Milton the Megastar

by Emma Read

  ‘What?’

  ‘We do have the helicopter ride . . .’

  Zoe groaned.

  ‘Hear me out. I know we’re on the Big Island, but it’s not that big. We’ll get the pilot to take us over Kilauea and see what we can see from above. We might be able to get a good view of the construction work, or maybe two people hiking in the forest.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea! I do want to go in the helicopter – it sounds amazing fun.’ Zoe paused. ‘Although, it’s not particularly ecofriendly, is it?’

  ‘Neither is flying to Hawaii.’

  ‘But we had to come to help the happy-face spiders, which is a good cause. What’s the right thing to do? Use up plane fuel, but help the spiders, or stay at home and leave them?’

  ‘That’s a tough question, Zoe. You’ll have to make up your own mind about that. You can’t always save the world from your laptop, though. You have to get out there and do – just . . . maybe a bit closer to home next time.’

  ‘I’m so sorry for what I said about Greta. I’m glad you’re happy.’

  ‘I know.’ He gave her a big Dad-hug and Zoe felt her heart of stone melt.

  The Climb

  The light changed as they went from open road to the narrow, wooded trail. Milton was glad of the shade – it was getting hot where he was. His box was in the top of Greta’s rucksack, zipped under a net cover so he could see out. The sounds changed too, and that he was less glad about. Strange noises floated in from all around. Squawks and scratches, calls and crunching. Milton made himself even smaller than usual and tucked into a corner, picturing giant beaks and furry paws swooping into the top of Greta’s rucksack and snatching him away.

  Like Dad.

  He shook the thought off and focused on the moment, but the shadows falling across his view grew larger and darker. The walls of his box felt like they were shrinking. His legs tingled and his abdomen felt two sizes too small.

  In and out, Milton. Just breathe.

  Slowly the world returned to normal, along with the comforting bounce of Greta’s stride, and he reassured himself that, although he could see out of the bag, he was securely zipped in.

  As he focused, a new sound prickled his leg hairs, something faint and far away. It sounded like Ralph’s tummy, or, more like distant thunder.

  I hope it’s not going to rain. I thought Hawaii was supposed to be sunny. Maybe it’s that global warning Zoe keeps talking about.

  And then something else dawned on him. He was in the most wonderful place he had ever seen. The sounds weren’t scary, they were amazing. They were bringing the magic of the rainforest right to him. He was in a forest! Exploring!

  Just like D—

  Suddenly the shadows in his mind lengthened again. Milton had been on his own for so long now. He was an independent spider and what if he was nothing like his dad? What if Dad was disappointed in him – a town spider? Pampered pet of humans, doing bushcraft in a downstairs loo, of all places. He only went outside to attend gala events and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d attempted a light-shade to telly swing.

  Of all the times I need Mini and her random words of wisdom and she’s not here!

  And then there was the other thought that wouldn’t go away:

  What if he blames me for the supermarket crate?

  ‘STOP!’

  And suddenly, as if Greta had heard him (which was impossible), they stopped moving.

  That was weird.

  Greta slowly pulled her rucksack off her back and placed it on the ground. Her eyes appeared at Milton’s level.

  ‘You hear that?’ she said.

  Milton listened with all his leg hairs, and Mako said, ‘That sounds like chainsaws to me.’

  Not thunder, then.

  Greta bit her lip. ‘We’re close.’

  Milton had a lump in his throat the size of a beetle’s kneecap.

  The humans checked the map, pointing at places they’d marked and nodding. Milton fiddled with his claws and nibbled anxiously on the fly he’d brought with him. He knew what chainsaws were, they sounded brutal and terrifying – eating through trees like they were fly larvae. But worse still were the bulldozers – the giant earth-eaters they’d seen on Bradley’s laptop. They were terrible.

  Back down at sea level, Zoe and her dad were climbing into the O’Hair (yes, we get it, you’re a billionaire) helicopter.

  Zoe was trying to look as though she didn’t care much for it, but her tummy was buzzing. Dad was acting like such a child and Zoe rolled her eyes as he clapped his hands and squeaked for the third time in a minute.

  ‘This is sooo exciting!’

