The Warrior Sheep Go West (4 page)

On the Road

The braying roar was on top of them now, and Wills, who had closed his eyes, opened them again. He'd suddenly become aware of music as well as the roar. The kind of loud rock music that Ida sometimes played to the hens back in Eppingham. Wills blinked. The roar came from an engine. The braying was a vehicle horn. Looming above the warriors, momentarily shutting out the blinding sun, was not a triumphant Red Tongue, but a large white convertible car with its roof folded back. Two teenage boys were craning over the windscreen.

“Aries, Aries…” they chanted. “Rams, Ewes, and Lambs!”

“Hey, Cameron,” said one of the boys as he switched off the music. “That wasn't so cool after all.” He jumped out of the car. “Look at them, they're pooped.” He knelt beside Sal. “We shouldn't have chased them like that.”

“They'll get over it,” said his brother. “Come on, Phoenix, let's go.”

But Phoenix glanced up, frowning. “They're not even desert sheep. Look—they're kind of fluffy and fat.”

“I am sooo
not
fat,” croaked Jaycey, raising her head slightly before flopping down again.

“I wonder where they came from?” continued Phoenix.

“Does it matter? They're a bunch of sheep. Let's go.” Cameron revved the engine impatiently.

“No,” said Phoenix. “We can't just leave them in this state.”

“So what d'you want to do, take them with us?”

“Cool idea,” said Phoenix, straightening up. “Give me a hand.”

“Are you crazy? What's Mom gonna say, filling her pride and joy with livestock?”

“Can't do it any more damage than your driving. Come on, grab a leg.”

Cameron reluctantly did as he was asked, and between them the brothers heaved Sal off the ground and onto the back seat. When she regained consciousness a few seconds later, she found herself forehead to curly forehead with Links, who'd been swung in beside her.

“What's happening, man?” he asked weakly.

“I think we've had an out-of-body experience, dear…” replied Sal, before her voice and mind drifted away again.

“Oh,” said Links. “I thought we was just thirsty.”

Then Jaycey was being lowered in between them. “I am sooo not fat…” she continued to murmur. “Sooo not fat…”

The car dipped and swayed as Oxo, having staggered to his feet, clambered on board with a helping shoulder from Phoenix, and wedged himself next to Links on the back seat.

“One to go,” said Phoenix, scooping up Wills.

“Well you'll just have to have him on your lap, bro,” replied Cameron. “
I'm
still driving.” And he got in quickly behind the wheel.

Wills didn't mind sitting on a lap, and he was feeling better now that his heart had stopped hammering. His tongue still felt like a lump of wood in his parched mouth but he lifted his head and gazed through the windscreen. The air that ruffled his fleece as the car suddenly shot backward and swung round onto the road again was still hot but quite refreshing. He sat up straight to catch more of it. Behind him, the other warriors were also struggling upright to catch the welcome breeze.

“Do we have any water left?” asked Phoenix.

“Only juice,” said Cameron.

Phoenix pulled a handful of plastic bottles from the cool box by his feet and held one in front of Wills. It had a sucker top and, after a few false starts, Wills managed to suck up some liquid. Cameron stopped the car and both boys leaned around to offer bottles to the other sheep. They sucked desperately, finally got the hang of it, and drank, relieving their parched tongues and throats.

Jaycey dropped her empty bottle and stared, mesmerized, at Cameron's sunglasses. How cool were they? Cooler than those silly old ear studs Oxo and Sal were wearing. She fluttered her eyelids and tossed her pretty head.

Cameron grinned, faced the front again and aimed the car West. “Aries, Aries, Rams, Ewes, and Lambs!” he sang. “Tell you what, Phee, they make the greatest mascots.”

In the back seat, Sal, who didn't understand much humanspeak, stiffened.

“Uh, Wills dear,” she asked anxiously, leaning forward, “what exactly are mascots?”

Wills couldn't remember. But he didn't think they were cut up and cookable, so he relaxed, letting his ears flap in the wind, and his tongue lick the last of the juice from his no-longer-parched lips.

