by Steve Cole
“You’ll have a cow-lion’s teeth in you if we don’t hurry!” McMoo used the upturned trolley as a springboard to leap out through the exit. “Bring Henmir and come on!”
Bo wrapped her blanket around her, kissed Gruntbag on the cheek, then grabbed the dazed Henmir and hauled him from the lab.
McMoo was waiting for them outside, and the moment they were through he hit the door control. The heavy shutter slid down a split-second before Gaur and Mookow reached it. THUMP! WHUMP!
Bo chuckled at the sound of the F.B.I. agents slamming into the barrier. “Cool – we’re free!”
“But Pat isn’t,” McMoo reminded her, helping Henmir to his dinky feet. “Those two creeps can still use him against us.”
“And their bull-kings will be after my crew in the cave,” Gruntbag added.
McMoo picked up Henmir. “We must follow Alfred’s brainwashed men to the airlock and get to the beach as fast as we can.”
“You’ll never make it,” Gaur warned them from behind the door. “I will send all my animals to get you!”
“Sounds like things could get messy.” Bo shoved Gruntbag down the corridor ahead of her. “Follow that professor!”
McMoo put Henmir down and peered out from behind the airlock’s door as the F.B.I.’s newest recruits clambered clumsily into a longship.
Frantic footfalls behind signalled the arrival of Bo and Gruntbag. “OK, Professor,” Bo panted, “how do we get out of here?”
“The bull-kings are under Gaur’s control. They don’t seem to have thoughts of their own. So until they’re told to deal with us, they shouldn’t take any notice if we sneak on board.”
Carefully, McMoo crept over to the Viking vessel and climbed inside. Still dazed, Henmir let Gruntbag carry him like hand luggage and stow him in the ship beside the professor. Then he and Bo climbed inside too. The bull-kings did not turn round and apparently hadn’t noticed a thing, sitting in stupefied silence.
Shortly, two of the massive cow-turtles waddled up and stood at each end of the vessel. Both blew the same sort of thick rubbery bubble as the oxtopus. The two bubbles met in the middle and completely covered the longship. Seawater gushed out at high speed from the drain in the floor, and the big yellow bubble began to float, like the mother of all rubber ducks.
McMoo gave Bo’s hoof a comforting squeeze. “That hatchway above should open at any moment . . .” Even as he spoke, the white plastic roof slid open to reveal the waiting oxtopus, its thick fleshy tentacles reaching in to grab the giant bubble.
McMoo gasped as they were propelled swiftly through the dark waters until they bobbed into daylight on the sea’s surface. The oxtopus squeezed tight and the bubble burst, leaving them safe and dry. As one, the bull-kings started to row for shore with strong, powerful strokes.
“What do we do when we reach the beach?” asked Bo quietly. “Gaur said he was going to send his mad mooing animals after us.”
“And if we are going to save Pat and Alfred we’ll have to fight their captors,” mused McMoo. “Not to mention this boatload of zombies. I’m afraid, Gruntbag, that if your men wish to remain free, they must fight.”
“And fight we shall,” squeaked Henmir.
Gruntbag nodded grimly. “I’ve had a yellow-bellyful of being a coward!”
But suddenly the waters churned and foamed behind them as Gruntbag’s own ship broke the surface of the Bristol Channel in another bubble. Gaur, Mookow and a mad menagerie of moo-gooed animals were sitting inside. The moo-nkey beat its black and white chest. The e-moo flapped its leathery wings. The strange skunk raised its tail and the cow-ponies reared up beside the savage lion-beasts.
Gaur’s voice carried as he spoke into a futuristic walkie-talkie. “Attention, my bull-kings,” he yelled. “There are enemies right behind you. Capture the biggest one – and kill the rest!”
Slowly the zombified crew turned as one to stare at their stowaways . . .
Chapter Eleven
HARD RAIN
“I THINK IT’S time to split!” Bo jumped up and tail-whipped the nearest bull-king, knocking him off his seat. Then she grabbed his oar and tucked it between her legs like a witch’s broomstick. “Better jump on in front of me, guys – oar else!”
With more bull-kings already gearing up to attack them, McMoo and Gruntbag did as she suggested, and Henmir scrambled up onto McMoo’s shoulders. As the big bald man and the archer lunged for them, the desperate stowaways jumped ship and splashed down in the water, riding the oar.
