The Mystery of Stormy Island

by Jennifer Gray

  The chickens had worked out a plan before they went to bed. If the granny raptors managed to breach their defences, the weaker members of the flock were to fall back to the bedroom cupboards and shut themselves in, leaving the stronger hens in the kitchen to bombard the genetically modified grannies with all the crockery they could lay their wings on. Meanwhile Amy, Boo and Ruth would blast the attackers with the mite blaster and try to repel the beastly dino-birds that way.

  ‘Quick!’

  The able hens hurried to the kitchen, while the less able hopped out of their beds and made for the relative safety of the cupboards.

  Ruth had already fitted a new mite tube into the mite blaster. Boo clutched the gadget in her strong wings. The three chickens hid under the sofa. They were ready for action.

  BASH! BANG! BASH!

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  Zimmer frames crashed against the doors and windows. Above the din came the horrible rasping rattle of a dozen mean granny raptors on the hunt. For the poor chickens trapped inside the caravan, the experience was truly terrifying.

  BASH! BANG! BASH!

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  The sound intensified as the frenzied granny raptors pounded at the doors and windows with their metal walking frames. The glass panes smashed in an instant, but so far the wooden barriers were holding. They couldn’t get in!

  All of a sudden one voice rose above the others.

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  ‘Granny Wishbone!’ whispered Amy. She’d know that screech anywhere, even if its owner was now a granny raptor-wrestler.

  Suddenly there was silence. The attack had stopped: for the time being anyway. But the granny raptors hadn’t gone away. The chickens could hear them shuffling about outside the caravan, rattling to themselves. The chickens shifted restlessly, wondering what was happening.

  ‘Nobody move!’ Boo ordered. ‘We’ve got to stick to the plan.’

  ‘Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka!’ It was Granny Wishbone again. This time her voice had dropped to a squeaky staccato clack, like an ancient lawnmower engine that needed oil. She seemed to be issuing instructions to the other members of the pack.

  ‘Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka!’ the granny raptors clacked back.

  There was another short silence followed by grunting, a few soft thwacks, accompanying raptor-swearing and a dull thud as something heavy landed awkwardly on the roof.

  EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! This noise was even worse. It was a truly horrible sound – like forks scraping across a plate or toenails along a blackboard. The chickens in the caravan began to cluck with fear.

  Amy peeped out from under the sofa.

  ‘What is it?’ Ruth asked, covering her ears. ‘What’s making that dreadful noise?’

  Amy looked up. To her horror she saw a raptor claw slice through the thin ceiling of the caravan. ‘There’s one on the roof! It’s cutting a hole in the ceiling!’ she cried.

  At that point all the chickens panicked. Even the most stalwart flocked towards the bedroom cupboards leaving the kitchen unguarded. There was an unseemly struggle as the chickens of Stormy Cliff Caravan Park fought their way into the cupboards. It was every chicken for itself.

  ‘I guess it’s up to us now,’ Boo said. ‘Come on, we’ll be safer behind the kitchen units. I’ll operate the mite blaster. You two chuck the crockery.’

  The three chickens scuttled the short distance to the kitchenette. Just in time!

  EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! The granny raptor had almost carved out a circle in the ceiling. THUD! The roof gave way. CRASH! The creature dropped like a stone into the living area of the caravan.

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  ‘Jeepers!’ said Ruth, staring incredulously at the hideous dino-bird from behind her spectacles.

  The granny raptor was a revolting sight. Its shadow had been bad enough, but in the flesh the creature was repulsive. The dino-bird had scaly skin partially covered with feathers, like a half-plucked lizard-chicken. Its hind legs were wrinkled and saggy, like a pair of old stockings, its feet bony and warty, ending in a set of wicked raptor claws. Its upper body wasn’t much better. Thin, short wings grasped the zimmer frame, which was the only thing keeping it upright on account of its enormous pelican bill and rows of sharp teeth. With an effort, the dino-bird jerked its head up and removed its teeth. Slavers of sticky drool dropped onto the floor in puddles.

  ‘It’s definitely Granny Wishbone,’ Amy whispered.

  ‘Amazing!’ Ruth whispered back. ‘Even her false teeth have been genetically modified!’

  Amazing or not, there was no time to dwell on scientific details, for at that moment the granny raptor let out a blood-curdling cry.