Cameron thought roads were boring and constantly veered off to take the car jolting away across the stony desert, dodging boulders and cacti with last-second spins of the steering wheel. The warriors, even Sal, loved every minute of the ride, and when Cameron leaned round and stuck his shades on Jaycey's head, she thought she'd gone to Sheep Heaven.

“Cool wheels, man,” yelled Links.

“Excellent,” called back Wills.

The car sped on with the humans chanting and the sheep bleating and the sun burning in the blue sky above. They saw no other traffic until Cameron turned the car toward the road for the last time.

“Wave, guys,” he yelled, turning the music up even louder. “Some dude's coming our way.”

***

Holly Boomberg couldn't remember where she'd last seen hoofprints. Before the billboards, she thought, but she'd gone way past them before she'd realized and turned back. Now she was angry with herself and driving fast, peering at the dusty road.

Suddenly, a white car bounced from the desert and came racing toward her, veering dangerously from side to side. She slowed down and the white car shot past, music blaring, the occupants singing. Singing and
bleating
! Holly stamped on the brakes, pulled over, and twisted around in her seat. She hadn't imagined it. The sheep,
her
sheep, were sitting on the back seat. And one of them was wearing sunglasses. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, turned the cart around, and gave chase.

***

None of the warriors recognized the driver of the golf cart, nor did they see it turn in the road and start following. Cameron saw and punched the air.

“Yeehaa!” he yelled. “The dude wants a race!”

He swung the car off the road again and surged over the desert.

“Holy sheep!” exclaimed Phoenix, hanging on to the edge of his seat. “What are you doing now?”

“Get ready to rock and roll,” yelled Cameron. “Dead Man's Creek coming up!”

The creek ran parallel with the road and Wills had been right. It was a sort of river, only it was completely dried up. It hadn't carried a drop of water for months.

Holly drove as fast as she could along the road but her cart couldn't keep pace. She could only watch as the white car careered up and down the steep banks of the dried-up creek. It was like looking down on a never-ending roller coaster but soon the white car was out of sight and she was following a cloud of dust.

“Idiot!” she shouted, as if the driver could hear her. “Kill yourselves if you want, but not Stanley's sheep!”

Inside the white car, Phoenix grabbed Wills tight to stop the lamb being catapulted out.

“You're crazy,” he yelled at his brother. “You'll turn us over!”

Cameron just laughed, spun the wheel, and shot the car from the bottom of the creek to the top of its steep bank.

“Yeehaa!” he cried as he turned at the top.

“Stop!” yelled Phoenix.

But Cameron couldn't. His Mom's pride and joy had had enough. The brakes and the steering gave up at the same moment. The car plunged down, out of control.

“Ohmygrass…ohmyshades…” wailed Jaycey as the sunglasses sailed through the air in front of her.

The car bounced down the slope, turned over and over, and landed right way up on the bottom of the creek.

There was a long moment's silence.

“Mom's gonna be so mad at me…” was all Cameron could say when he'd stopped shaking.

“I guess she'd sooner write off a car than two stupid sons,” replied Phoenix.

He let go of Wills and the lamb leapt out. Then Phoenix twisted around to look at the back seat.

“It's a good job the rest were wedged in so tight.”

Links was squeezing himself free. He clambered out over the side. Oxo followed, then Sal and Jaycey.

“Well that was, er, very nice,” said Sal, shaking herself. “But it's time to press on, I think.”

“Onward and…upward?” asked Oxo, looking up at the steep sides of the creek. He started looking for a way to climb out.

The others did the same, but after only a few steps, Sal stopped. She twitched her ear. The silver stud in it was buzzing. The others paused and looked inquiringly at her.

“Most uncomfortable…” she said. “Like having a fly inside my head…”

They could all hear the buzzing now. Cameron and Phoenix, still strapped into the car, heard it too. Suddenly, it changed to a high-pitched beeping.

But no one was looking at Sal anymore. They were all, sheep and humans, staring straight past her at the wall of water rushing toward them.