“Hang on!” Bo shouted. Wriggling around in the water to face the other way, she lifted her blanket and squirted a super-powerful jet of milk from her udder. It worked like an outboard motor, the milk stream pushing them onward across the sea towards the shore.
Gruntbag clung onto the oar for all he was worth. “We’re going forward without rowing. How can that be?”
“You really don’t want to know,” McMoo assured him.
Bo kept up the milky thrust until she was udderly exhausted – but by then, they were close enough to the beach to swim the rest of the way. McMoo checked behind him. The bull-kings’ longship wasn’t far behind. And with Mookow rowing his mechanical socks off, Gaur and his animals were gaining fast too.
Bo was first to reach dry land, and she helped Gruntbag and Henmir out of the water. Ivar peered timidly from the nearby cave. “You’re back! You’ve been gone a whole day!”
“And we’ve brought trouble,” said Gruntbag breathlessly. “Our enemies are on our tail and if we don’t fight, they will kill us all.”
Ivar’s face fell as he looked out to sea. “Couldn’t we just run away?”
“Not this time,” said McMoo, pointing both ways along the beach. “Look.”
Ivar saw that groups of bull-kings on horseback were approaching from both directions. “Halfdan the Hole-puncher to our left . . . Karl the Crusher to our right . . .”
Bo pointed up at the cliff top. “And Arlik and his men are blocking the only other way out of here. They’ve got Pat and King Alfred as their prisoners!”
“Here come the bull-kings to chop us into pieces,” Gruntbag cried as the longship scraped up on to the beach. “With Gaur and Mookow and all their killer cow-beasts right behind them.”
“Quickly, Ivar,” said McMoo. “It’s time to get out that trunk full of weapons. And fetch Sven too – we must bring him out in the open, it’s important.”
“Right!” Henmir declared. “We may be outnumbered at least ten to one and facing a dreadful death, but we’ll go out smiling, eh, lads?”
“No,” chorused Ivar and the other Vikings. But slowly, dragging their chest, they emerged into the daylight.
Gruntbag ducked into the cave and pulled out the still-sleeping Sven; the skinny Viking’s horns had grown longer and his skin was more cow-like than before.
“It’s no good, Professor.” Bo pointed out to sea, where a familiar fluffy shape was forming. “Mookow’s brought his cloud with him. Now you’ve improved his formula he’ll melt Gruntbag’s weapons faster than ever.”
“I’m hoping he’ll try to,” said McMoo, eyes agleam with excitement.
“Professor! Bo!” Pat cried from halfway down the cliff side, Arlik’s big hands gripping his shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Bo nodded bravely as Bryce led his fellow bull-kings onto the beach. “Nothing we like better than a fight against impossible odds!”
Alfred, clamped in the grip of Sam the Scar-maker, stared at the unfolding scene in horror. “Bryce, no!” he yelled. “You’re an Anglo-Saxon, not a bull . . . We must band together and fight our real enemies!”
But now Gaur and Mookow’s ship had run up onto the beach, the snarls and snorts of the angry cow-animals drowning out the sea’s roar.
“We’re cut off on all sides!” wailed Ivar.
“We will show you the meaning of cut off,” droned Mookow, raising his battleaxe.
Gaur nodded. “Bull-kings, animals . . . ATTACK!”
At the s
narled command, Bryce’s bull-kings advanced, and the moo-gooed animals splashed through the shallow water to join them on the beach. Bo grabbed a sword from the chest, and Gruntbag quickly passed the rest of the weapons around his men. As the forces of evil closed in, McMoo gave Mookow and Gaur a defiant smile.
But suddenly Pat yelled out from the cliff side, “If we’d known you were all coming, we’d have baked a cake.” He pulled a charred black bun from inside his tunic. “Oh, hang on a sec – we did!”
“Indeed we did,” Alfred agreed, pulling two more buns from behind his back.
“And we intend to use them.” Arlik let go of his ‘prisoners’ to pull a whole handful of buns out from inside his breeches.
“What are you lot on about?” called Bo, frowning as Bryce, the animals and the other bull-kings kept up their steady advance. “This is no time for cakes – especially ones that look as horrible as that.”