  Fortunately, the pilot handed them all headsets to wear so Zoe was able to block out her dad. He was humming the theme tune to some ancient show he used to watch about a helicopter called Blue Chunder . . . or something.

  They clambered in, fastened their seatbelts and the pilot gave them the thumbs up. Zoe didn’t know what to expect when the helicopter took off, but it definitely wasn’t what actually happened. At first she didn’t even realize they were going. It felt a bit like the wind had caught them, then she saw that they were floating off the ground. It wasn’t anything like being on the plane. There was a sort of weightlessness, then the helicopter tipped forward and they were off.

  Zoe squeaked.

  They could see for kilometres, and almost all around them, as the windscreen seemed to go on for ever. Zoe could see down below and out over the sea and it was all so huge and beautiful. A wave of emotion rolled up from her chest and tears pricked at her eyes.

  Dad started snapping away with his camera – the cover was that he would take a ton of photos, like a regular tourist, then try to get some zoomed-in shots of the mountain.

  The aircraft seemed to drift effortlessly over the bay and out across the ocean. The pilot gave them a cheeky grin, then pushed forward on the joystick and they plunged towards the sea. They both squeaked this time, and as the pilot pulled them back up again Zoe saw her chuckling to herself.

  Then they were rising up and over the dark, dense green of the rainforest, the volcano looming in the distance, long and low in front of them. Steam rose like from a power station back home and Zoe glanced at the pilot, suddenly nervous. She winked and Zoe relaxed. OK, maybe this thing wasn’t going to suddenly blow up while they were over the top of it. Dad pointed furiously downwards at what Zoe had thought were mudflats, except they were lumpy and grey.

  ‘It’s lava. Solidified lava!’ He was clearly having the time of his life.

  And then they were there. Kilauea was below them, a huge pit of steam and heat. Zoe could see orange blobs of lava, slowly rolling and burning, but the rest of the pit looked like . . . well, a giant cowpat. Weirdly, she wanted to go down there and give it a stir. Except of course it was about a thousand degrees so maybe not.

  ‘There she is, an active volcano. Kilauea has been erupting on and off since 1983. A lot of steam today, though,’ said the pilot.

  ‘Is that unusual?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Hmm, much more activity than normal these past few days. But this is even more than I was expecting. The goddess of the mountain, Pele, is talking in her sleep.’

  ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t wake up,’ said Dad, trying to be casual.

  The pilot considered the mountain for what seemed like an age, then said, ‘I think it’s time to turn back. Just to be on the safe side.’

  Just then, Kilauea coughed and a huge bubble of bright orange lava popped violently in the crater. The helicopter pulled sharply to the left and they sped back to the airport as the pilot reported over the radio that the mountain was showing signs of life.

  The Slow and the Furious

  Neither Zoe nor her dad said much after that – they were thinking the same thing: that Milton, Greta, Mako and Milton’s dad were down there. And the happy-face spiders. And the rest of the island’s inhabitants. What must it be like to always live in the shadow of the volcanoes?

 
Zoe and her dad strained to see any sign of Greta or Mako, but the forest was too thick. ‘Those trails down there, are they difficult hikes?’ asked Dad.

  The pilot shook her head. ‘Not too bad, you look fit and healthy enough. They can be a bit steep in places, but the views are amazing.’ ‘Shame we can’t get there, what with the roads being closed,’ Dad said.

  ‘Nah, no road closures at the moment. I’d know. My wife works up at the visitor centre. But if the volcano does erupt, everything will be shut down. Your trails included.’

  Zoe and her dad looked at each other. So that had been another of Bradley’s diversions – he was definitely on to them. Add to that a volcano that might erupt at any moment and things were looking very bad indeed.

  In the rainforest, the humans and Milton wouldn’t have noticed if the volcano was rumbling. All they could hear was the sound of machinery.

  Mako climbed down from an acacia tree, binoculars around his neck. ‘It’s worse than I ever imagined.’ He looked distraught. ‘They’re clearing so much land. It’s a disaster.’ He rubbed the sweat from his face with a bandana. ‘We need to get closer to take pictures.’