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  It was the signal the other grannies had been waiting for. One by one they dropped through the caravan roof until there was no space for any more inside.

  Granny Wishbone took a deep sniff, and pointed her zimmer frame towards the bedrooms. ‘KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!’ she shrieked.

  Two of the granny raptors advanced in the direction of the flock’s hiding place, while the others set about tearing down the barricades to the door and windows with their claws.

  ‘Start the bombardment,’ Boo ordered.

  From their position behind the kitchen cabinets Amy and Ruth let fly with all the crockery at their disposal.

  CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! Cups, saucers, plates and bowls flew at the granny raptors but sharp shards of pottery had no effect on the dino-birds. They bounced off their scaly lizard-skin without harm.

  ‘My turn,’ said Boo. She somersaulted onto one of the kitchen cabinets and pulled the trigger on the mite blaster. WHOOSH! An infestation of itchy parasites swarmed at the granny raptors. But it was no use. The mites had no effect on the dino-birds’ Teflon-coated skin either. They just slid off.

  Boo somersaulted back to the others. ‘It’s not working!’ she hissed. ‘Now what?”

  The activities of the elite-chicken squad had caught the attention of Granny Wishbone. ‘KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!’ she called softly.

  The other dino-birds halted. They turned their crafty eyes on the kitchen.

  ‘Quick, into the saucepan!’ Ruth ordered. A large metal pan stood on the bottom shelf of one of the units. The chickens hopped in. Ruth pulled the glass lid over them as quietly as she could. Fortunately it had holes in it to let steam out, so the chickens could breathe.

  ‘KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!’ Granny Wishbone had reached the kitchenette. She was looking about with her beady reptile eyes.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t move,’ Ruth hissed. ‘They can’t see you if you don’t move.’

  The chickens stood stock-still.

  SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! ‘KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!’ Granny Wishbone had picked up the scent of the chicken flock. She veered away from the kitchen towards the bedrooms. The other granny raptors followed.

  There was the sound of cupboard doors being wrenched off their hinges and a terrible clucking and squawking. Then, before Boo, Ruth and Amy had time to think what to do, the granny raptors herded the flock out through the door of the caravan and away into the night.

  It didn’t take the three plucky members of the elite-chicken squad long to strap on their flight booster engines, pick up the Emergency Chicken Pack and set off in pursuit of the chicken-nappers. One thing Boo, Ruth and Amy could do that the granny raptors couldn’t was fly. They hovered high in the sky unseen above the procession of terrified chickens as the bedraggled flock picked its way across the slippery causeway towards Stormy Island, forced on by the mean dino-birds.

  Fortunately the sea was calm so there was no danger of the chickens being swept away by the waves, but that was about the only consolation. Raptorov and Thaddeus had timed the attack to perfection. The tide was on the turn. Soon it would start coming in fast, covering the causeway. Once they got to the island, there would be no escape for the chickens of Stormy Cliff Caravan Park until the ne
xt low tide. The three warriors had one more chance to defeat the villains or the flock would perish at the paws of Thaddeus or be turned into dino-birds by Raptorov.

  Eventually the sorry procession reached the end of the causeway. The chickens slipped and slithered their way over the rocks to the entrance of the cave and disappeared inside.

  ‘SQUAWWWKKKKKKKK-KA-KA-KA-KA!’

  Granny Wishbone let out a triumphant cry and ushered the granny raptors into the cave after their captives.

  ‘We’d better wait until we’re sure they’ve gone,’ Ruth said, changing her flight booster engine setting to HELICOPTER mode.

  The three chickens hovered in the air some distance above the ledge where the entrance to the caves lay. On closer inspection Stormy Island had lots of ledges and nooks and crannies. Its cratered surface resembled the moon: from far away it looked smooth and pale but when you got close it was pitted and dark.

  From somewhere up above they heard the mournful cry of a single seabird.

  ‘QUAAAARRRRRK! QUAAAARRRRRK!’

  The dismal sound only served to remind them what a desolate place Stormy Island was.

  ‘I wonder what Raptorov feeds the granny raptors on,’ Amy said, trying to make conversation while they hovered.

  ‘Well, at least it’s not chicken,’ Boo said in an attempt at cheerfulness.