Up the Creek

It was a flash flood, and it was on them in a flash. There had been a heavy storm in the distant mountains two days ago and the rain water had finally reached the dried-up creek. It was in a hurry and inescapable. It had swept up all manner of brushwood and dead cacti on its headlong journey and now it swept up the sheep and the car as well. This might have been fun, like white-water rafting, except there was no raft. There was only the rushing, swirling muddy torrent, and the likelihood of being dragged under by the current and drowned, or smashed to bits on the rocks. Or both.

Eventually, the white car stopped, upside down, jammed between the side of the creek and a huge rock. The warriors were swirled against it and the torrent rushed on past them. There was no sign of Cameron or Phoenix.

“They're trapped underneath!” cried Wills.

They could all hear the boys coughing and retching weakly as they tried to escape.

“We have to shift the car,” continued Wills, “or they'll drown. Quick!”

“Man, I hate bein' sheep dipped,” said Links, but he breathed out and allowed himself to sink under the water.

All five warriors were soon submerged, shoulder to shoulder in the roaring watery murk, their hooves scrabbling on slippery rocks. They put their heads against the side of the upturned car. They heaved once; they heaved twice. They heard a tinny grinding noise and heaved again. As they did so, their hooves stumbled forward and suddenly they were breathing fresh air again. The white car reared above them, then twisted and slid away through the narrow rocky gap that it had been blocking. It swirled on in the torrent.

Shocked and shivering, but free of the deadly metal prison, Phoenix and Cameron clambered up the side of the creek to safety.

The warriors shook themselves and followed, picking their way across the boulders and loose rocks, then gathering in a huddle close to Cameron and Phoenix as the two brothers flopped to the ground.

“Way to go, sheep…” murmured Cameron, raising his hand in a feeble attempt at a high five. “Aries, Aries…Rams, Ewes, and Lambs…”

His eyes closed in utter exhaustion but, as they did, he was almost sure he saw the five sheep turn to each other, then raise and clack hooves.

***

It was getting dark now, and in different parts of the desert two sets of headlights were turned on.

The first were bright and beady, like the driver of the golf cart who had flicked their switch. But even crouched in the headlight beam, Holly Boomberg had lost the trail again. How typical of Mother Nature, how very
inefficient
to have a flood right now!

Had the sheep got across? Were they all drowned? Had they got out of the creek on the same side they went in? In fact, they had, but the water had swept them a long, long way downstream. Holly couldn't see them. There were no tracks. There was nothing she could do. But doing nothing was not a Holly Boomberg mode. She got back into the cart and turned downstream.

The other set of headlights were equally bright, but the mood in the back of Professor Boomberg's car was becoming very dark. His passengers had gone from polite, to politely suspicious, to extremely suspicious indeed.

“Look,” the old lady was saying, tapping him on the shoulder. “Mr. er…Rhubarb, can you please stop?”

“No,” Stanley said. “Not yet.”

“At the next service station, then,” said the boy. “One with a shop and a café.”

He didn't add, “and one with telephones,” but the Professor guessed that was what he meant. He clenched his teeth and drove on in silence.

“Look out for signposts,” whispered Gran. “So we can tell the police where we are.”

They watched carefully as they sped along but there were no signs. They had never imagined a place could be so big and so empty. Some time later, Gran's bony knee nudged Tod's.

“His cell's on the front seat,” she whispered. “See if you can distract him while I pinch it and call the police.”

Tod gave her a silent OK then leaned forward and tapped Stanley on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. I
need
to stop,” he said. “For a pee.”

The Professor slowed the car. “Can't you wait?”

“No. I'm desperate.”

The Professor sighed and pulled up. “Well go on then.”

Tod struggled with the door, pretending he couldn't open it.

“Help,” he pleaded, turning to the Professor, “I'm
really
desperate.”

Stanley got out, paced to the rear door, and pulled it open. Tod hopped out. The Professor glanced fretfully at his wrist computer.