  Greta picked up the rucksack. ‘Are you OK, Milton?’

  Milton waved his leg through the wooden box lid, as he had before, to indicate that he was fine. But of course he wasn’t. He’d seen the devastation Mako was talking about, on the video. His tiny heart was hammering away. All his worrying and overthinking had been replaced by what he now realized was the truth of the matter. He was a house spider, and he wanted to go home.

  They pressed on through the trees, Greta ducking under branches and stepping over rocks, then Milton heard humans shouting.

  ‘Get down!’ Mako whispered loudly.

  Milton was weightless for a second as Greta dropped to the ground. His stomach plunged in slow motion and he was a little bit fly-wing sick in his mouth.

  He peeked out from the box and saw it in real life – utter devastation. A huge area of land had been cleared of trees. There were tree stumps and felled trees all over the place. It looked worse than Zoe’s bedroom at the weekend. There were JCBs digging up roots and dumper trucks hauling away logs. Workers swarmed about, wearing white hard hats, with a familiar logo on the front.

  Bradley O’Hair.

  At last the humans could see what Milton already knew. All that was left to do was take a photo, then get out of there as quickly as possible. The noise was unbearable – scraping and grinding, churning and sawing, and Milton tucked his legs under his body to muffle the sound. Why would anyone do this? How many animals’ homes had been in those trees? How many spiders?

  Mako’s camera clicked rapidly, then he said, ‘I need to get in closer. See that wooden shack over there with the cocktail bar sign on it? Head for that. There’s a patch of thick cover behind it.’ Milton tumbled backwards as Greta started crawling through the undergrowth.

  Closer? Hang on – cocktail bar?

  Zoe’s dad was getting redder in the face by the minute, but apparently there were no available taxis for at least four hours. And maybe not even then. The hotel staff had clearly been told not to let them leave.

  ‘We’ll try and get a bus, or find someone in town to take us, or—’

  ‘A golf buggy?’ suggested Zoe. Joking. Definitely joking.

  ‘That’s brilliant! They’re all over the place, come on.’

  Zoe groaned but Dad grabbed her and pulled them into the revolving doors.

  Except coming the other way was Bradley O’Hair.

  Bradley stopped as the door was halfway round, bracing himself against the wall with one arm, trapping them all inside. But if they couldn’t get out, then neither could he. They stared each other down, Bradley scowling at Zoe and Dad, his fingers twitching like a cowboy at high noon. Dad tutted and gave Bradley the look he used when Zoe had ‘accidentally’ forgotten to do her homework.

  Then Zoe had an idea.

  She reached into her bag for her toy tarantula and in one quick movement (so Bradley couldn’t see the label and the glitter eyes and the general cuteness of it) she slammed it against the glass that separated them.

  Bradley squeaked and leapt back, which in the tiny space was more of a jerky twitch, but more importantly, he let go of the wall. Dad pushed hard on their side, and the door swung round, hitting Bradley square in the bottom, sending him flying into the lobby of his own hotel, his plastic-flower lei flying out behind him. Looking back, Zoe saw Dillon run over to his dad and pretend to fuss over him, preventing him from standing up. He winked at Zoe before returning his overenthusiastic attention to the floundering Bradley.

  Zoe mouthed a quick thank you at Dillon before running after her dad across the car park. They grabbed the nearest buggy, and leapt in like they were in an American cop show, burning off down the drive at a top speed of twenty-five kilometres per hour.

  Milton despaired at the amount of photography Mako apparently needed to prove Bradley’s guilt.

  This isn’t a shoot for National Geographic. Come on!

  He buried his cephalothorax under his legs.

  I’m going to be click-click-clicking in my nightmares.

  Finally Mako was done, and with a final click, the lens cap went on the camera. Time to go. But then disaster struck. Literally. The ground shook again, and trees began whipping about violently, like a hurricane had hit. Greta and Mako fell to the ground, Greta’s rucksack rolling into the mud. The diggers stopped instantly and the workers leapt from their cabs and headed in the direction of the cocktail bar shack.

  Milton, Mako and Greta stared towards the mountain, their eyes widening in unison.

  ‘THE VOLCANO!’ they yelled.

