Stuck in the Mud

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘N-n-no,’ said Joe. He wanted to cry, but he was so exhausted it was easier not to bother.

  ‘You look tired,’ said Fin, glancing up from his blueprints.

  ‘He is,’ said Loretta with a smile. ‘That was my training strategy. They say the best thing you can do to prepare for a race is get a good night’s sleep. So I tired him out to make sure he would get some rest.’

  ‘You m-m-made me do all that training t-today just so I would sleep?!’ exclaimed Joe, becoming marginally more animated for a moment.

  ‘Yes,’ said Loretta with a smile. ‘I think it’s best you don’t have any free time to think. You’re fit enough to win the race. It’s your brain I’m worried about. With you, your brain is your nemesis. It’s much more likely to defeat you than any sporting rival.’

  Joe didn’t have the energy to argue. He just turned and trudged towards the stairs. Loretta bounced along behind him, making her way to her own (formerly April’s) bedroom.’

  ‘Goodnight then,’ called Fin. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be huge.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Joe glumly. He secretly suspected that the only thing likely to be huge was the disappointment everyone felt when he let them down.

  When race day dawned, Currawong had been reduced to a heaving mass of group hysteria. The entire population of the town had collectively deluded themselves into thinking that the results of an event that involved running around mud obstacles for two hours actually mattered. Excited tourists clogged the streets. It was amazing that a mud-related event could attract so many visitors. Apparently a lot of people were prepared to travel great distances to get exhausted and filthy.

  April was determined to win. Or rather, to make Tom win to prove once and for all that vision impairment wasn’t holding him back and therefore she ought to be allowed to abuse him as much as she wanted.

  Joe was determined to win because everyone was relying on him, plus he wanted to eat cake.

  Dad couldn’t care less about the result of the race, but he was determined to pretend to be Ingrid’s fiancé because he was scared of her and everyone else, especially the Kolektiv.

  But Fin was perhaps the most determined of all. He wanted to show all of Currawong that he was not the least impressive of the Peski kids by covering all the competitors in epic levels of mud. He had certainly done a good job of building the course.

  When the residents of Currawong awoke that morning, it was to discover a platform the entire length of Main Street had been constructed. One end was thirty metres higher than the other and a thousand tons of mud was spread down its entire length. It was a giant mud slippery slide. The Daffodil Gardens had been transformed with dozens of long Tarzan ropes that competitors would have to use to swing from one side to the other if they didn’t want to fall into shipping containers full of icy mud water. The trenches on Currawong High School’s football field had been filled with mud and covered with barbed wire. And at the far end of town, on the old water tower, stood a massive catapult that was ominously filled with a great dripping bucket full of mud.

  ‘Fin’s gone potty,’ observed April, when they arrived at the marshalling area and took it all in.

  ‘And in such a wonderfully spectacular way,’ observed Loretta admiringly.

  ‘I c-c-can’t believe they let him do all this,’ said Joe.

  ‘I think with Mayor Albright in jail and Mr Lang having all his own responsibilities at school,’ said Loretta, ‘there isn’t really anyone in charge of Currawong at the moment.’

  ‘That can’t be g-g-good,’ said Joe.

  ‘No,’ agreed Loretta. ‘It’s not good, it’s wonderful! So much scope for the imagination.’

  ‘Hey, what’s Dad doing here?’ asked April. She had spotted Dad moving in their direction through the crowd. He wasn’t wearing his usual dressing-gown or gardening clothes. He had on clean trousers and an ironed shirt, and he had combed his hair.

  ‘He’s looking very handsome today,’ observed Loretta.

  ‘Ew!’ said April, turning away from Dad. ‘Don’t talk that way about Dad, it’s gross.’

  ‘Ingrid is a good influence on him,’ said Loretta.

  ‘Yuck, that’s gross too,’ said April.

  ‘Then d-d-don’t look now,’ warned Joe.

  ‘Don’t look at what?’ asked April, turning back to look, as all people do when told not to look.

