorov’s command.

  ‘We should board up the windows and the door of the caravan,’ Amy said. ‘You know what the grannies are like with those zimmer frames!’ The chickens had once been attacked by the grannies at a place called Fogsham Farm. The experience had been terrifying. And that was when the grannies were normal hens!

  ‘Let’s see if we can find something to use in the park keeper’s shed,’ Boo said.

  The chickens emerged from under the caravan and scuttled over to the shed. They pushed open the door.

  ‘Bingo!’ said Boo.

  Besides the lawnmower and some rusty gardening equipment, a quantity of old fence posts stood stacked in one corner.

  Amy hopped up onto the shelf. ‘There’s a hammer and nails up here,’ she said.

  ‘Chuck the hammer down,’ said Boo.

  ‘Okay, watch out!’ Amy heaved the hammer off the shelf. It landed with a crash on the floor. The nails were lighter. She could just about manage those. Cradling the box in her wings, she dropped off the shelf after the hammer.

  ‘I’ll get the others to help,’ Ruth said.

  Very soon she had organised the flock into teams of helpers. Between them the chickens carried the fence posts, the hammer and the box of nails back to the caravan.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ asked one of the mother hens anxiously.

  ‘It’s just a precaution,’ Boo said calmly. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘Don’t you think we should tell them about the granny raptors?’ Amy whispered. ‘Just in case?’

  ‘We’ll tell them once the barricades are up,’ Boo whispered back. ‘They’ll feel safer then.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The chickens set to work, hammering the wooden posts over the insides of the window frames and the door. At last the job was completed.

  Amy banged in the last nail and stood back and surveyed their work. She glanced at Boo and Ruth. They nodded. It was time to tell the flock about Raptorov’s experiments.

  ‘Okay,’ said Boo, ‘everyone grab a worm juice and a few grubs and come and sit down. We’ve got some bad news.’

  Deep within the system of caves inside Stormy Island, the two villains were enjoying a candlelit supper of rabbit stew and mouse dumplings to the tune of Tchaikovsky’s Third Piano Concerto. Thaddeus was impressed. Not just by the evilness of the eagle owl or the quality of his undeniably tasty stew or even the stirring music, but by the whole set-up. Raptorov was a villain who knew how to look after himself. He had kitted out the caves perfectly to suit his lifestyle.

  Thaddeus had been provided with his own bed cave during his stay, thoughtfully lined with piles of skins to keep out the cold. Then there was the dining cave where they were now – tastefully fitted with a long stone table, soft-mood lighting and a large fireplace for cooking. Next to the dining cave was the larder, replete with as many dead hares and rabbits and pigeons and mice as a fox could want, all hanging by their necks in neat rows from stalactites in the ceiling on lengths of string. Finally there was a comfy chill-out cave, furnished with fur rugs and sacks full of feathers. (Raptorov had explained to him that normally owls ingested the fur and feathers of their prey and plopped them out in pellets, but he preferred his meat skinned from his time in captivity so why waste the other bits?)

  These were the living quarters, and very comfy they were too. At the business end of things – separated from the living quarters by one of the many tunnels that riddled the island – was the laboratory where Raptorov conducted his experiments. Next to that was a prison cave for his genetically modified dino-birds, where they could be kept for observation and further experimentation if necessary. The prison cave had been chosen for its extra-thick walls, which protected the owl’s super-sensitive hearing from the SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA of the ghastly raptor grannies so that he could continue his work to the music of Swan Lake undisturbed.

  There was no doubt in Thaddeus’s mind: Raptorov had made a brilliant lair for himself. He thought of his own accommodation back at the burrow in the Deep Dark Woods. He could see now that he had let things go a bit. When he got back he would have a spring clean and invite the former members of the MOST WANTED Club around for dinner. He might even dig an extension. He could do with a super-size larder to store all the chickens he was going to catch with the pack of granny raptors that Raptorov had placed at his disposal! His face took on a lopsided leer. He felt quite restored to the Thaddeus of old. Professor Rooster and his elite-chicken squad had better watch out.