  And at the very same time, the noise in the trees subsided and the clearing fell silent. The workers turned towards the sound of their voices, now carrying clear across the ruined forest.

  ‘Oi, you!’ shouted a man wearing a floral hi-vis.

  Don’t Worry, Be Happy

  Milton rubbed his sore head. He’d been thrown from his box when Greta’s rucksack fell and was now panicking under one of the straps. A gang of angry-looking workmen were heading their way and Milton felt very small and alone.

  ‘Mini, what do I do?’ Milton whispered into the breeze.

  ‘Know when to ask for help, remember?’ came the reply.

  Milton looked around for his little superfan, but he couldn’t see her. ‘Are you actually here, or am I imagining you now? Am I going crazy?’ He clambered over the clods of earth as quickly as he could and tickled Greta’s hand.

  She looked down at him. ‘Quick, Milton, hide!’

  But Milton had a better idea. Without the Spida-Com he was voiceless to the humans, so he tried his best and pointed at himself, then out into the forest.

  ‘Yes, Milton, go!’

  He gave a broad grin and pointed to his abdomen.

  Not sure if she’d understood or not, he started spinning, making just enough web to stretch to the nearest acacia tree by the time the workmen reached them. As he swung away the worker in front growled in an American drawl, ‘What have we got here? Tree huggers, hey?’

  From under a leaf, Milton watched as Greta stood face to face with the man. ‘What you’re doing here is wrong. It’s illegal, it’s morally disgraceful. You won’t get away with it. Who do you think you are?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I am. It does matter who my boss is. And he’s gonna squash you like bugs.’ The red-faced worker turned to Mako. ‘Hand it over.’ He pointed at the camera.

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Mako, standing beside Greta.

  ‘See these diggers? They can rip ancient tree roots from the ground like weeds out of . . . um . . . butter.’

  Greta and Mako looked at each other.

  ‘Yeah, so think what they’ll do to you.’ A JCB thundered closer, as though the point wasn’t made clearly enough already.

  ‘Hands behind your backs,’ said another worker, tying their wrists with twine as t
he first O’Hair minion yanked the camera from around Mako’s neck, catching his ear and drawing blood. He shoved them both to the ground, where they fell hard against the shack.

  I guess it’s up to me now.

  Milton shuddered and swung away from his humans into a dense circle of forest in the middle of the site.

  Owen Macey had his foot to the floor, but joggers were overtaking them.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said, waving hello to a teenager on a skateboard. And it was about to get worse. From behind, the blaring honk of a car horn sounded and Zoe looked back to see a ludicrous white limousine gaining on them.

  Bradley O’Hair’s head appeared out of the sunroof, his yellow hair trailing behind him like a tattered flag.

  ‘Guess Brad will be booking in another hair appointment later,’ said Zoe in a brave effort to lighten the mood.

  ‘Theft of an O’Hair golf buggy!’ screeched Bradley. ‘Assault of an upstanding member of the community! Smuggling dangerous animals into the country! Yes, I know about that too, little missy. You’re in big trouble.’

  ‘Dad! Do something!’ yelled Zoe. ‘He’s getting closer!’

  ‘Hang on to your hat!’ yelled Dad. ‘This is about to get real.’

  Zoe grabbed the golf-buggy roof and braced herself, not sure what was worse, that Bradley would have her locked up for bringing nonnative spiders to Hawaii, or the fact that Dad had just said ‘about to get real’.

  Dad forced the steering wheel hard to the right and they left the road, mounted the pavement and careered down a gentle slope on to the Big Beach Golf Course.

  Milton swung quickly through the trees, until he reached a lush circle of ferns which seemed to be making a strange noise.

  Singing?

  ‘Because I’m happy . . .’

  First I’m hearing Mini, now this.

  ‘Clap along . . .’ Milton couldn’t make it out, but it was beautiful.

  Following the sound, he abseiled into the foliage on a web-line, aware of a rustling in the leaves. Then, all around, he saw legs and cephalothoraxes and . . . faces! Milton gasped at the sight. He knew they were cousins, but out here in the rainforest, the happy-face spiders didn’t have Google. Would they know he was friendly?