“Oh yes it is,” Pat corrected her. “It’s time for us to—”
“Open fire!” bellowed King Alfred. He hurled his buns, and so did Pat. Arlik tossed a cake to Sam the Scar-maker and joined in the strange attack. The rock-hard missiles struck Bryce and the others around the face and shoulders.
Ivar stared. “Vikings and English fighting together?”
“Rubbish shots, the lot of you,” came a booming, high-pitched voice from the cliff top.
Bo looked up in amazement to see a wobbly, wild-haired woman with a whole bag of cakes at her side. “It’s another of Bessie’s ancestors!”
“Trust Pat to sniff out one of those!” McMoo marvelled as the woman chucked her cakes with incredible accuracy, landing one right inside Bryce’s mouth and another in the gob of Halfdan the Hole-puncher. “Not bad, is she?”
“Fools!” shouted Gaur. “You think you can stop my warrior slaves with baking?”
“They already stopped me,” thundered Arlik. “Nessie’s burned buns are so truly revolting, they shocked me back to my senses!”
“Must be the memory of eating human food that reminded them they aren’t bulls,” McMoo realized. “Combined with a taste so yukky, neither human nor cow could ever stomach it!”
Pat nodded cheerily. “So, when we saw the cake had broken the spell over Arlik, we shoved them in the mouths of his attacking friends, too,” he called down. “When they awoke and saw the horrible things Mookow and Gaur had done to them, they agreed to join us and help awaken the rest of their warriors.”
“So when Arlik called Mookow, it was a trick,” Bo exclaimed with delight.
“It was Pat’s idea,” Alfred agreed, smiling as Bryce spat out what was left of the cake and looked around in confusion. “He got Arlik to mention Gruntbag’s crew as a way to lure those wicked magicians out of hiding. And once we’ve broken the spell placed on the rest of our men, we shall avenge ourselves!”
“Enough talk,” boomed Arlik as he raised his sword and charged down to the shore. “FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”
Mookow led the bull-kings to meet Arlik’s charge . . .
And the beach became a battlefield.
Arlik and Sam tore into the ter-moo-nator, but he met their blows and got in several of his own. Alfred dragged the dazed and baffled Bryce clear, snatched the man’s weapon and threw himself into the fray. Despite Nessie’s skilful bun bombardment there were still many brainwashed bull-kings under F.B.I. control – and they began to attack Gruntbag and his men without pity. Bo dodged a leaping cow-lion, and only just managed to block an axe-blow from Karl the Crusher. The e-moo threw itself at the professor, whacking him with its impressive udder while pecking him on the head. Cow-horses reared up and tried to trample anyone who got in their way. Even the cow-turtles got in on the act, nipping at Pat’s ankles while he tried to force a bun into a bull-king archer’s mouth. The landscape echoed with the clang of swords and axes, the screaming roars of wild moo-tants and the thump of horrid buns on hides and heads.
“Good work, my friends!” McMoo flipped the giant cow-bird on top of a turtle and raised his voice. “I only hope Mookow doesn’t send his raincloud to get us – that would be a disaster! Dearie me, yes! We’ll be finished for sure if he does . . .”
“The C.I.A. fool’s quite correct, Mookow!” cried Gaur, hopping up and down on the shore. “Melt their metal – once they’ve lost their weapons, we’ll really have them at our mercy!”
Bo groaned. “You and your big mouth, Professor! What have you done?”
“We’ll soon see.” McMoo butted a cow-lion into Karl the Crusher – and saw the ter-moo-nator switch on his white remote control. “Stand by for a drenching, everybody!”
“Oh, no!” Looking out to sea, Gruntbag saw the cloud hurtling towards the shore. “Here it comes!”
Bo made a grab for Mookow’s remote but missed – and a cow-lion brought her down. She struggled with it, fighting to keep its jaws from her throat. But then Pat made it through the battling throng and conked the lion on the head. He helped Bo up and gave her a hug – as the cloud burst open with its chemical rain.
“We are doomed!” Alfred cried. His sword began to melt in the downpour. Gruntbag groaned as his sword too disappeared in silver dribbles. Mookow laughed to see the Vikings’ dismay as their weapons withered away.
“We don’t need to collect Gruntbag’s grotty Vikings,” Gaur sneered, drawing closer despite the rain. “Kill them. Along with the C.I.A. girl.”