  Ingrid had joined Dad. She was dressed in running gear. The crowd had left space around her. She was so tall, Nordic and blonde, and just thoroughly un-Currawongian, that they were all too intimidated to be near her. But standing by her side looking deeply uncomfortable was Dad, and he was holding her hand.

  ‘Ugh!’ exclaimed April, slapping her hand over her eyes to shield herself from the horrific sight. ‘I’d gouge out my eyes if I thought I could unsee that.’

  ‘Your dad needs an emotional partner,’ said Loretta. ‘He’s lonely. Don’t you want him to be happy?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I really don’t,’ said April. ‘I want him to be my dad and to not be embarrassing. That’s all. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. Canoodling with a Valkyrie on Main Street is a step too far!’ April glanced over, saw they were still holding hands and turned away in disgust again. ‘I’d tell Pumpkin to bite them, but he’s too young and innocent to be exposed to such depravity.’

  ‘They’re just holding h-h-hands,’ said Joe.

  ‘It’s the thin end of the wedge,’ said April ominously.

  A voice came over the PA system, echoing out through a dozen speakers spaced down the main street. It was Mr Boyle, April’s music teacher. ‘Could all competitors please report to the starting line. The race will commence in fifteen minutes.’

  Dad had not noticed his children on the opposite side of the street. He was too busy not making eye contact with Ingrid, or anyone else for that matter, so he was staring intently at his own shoes.

  ‘I expect you’ll do well then,’ he said, ‘after all your practise.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ingrid bluntly.

  ‘I didn’t mean to hear you leaving the house each night,’ said Dad nervously. ‘I always try to know as little as possible about what’s going on.’

  ‘I was not training,’ said Ingrid in a low voice. ‘I was researching. The names on the database.’

  Dad was shocked. ‘From the email address? On the burned-out computer? That my wife had hidden?’

  ‘Shhh, shhh, shhh,’ said Ingrid. She glanced around to make sure none of the competitors bustling about were listening in. Luckily, like most athletes they were too self-absorbed. ‘In this country you talk too much.’

  Dad bit his lip, as if to silence himself and stared at his shoes even harder.

  ‘I’d better go.’ Ingrid leaned in and whispered to Dad, ‘As my fiancé, you had better wish me luck.’

  Now Dad panicked. ‘You promised no kissing!’ he pleaded.

  ‘We are being watched,’ said Ingrid. She leaned forward and closed her eyes. Dad was horrified but there was no escaping the situation. He girded himself to be brave, leaned in, and for the briefest possible moment brushed his lips against hers. Unfortunately, at that exact brief moment, someone in the crowd jostled Dad. He stumbled foward into Ingrid, who locked her lips onto his and wrapped her arms around him to prevent him from falling.

  Across the road, April was disgusted. ‘Urgh, my eyes!’ she gagged. ‘I’ve been sick a little bit in my mouth. Tom, you are so lucky you are vision-impaired right now.’

  Loretta beamed. ‘I like to think I played a part in this. Your father has had so much more confidence ever since I bought him nice underwear.’

  Joe decided he needed to change the topic. He was feeling a little nauseated himself. ‘Where is the st-st-starting line?’ he asked.

  ‘I think it’s where that sign is saying “TRATS”,’ said Loretta.

  April and Joe looked in the direction she was pointing. Someone had hung up a big banner over the starting lin
e, but they’d hung it up backwards so it read:

  ‘Such a perfect analogy for everything in this town,’ Loretta said with a satisfied sigh.

  A crowd of a couple of hundred athletes had already gathered underneath. They were stealthily jockeying for position, edging closer to the start line while pretending not to by doing things like making unnecessarily big stretching movements and doing star jumps that accidentally-on-purpose resulted in them hitting their rival in the nose.

  ‘Make sure you get yourselves good positions at the back,’ advised Loretta.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be at the front if we want to win?’ asked April.

  ‘Not at the start,’ said Loretta. ‘You want all the overenthusiastic but not terribly fit middle-aged athletes to get to the first obstacle ahead of you. That’s the mud pits.’ She pointed to a crudely drawn course map posted nearby. April recognised Fin’s handwriting. There was a line showing where you were meant to run and obstacles labelled with unnerving names like “Mud Pits of Doom”, “Hanging Talons of Despair”, “Mudonator” and “The Sarcophagus”. ‘The mud pits are really hard to get out of,’ continued Loretta. ‘It’s much easier if you can climb over a not terribly fit middle-aged person who’s just sprained their ankle.’