  ‘Maybe it’s genetically modified worms,’ Ruth suggested.

  ‘Yeah, modified with rotten eggs, probably,’ Amy joked. It fell a bit flat. None of them was in the mood for laughter.

  ‘QUAAAARRRRRK! QUAAAARRRRRK!’

  The cry came again. The chickens looked up. The sound was coming from one of the rocky crags at the top of Stormy Island, but there was no sign of the bird.

  Suddenly Amy had an idea. ‘Why don’t we ask if it will take a message to Professor Rooster and get him to send reinforcements?’ she said.

  ‘Because we don’t know where Professor Rooster lives,’ Boo reminded her.

  ‘But it might be one of his bird spies,’ Amy argued. ‘In which case it will know where to go.’

  ‘QUAAAARRRRRK! QUAAAARRRRRK!’ cried the bird.

  ‘I’m not sure …’ Ruth began, but Boo interrupted.

  ‘I think it’s worth a try,’ she said. ‘I mean, we’re really struggling here. There’s only so much we can do with Silly Billy’s Favourite Chicken Party Songs and a ballet outfit. We need some help.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ruth agreed.

  The three chickens flew towards the rock face, looking for the bird.

  ‘Er, hello?’ called Amy.

  ‘QUAAAARRRRRK! QUAAAARRRRRK!’ replied the bird.

  ‘Do you think it’s a seagull or a duck?’ Boo asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Ruth, ‘it sounds like a cross between the two.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem very interested in us,’ Amy complained. There was still no sign of the bird, although from the sound of it, it must be close. She flew closer to the rock face and landed on a narrow ledge. ‘Hey, birdy!’ she called. ‘We know you’re there somewhere. Stop hiding. We need to talk to you.’

  At that moment an enormous duck-shaped bill poked out of a crack at the end of the ledge. It opened to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp teeth.

  Amy stared at it. Was it one of the granny raptors? Surely not! They couldn’t fly. She watched in fascinated horror as the creature squeezed itself out of its hiding place. After the bill came a green head and neck, a brown chest, and a plump buff-coloured body supported on a pair of bright orange webbed feet. Unlike the granny raptors the creature was fully feathered. Around its neck was a bow tie.

  Amy regarded it in astonishment. James Pond! He wasn’t dead after all! Raptorov had used him for one of his evil dino-bird experiments.

  ‘Barn it!’ shouted Ruth. ‘He’s turned Pond into a ptero-duck-tyl!’

  ‘QUAAAARRRRRK! QUAAAARRRRRK! SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!’

  The ptero-duck-tyl bared its teeth and let out an angry hiss. It began to unfurl its long, bony wings.

  ‘Amy, get away from the ledge!’ Boo cried.

  Amy didn’t need telling twice. She took off with a terrified squawk.

  James Pond positioned himself on the edge of the ledge and extended his wings to full stretch. Before – when he was a normal mallard duck – his wingspan had been less than a metre. Now that he was a ptero-duck-tyl, it was more than two. Nor did he need a run-up in order to take off any more. With one flap of his wings he was airborne. He shot after Amy.

  ‘Hellllllllppppppp!’ screamed Amy.

  ‘Put the flight booster to ROCKET BLAST MAX!’ Boo shouted.

  Amy twiddled the controls. She felt a surge of power as the ROCKET BLAST mode kicked in. Even so, the ptero-duck-tyl was gaining on her.

  ‘Take evasive action!’ Ruth yelled.

  Amy flew this way and that, trying to shake off the dino-duck, but James Pond stuck tenaciously to her tail. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! His jaws opened and closed like a great white shark’s.

  The flight booster engine began to splutter. ‘It’s no good,’ she squawked. ‘I’m losing power. Mayday, mayday!’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Boo shouted. ‘You two, get to safety. This could get messy.’ She gave a whistle. ‘Hey, duck-face! Over here!’

  The ptero-duck-tyl looked round. Hovering a few metres away from him was a plump, honey-coloured chicken with feathery boots. It looked ripe for the kill. It wasn’t even trying to get away, unlike the small brown one with the puffy tummy. The dino-duck was hungry. It couldn’t remember when it had last eaten. Only that it had been stuck up on a ledge for hours on end waiting for its tea.

  WHOOSH! The ptero-duck-tyl circled away from Amy and closed in on Boo.