“No!” cried Pat.
“Yes,” hissed Mookow. He and the remaining bull-kings stomped closer.
“Come on,” McMoo muttered. “Come on, come on, come on . . .”
Mookow raised his battleaxe high above his head, ready to strike Bo and Gruntbag in a single slaughtering stroke . . .
Chapter Twelve
SPLASHING OUT
BO BRACED HERSELF for the end . . .
But suddenly Mookow’s axe started dripping silver rivulets! “Impossible,” the ter-moo-nator grated, gazing at the melting metal. “Bull-kings’ weapons are made from future alloys. They cannot be affected by my chemical rain.”
“Ah, but it isn’t your rain any longer, is it? You let me near it.” McMoo snatched the white remote control from Mookow’s hoof and grinned triumphantly. “I thought I’d mix in some extra chemicals. The stuff still works on old metal, but now it dissolves future metal too!”
Bo beamed as the bull-kings blundered about, their helmets running into their eyes. “So that’s what you were up to in the laboratory!”
“Turn it off! Make it stop!” Gaur ran out of the rain but the damage had been done – the frames of his glasses were melting and the lenses fell to the ground. “I can’t see a thing. Help, Mookow!”
But Mookow was having an even worse time of it. “Components dissolving,” he warbled through a mouthful of molten metal. “Systems shutting down. Escape to the twenty-sixth century imperative.”
“You’re a genius, Professor,” Pat cheered.
McMoo nodded. “True!”
Nessie Barmer lumbered up, red-faced from running down the cliff side, and surveyed the scene. “Well,” she declared, “if that doesn’t take the cake!”
“Our enemies are beaten,” yelled Alfred, tripping up a bull-king and shoving a blackened bun in his mouth. “Their magic is turned against them.”
“Who needs weapons anyway?” Arlik flung down the mushy remains of his bull-king sword. “I’ll smash those mad magicians with my bare hands . . .”
“Mission abort!” Staggering out of the rain, Mookow pulled a silver disc from beneath the bubbling armour on his back and threw it down onto the sand. “Quickly, before the portable time machine melts too.”
“Wait for me!” Gaur rolled onto the platter, and in a haze of black smoke the pitiful pair disappeared.
“More magic?” Gruntbag shook his head in wonder.
Ivar slapped a hand down on his leader’s shoulder. “The real magic is that we finally found our courage. We stood up to those horrors.”
“And we won!” chirped
Henmir.
“And we’re all getting soaked,” Alfred complained.
“Don’t knock it, sire!” McMoo chuckled and studied the remote. “I’ll see if I can turn it off.” But the cloud’s remote control couldn’t stand up to the rain either. It smoked and sizzled. Then the cloud itself began to flash as if lightning were trapped inside its cotton-wool contours. A few moments later it blasted itself apart, leaving nothing but a thick fog in the air.
“Hey, Prof,” said Bo. “I just had a thought. Our ringblenders are metal, aren’t they?”
Pat gulped. “And after all that rain—”
The three C.I.A. agents gasped as the silver rings in their snouts dripped away on to the sand. “Back to being cattle again,” murmured McMoo. “Quick, take off those human outfits before anyone sees us . . .”
When the fog cleared a minute or so later, Alfred, Gruntbag and the rest were surprised to find that the professor, Pat and Bo had vanished.
“What happened?” Henmir wondered. “Where did they go?”
“Perhaps they faded into the air, like the magicians,” said Alfred quietly. “But they shall always be remembered as true heroes.”
“Hey, look.” Ivar pointed to a sleeping lion and a confused-looking turtle. “Their cow markings are fading. They are ordinary animals again!”
“So are the horses,” Nessie realized. “And the big, horrible bird thing.” The former e-moo pecked her bum. “OW!”
“Never mind the animals, look at Sven!” Gruntbag’s grin was a half-mile wide. “He’s getting back to normal.”
“So too are my brothers of the sea,” said Arlik with satisfaction.
Slowly Sven stirred and scratched his head. As he did so, his horns crumbled away like wet chalk. “I don’t remember a thing,” he groaned. “What happened?”
Gruntbag embraced him, and the rest of his crew piled in for a group hug. “A miracle happened!”