“One hundred and seventy-eight thousand, seven hundred and ten seconds and counting…” he muttered to himself. “So much still to do…” Then he saw the old lady tapping at his cell phone. “Hey!” he shouted, and dived into the car and snatched it from her. He turned angrily to Tod. “Get back!” he ordered.

“What's going on?” Gran demanded as Tod ran back to be with her. She'd wriggled out of the car now. “What's your
real
name? Where are our sheep? Where's the conference?”

“And where are you taking us?” added Tod.

“I really have no idea where your sheep are,” replied the Professor spitefully. “There is no conference. And I'm taking you to Back of Beyond Ranch. So you're out of circulation till after B-Day.”

Tod and Gran simply gaped.

“At least I
was
.” Stanley got back behind the wheel and slammed his door. “But I've had enough. You can walk.” He pointed into the darkening desert. “It's that way!”

The car window slid up silently, and Tod and Gran could only watch, still gaping, as the sleek black car disappeared into the gathering dusk. The sound of its engine faded to nothing.

“D'you think he'll come back?” asked Tod.

“No,” said Gran definitely.

Tod stared around at the desert stretching away in all directions.

“Well,” he said. “We'd better see if we can find this Back of Beyond Ranch before it gets completely dark.”

“If it exists,” grunted Gran, and she delved in her bag for her trusty head lamp.

***

Back of Beyond Ranch did exist. They reached it half an hour later. The faded name, just visible in the light of Gran's head lamp, was scratched on a boulder at the side of the road. Beyond the boulder was a broken wooden fence that had long since given up surrounding a patch of baked earth covered in weedy weeds. In the middle of the baked earth was the ranch house. It had four stone walls but no roof. The windows had tattered curtains but no glass. A notice nailed to the front door read: GONE AWAY.

Tod pushed the door open and peeped in. A cockroach scuttled across the dirt floor. Then there was silence.

“At least we've got some shelter,” said Tod. “I can't believe how cold it's getting now the sun's gone down.” He dragged in an old bench from outside and put it against the wall. “Sit here, Gran. I'll see if I can find anything useful, like a phone.”

There was no phone, but in the yard outside he found a well, covered with a plank of wood, with a rusty tin bucket beside it.

“Drink this, Gran!” he said, returning and offering her an equally rusty mug full of water. “You'll have to imagine the tea bag.”

Gran drank. “Best I've ever tasted,” she said. “And look what I've found for supper.”

Dumped in the corner of the room was a pile of plastic carrier bags full of tinned food: salmon, baked beans, soup.

“Looks like Rhubarb was telling the truth,” Gran said. “He
was
planning to bring us here.”

“But why do they want us out of the way?” asked Tod, shaking his head. A cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he thought about the flock. “And what do you think they've done with our sheep, Gran?”

Gran tried to sound more confident than she felt.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said, “but I'm sure they're fine.”

She shivered and pulled her thin cardigan around her shoulders. Tod immediately began gathering together all the dry sticks he could find.

“Have you got any matches?” he asked.

Gran poked about again in the bottomless pit that was her handbag and dredged up a matchbox with one live match in it and thirty dead ones. Tod crossed his fingers, then uncrossed them again, struck the live match, and held it to his little pile of kindling.

“Phew…” he said as it lit.

There was a newspaper in the bag of groceries. Tod handed it to Ida.

“Here, Gran, read this while I get some more wood.”

When he returned with an armful of broken fence posts and branches, Gran was engrossed in the newspaper.

“It's this week's,” she said. “Not terribly useful, though. Nearly all about football. American football. Seems like there are two local teams slugging it out just now to be top of the league. One group comes from Aries End. Guess what their nickname is?”

Tod shrugged. “Don't know.”

“They're called the Rams,” said Gran. “How about that? The other lot come from a place called Fort Wilmot and they're the Prairie Dogs.” She grinned. “And can you guess what
their
nickname is?”

Tod shook his head. “Nope.”

“It's a funny one,” said Gran. “They call themselves Red Tongue.”