  ‘Nice tip,’ said April appreciatively.

  Tom fidgeted as he stood next to her. ‘I’m nervous,’ he admitted.

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed April. ‘What have you got to be nervous about? I’m the one who has to do all the work. You’ve just got to follow where I lead. If I put roller skates on you, you’d have nothing to do.’

  ‘I’ve never been in a race before,’ said Tom. He was starting to look agitated and shaky. He was talking too fast. ‘I’ve never been in any type of sporting event. I’ve been blind my whole life. I never have to do this sort of thing.’

  A couple of big athletic men bumped into them as they pushed past on their way to the front. Tom stumbled forward.

  ‘Watch where you’re going, you big drongos!’ yelled April. ‘Can’t you see he can’t see?’ She slapped Tom on the chest to draw attention to the hi-vis vest he was wearing.

  To compete Tom had to wear a fluorescent orange vest with the words ‘VISION-IMPAIRED RUNNER’ written on the front and back. April was wearing a matching vest that said ‘GUIDE FOR VISION-IMPAIRED RUNNER’. And there was a bright orange lanyard between them.

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled the runner.

  ‘You’d have to be brain dead not to see it,’ accused April. ‘These vests are so bright orange the glare can blind airline pilots flying overhead at thirty thousand feet.’

  ‘They are?’ asked Tom. Not being able to see them, he hadn’t given the vests much thought. ‘You mean, people are looking at me?’ Now he was terrified. His face turned white and he started to breathe rapidly.

  ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot over that,’ said April. ‘People stare at you all the time.’

  ‘They do?!’ wailed Tom.

  ‘Of course they do,’ said April. ‘Because they know you can’t see them and they can totally get away with it.’

  ‘One minute to start time,’ Mr Boyle announced, his voice echoing along the chain of PA speakers.

  ‘So they all think I look like an idiot in a bright orange vest?’ asked Tom.

  ‘No, no, no,’ said April. ‘They think you look like an idiot because you look like an idiot. Your face is a much bigger factor than the vest.’

  ‘What’s wrong with my face?’ asked Tom.

  ‘So many things,’ said April. ‘You’re a boy for a start. You’re going through an awkward stage. All boys do between the ages of six and one hundred and thirty-six. You should grow out of it in about one hundred and twenty-three years.’

  ‘So I’m ugly, I’m wearing a horrendous hi-vis vest and I’m about to be dragged through mud for two hours by a lunatic,’ said Tom.

  ‘The race will commence in thirty seconds,’ Mr Boyle announced.

  ‘If I’m the person you are referring to as a lunatic, then yes, that’s a pretty accurate summary of what is about to happen,’ said April.

  ‘Why did I agree to this?’ asked Tom.

  ‘You didn’t agree to it,’ said April. ‘You insisted on it. This whole stupid thing was your idea.’

  ‘I’m an idiot,’ muttered Tom.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been saying since the beginning,’ agreed April.

  ‘Competitors ready … On your marks … Get set … GO!!!’

  There was no time for further discussion. They were off. Even though April, Loretta, Joe and Tom were at the back of the pack, there were still some people behind them and they were all swept forward by the movement of the crowd.

  Tom tried to stand still and hold on tight to his lanyard, but his arm was practically yanked out of its socket when April took off at a sprint. He didn’t know what was going on around him. He could hear the sound of people running, panting, grunting. He could smell the pervasive stench of sweat and Dencorub. And he could feel every jolt as he slightly misjudged each footstep on the uneven ground.

  ‘Brace yourself,’ said April. ‘We’re going in.’

  ‘Going in where?’ wailed Tom.

  ‘The mud!’ cried April.

  The next step Tom took did not connect with solid ground. He tumbled forward, seeming to drop for an endlessly long moment before landing with a huge squelch in thick, disgusting mud. A hand grabbed him by the back of his collar and he was pulled up onto his knees. Tom wiped the mud from his face and spat it out of his mouth.