  Boo waited until the last possible second, then she set her flight booster to ROCKET BLAST EXTRA MAX and whizzed upwards out of the dino-duck’s flight path. The ptero-duck-tyl circled for a second time. Again Boo waited. Then once she was sure it had her in its sights she zoomed off.

  Ruth and Amy had taken shelter in a tiny crevice. They peeped out. There was nothing they could do now. It was up to Boo. All they could hope was that she was as good at flying as she was at gymnastics.

  Boo zigzagged this way and that in an amazing display of aerobatics, the ptero-duck-tyl close behind. She did two loop-the-loops and then she began to climb. Up and up she went. Up and up and up, until she was only a tiny speck in the sky. The dino-duck followed like a missile. For a few seconds Amy and Ruth lost sight of them. They waited anxiously.

  ‘Do you think she’s okay?’ Amy whispered.

  At that moment Boo reappeared. She was plummeting from the sky at breath-taking speed.

  ‘She’s cut her engine!’ Ruth gasped.

  The dino-duck was still after her but Amy could see that it was losing control. The speed of its descent made it go into a tailspin. Round and round it went, spiralling down towards the sea.

  ‘Pull up, Boo! Pull up!’ Ruth breathed.

  Amy was too scared to say anything. It looked for the world as if Boo and the ptero-duck-tyl would both crash.

  VROOM! At the very last minute Boo turned the engine of the flight booster back on. She put her wings above her head in an elegant pose and swept upwards in a beautiful arc, like a circus performer on a trapeze.

  The ptero-duck-tyl tried desperately to pull out of its spin, but it was too late. The dino-duck crashed straight into the sea with a loud splash and disappeared.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Boo, landing beside the others. ‘I think I’ve just killed James Pond.’

  The three chickens flew low over the sea, looking anxiously for signs of the dino-duck.

  ‘Wait – what’s that?’ Ruth said, pointing to an object floating nearby.

  ‘It’s him! It’s James Pond!’ Amy said.

  The dip in the ocean seemed to have done the duck agent some good. The ptero-duck-tyl had turned back into an ordinary mallard once more.

  ‘Where am I?’ he said groggily, paddling i
n circles, a confused expression on his face.

  The three chickens glanced at one another. There was no way James Pond was fit for the mission. They would have to come back for him later. Together they guided the stricken duck agent to the shore, found a sheltered spot and made him a bed from dried seaweed. James Pond staggered onto his makeshift bed and fell asleep at once.

  The three chickens fitted the walkie-thinkies into their ears so that Raptorov couldn’t tune in to their conversation.

  ‘I knew something like this would happen,’ Amy said crossly in her head.

  The others nodded. The walkie-thinkies worked perfectly!

  ‘Actually it’s a good thing James Pond was turned into a ptero-duck-tyl,’ Ruth remarked back.

  ‘Why?’ asked Amy in surprise. Ruth hadn’t sounded this cheerful in ages. It was as if she’d just solved a SUPER DIFFICULT Sudoku puzzle.

  ‘Because it’s shown us that Raptorov’s experiments aren’t permanent. It’s like Boo hoped: the dinosaur DNA wears off! It’s probably because it’s so old. With any luck the granny raptors will soon turn back to normal too.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Amy said.

  The walkie-thinkie went quiet while Ruth thought for a minute. ‘The main thing is to get rid of Raptorov,’ she said. ‘I think James Pond was right for once. If Thaddeus sees that we’ve defeated his new best buddy, he’s not going to hang around and risk getting his whiskers full of mites again. Then we can destroy the laboratory, rescue the flock and get out of there.’

  ‘I’ll fit the homing device,’ Amy offered bravely. ‘Ruth, you’re the scientist. You should deal with the laboratory.’

  ‘Which leaves me creating a distraction.’ Boo’s voice came over the walkie-thinkie for the first time. She grinned. ‘I’ve had an idea about that, by the way. But we might want to get a move on, before the granny hens’ raptor juice wears off.’ She told the others her idea.

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ Amy chortled.

  ‘I can’t wait to see Raptorov’s face!’ Ruth agreed.

  ‘So, what are we waiting for?’ Boo said, taking the owl cave sat-nav out of the Emergency Chicken Pack. ‘Let’s do it!’