  ‘I see, my friend, that you are beginning to enjoy yourself. Tell me, what are you thinking?’ Raptorov said.

  Thaddeus told him. He no longer minded talking about Professor Rooster and his team or what he planned to do to them in revenge. It was good therapy.

  The owl listened without interruption. ‘Ah,’ he said, when Thaddeus had finished. ‘Now I fully understand why you want revenge on chicken-kind.’ He twisted his head round slowly one way then the other – a habit he had adopted when he was deep in thought. ‘Tell me, my friend, did the three chickens you describe always work alone?’

  ‘Not always,’ Thaddeus replied. ‘The professor sometimes employed a duck agent as well. His name was Pond, James Pond.’

  ‘Did this duck carry gadgets, by any chance?’ Raptorov inquired.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ replied Thaddeus. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because this morning at first light one of the granny dino-birds managed to break out of the prison cave. She almost escaped. Fortunately I heard a commotion near the entrance of the caves and was able to stop her by tempting her back with a genetically modified worm. Not, however, before she had attacked an intruder – a large mallard duck wearing a bow tie. It was equipped with a laser torch.’

  ‘That sounds like Pond, all right,’ Thaddeus exclaimed.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Raptorov. ‘Then it is likely, my friend, that your chicken enemies are not far away. This Professor Rooster must have got wind of my arrival and sent them and the duck to protect the flock at Stormy Cliff.’

  ‘Barn it, I’ll bet you’re right!’ Thaddeus swore softly. ‘Rooster has spies everywhere. They must have seen you and reported back to him.’

  ‘It is of no matter.’ Raptorov gave a soft chuckle. ‘Rooster probably thinks I am here to eat chickens. Little does he know my real plan for world domination!’

  ‘So what shall we do?’ asked Thaddeus.

  ‘Do? Twit twoo! It is obvious what we shall do. The granny dino-birds will attack the caravan park tonight. They will bring the flock here to Stormy Island ready for our feast. Then,
when Professor Rooster’s elite-chicken squad try to rescue them, we shall be waiting.’

  ‘Bravo!’ cried Thaddeus, inwardly rejoicing. The three chickens wouldn’t have a prayer against Raptorov and the grannies. They were as dead as dodos! ‘What about Pond?’

  ‘Well,’ said Raptorov, ‘I was planning to kill him and hang him in my larder, but I think perhaps there may be another use for him …’

  ‘Like what?’ Thaddeus asked.

  Raptorov’s face assumed a smug expression. ‘Have you ever heard of a pterodactyl?’

  Thaddeus shook his head.

  ‘A pterodactyl was a winged lizard,’ Raptorov informed him. ‘It had a wingspan of up to twelve metres, excellent eyesight like my own and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. It lived approximately one hundred and forty five million years ago. Yesterday I extracted a small amount of its DNA from a fossil I found here in the caves.’ The owl skewered a mouse dumpling and nibbled the meat off delicately. ‘I had intended to give it to the granny raptors to make them fly. However, I think I may have found a different use for it.’ He gave Thaddeus an owlish wink.

  ‘You mean you’re going to make James Pond into a ptero-duck-tyl!’ Thaddeus’s eyes gleamed in delight.

  ‘Indeed, my friend! And I shall add in a little bit of raptor juice just for fun.’ Raptorov clicked his beak in amusement. ‘Professor Rooster’s elite-chicken squad will never reach Stormy Island; our new ptero-duck-tyl will see to that. Now, to work! You fetch the duck while I prepare the DNA.’

  ‘With pleasure!’ Thaddeus snarled.

  And with that, the two villains made their way out of the dining cave and along the tunnel to Raptorov’s laboratory.

  BASH! BANG! BASH!

  Amy had fallen into a fitful sleep. She woke with a start.

  BASH! BANG! BASH!

  The granny-raptor attack! It had begun.

  ‘Battle stations, everyone!’ Ruth cried.