  ‘This is fantastic!’ cried April. ‘Come on, we don’t want to be left behind.’ She yanked Tom to his feet again and they took off running together.

  Further ahead in the course, Joe was doggedly slogging through the obstacles. He’d made short work of the mud pits. Being tall and strong, he’d soon hoisted himself out of them all. And Loretta had been right. There was an injured banking executive sitting at the bottom of the first pit who had been convenient to clamber over. It’s much easier getting a foothold on a banking executive than a mud pit.

  After the mud pits the course swerved down towards the old train line where Fin had built an obstacle called ‘The Baboon Bars’. They were basically giant, adult-sized monkey bars except they were much further apart and they were suspended over a deep trench full of mud. As Joe leapt forward to grab the first bar he made the mistake of looking down. The mud was a long way away, and he didn’t particularly like heights. Most disconcertingly of all, there were already several people stuck in the mud, trying to wade out of the waist-deep ooze.

  Joe did not want to fall in that, but it was hard to hold his grip. There was mud smeared all over the bars as well. He would have to have a word with Fin about his course design later.

  Joe realised he couldn’t see Loretta anywhere. Admittedly it was hard to tell the racers apart because everyone was already covered in mud, but Loretta had a way of being distinctive even with the way she moved. She was just so much more graceful than anyone else. Even struggling through mud, he was sure she’d look elegant, and there was no one elegant anywhere to be seen. He couldn’t hear her distinctive laugh either. It was rare for Loretta to go long without laughing at someone. It was as if she had disappeared as soon as the starting siren had sounded.

  Joe vaulted over a mud-covered wall and a clear field lay ahead of him. Well, it wasn’t really clear. It was a potato field, so there were stout plants everywhere laid out in long neat hillocks. But it was easy compared to wading through mud. Joe was good at running, and with his long legs he could easily step over the plants. He could get ahead here.

  At that moment something whistled past his head and landed cat-like in front of him. He recognised her despite the mud. Only one person in Currawong could hurdle a four-foot fence without laying a hand on it. Two-time Olympic silver medallist Maya Dharawal.

  SPLAT!

  Joe dived out of the way as a huge clump of mud flew through the air and landed right where he had been stan
ding. ‘What was that?’ he cried.

  Maya was still on her feet but she looked shaken. ‘It was a giant lump of flying mud!’ she said in astonishment. ‘They’ve never had that in a mud run before. What psycho designed this course?’

  WHOMP!

  Another huge load of flying mud landed nearby, spattering all over them. Joe grimaced. He didn’t think now was a good time to introduce himself and explain his familial connections to the course master.

  SPLASH!

  Another load landed. Nearer this time. Joe scanned the horizon. Up on the town’s water tower, something had been built onto the side.

  ‘Is that … a giant catapult?’ asked Maya, following Joe’s gaze.

  The arm of the catapult was moving back slowly. It paused. Then suddenly flew forward. Another huge load of mud sprang into the air. It was flying directly for them.

  ‘Run!’ cried Joe. He and Maya took off sprinting for the far side of the field.

  Up in the catapult on the old water tower, Fin was having the best day ever. He hadn’t actually hit Joe with a giant clump of mud yet, but he was enjoying trying. It turns out that when Leonardo da Vinci was inventing catapults in the sixteenth century, his designs weren’t terribly accurate. Which would explain why da Vinci is better known for his paintings and not his military hardware. But Fin was having a great deal of fun creating an enormous amount of mess, and that was the main thing. He used two hands to yank hard on the release lever, and the catapult made a satisfying whoosh as the counterweight dropped forward and the basket full of mud sailed up and into the sky.

  Really it was quite beautiful to see the dark brown mud flying through the clear blue sky. Fin sighed with happiness. Finally he had found something about living in the country that he could enjoy. And the race was expected to take over two hours. It was going to be so much fun.

  They had been running for an hour and a half. For Tom it was the worst torture he had ever endured, and he’d had eleven different eye surgeries in his short life so he knew quite a bit about enduring.