The World's Loudest Armpit Fart (13 page)

‘You’re in, Matt,’ she shouted.

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Matthew. ‘Come on, Dan, Cross The Line today and you might be in the next team.’

Natalie smirked. ‘Who knows, Dan, you might even be in the
county
team one day, like me,’ she said. ‘By the way,
I’m
Team Captain.’

The boys sniggered and saluted. ‘Aye-aye, Captain Squirt!’

Trevor the Instructor blew a piercing blast on his whistle. ‘Everyone who’s been selected for the Gala, go to the Deep End!’ he yelled, struggling to make himself heard above the howling wind.

Danny watched Matthew amble to the far end of the pool with the other team members.

‘Well, kiddo,’ shouted Trevor. ‘Is today the day you’re going to Cross The Line?’

‘Definitely!’ replied Danny.

‘Good. Jump into the shallow end and I’ll be back in a minute to help you.’ Trevor strode away to speak to the team.

The ferocious wind screamed louder as the gale battered at Penleydale. Danny glanced out of the large window that ran the whole length of one side of the building. A green wheelie bin flew past, followed by a garden shed, a whole washing-line full of socks, and a policeman’s helmet.

‘Ace!’ he exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief as two cars parked nearby blew over, and tumbled down the road.

At that moment, there was a terrible crashing, crunching, growling, gnashing, ripping, howling sound outside.

Danny watched open-mouthed as the entire roof of the Crumbly Crunch biscuit factory lifted into the air and spun away out of sight. Planks of wood, roof tiles, bits of paper and thousands of broken biscuits swirled and danced down Tempest Road.

‘IT’S A TORNADO!’ he cried as a thick funnel of brilliant yellow powder whirled out of the factory and whizzed round the street outside.

Danny turned and noticed the fine dust pouring in torrents through the air vents in the ceiling and dropping into the Deep End. He sniffed.

‘Lemon puffs!’

The Sea Squirts began to cry out, lost in the heavy, lemon-scented fog and sticky yellow water. The roof above them rattled and groaned as, outside, the tornado squealed and raged.

Danny jumped out of the shallow end and pushed the weak swimmers towards the exit.

‘Go and get help,’ he yelled. ‘Tell someone to call the police and the fire brigade.’

He turned and stared down the pool in amazement. The thick, choking yellow cloud was billowing towards him. Danny took a deep breath and ran into it, towards the Deep End. He slipped and skidded in the slimy layer of lemon-puff paste that was forming along the edge of the pool. Suddenly, the squealing wind stopped as the tornado moved away, and Danny heard coughs, sneezes and cries for help coming from within the fog. He recognized Matthew’s voice.

‘Everyone over here!’ he called, but his voice was lost amongst the cries of the other kids.

The farty-squelch of his Verrucablaster! Containment Sock sucking at the sticky paste on the floor gave Danny an idea. In desperation, he put his right hand into his left armpit and squeezed as hard as he could. The distinctive rubbery rasp of his armpit-fart echoed through the pool. He began pumping his arm over and over again and the familiar vibrating melody of ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ cut through the lemon-puff smog.

‘Danny! Is that you?’ shouted Matthew.

‘Yeah!’ replied Danny. ‘Follow the farts, Matt! Follow the farts!’

A few seconds later, Matthew struggled out of the water.

‘It . . . tastes . . . great!’ he exclaimed.

Danny laughed. ‘If this had happened yesterday, it would have been chocolate-chip cookie!’

He continued playing as loud as he could on his armpit. His hand throbbed in pain, but he didn’t stop.

‘Follow the farts! Follow the farts!’ he and Matthew called out.

One by one, the Penleydale Sea Squirts paddled and splashed, coughing and gasping, towards the sound of Danny’s armpit. As each Squirt appeared, Matt helped them out, keeping a tally of the kids to make sure they were all there. The rescued children clambered out of the water and sat together against the wall, licking the tasty mess off their hands and faces.

‘Everyone’s out,’ said Matthew as he pulled the last Sea Squirt from the pool. ‘Except . . .’

Natalie appeared in front of Danny, her hair plastered across her face like a horrible yellow mask. ‘What have you done
this
time?’ she growled.

Danny blew a particularly noisy armpit-trump at her. ‘It wasn’t me!’ he protested.

The lemon fog was now so dense that Danny could see no more than an arm’s length in front of him. The powder was choking and sweet. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said to the kids. ‘Stick close to each other, and remember, everyone: follow the farts!’

As the long line of children snaked out of the building with Danny leading the way, they began to sing ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ to his armpit-music.

‘Hey, Danny,’ said Matthew. ‘You’re the Pied
Parper
of Penleydale.’

Outside the Sports Centre, fire engines, police cars and ambulances filled the road, their blue lights flashing urgently. People scurried here and there, calling frantic instructions to each other. Tempest Road was strewn with debris and broken biscuits from the Crumbly Crunch factory.

The Sea Squirts huddled together, shivering in the chilly air.

‘Where’s Trevor?’ asked Matthew suddenly.