Bumageddon: The Final Pongflict by Andy Griffiths Page B

‘And I can see where it’s coming from, too.’
    It pointed to the middle of the canyon.
    Zack squinted.
    There was something moving on the vines.
    â€˜Do you think it’s Eleanor’s bum?’ said Zack.
    â€˜No,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘It’s not the right colour.
    And it’s too big.’
    â€˜Do you think it’s in trouble?’ said Zack.
    â€˜It sounds like it,’ said Zack’s bum.
    â€˜Do you think we should help it?’ said Zack.
    â€˜Definitely not,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘It’s totally off mission. I think we should just cut Robobum free and get out of here.’
    â€˜But,’ said Zack, ‘we can’t just leave it there!’
    â€˜Yes, we can,’ said Zack’s bum, hacking into the vine. ‘This is a dangerous place. If we get distracted, we die.’
    They heard the strange gurgling cry again.
    Zack looked at his bum. ‘What if it was you out there?’ he said.
    â€˜But it’s not me,’ said his bum.
    â€˜I know that,’ said Zack. ‘But what if it was ? You’d want to be rescued, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜Y-yes . . .’ said his bum. ‘But . . .’
    â€˜Then that settles it,’ said Zack. ‘We’re going.’

CHAPTER 49
BUMANTULA
    F ive minutes later Zack was crawling across the sticky vines towards the struggling figure, his bum perched on his shoulder.
    â€˜Gee,’ said his bum, looking down into the canyon. ‘I’d hate to fall.’
    â€˜That makes two of us,’ said Zack.
    â€˜It’s such a long way down,’ said his bum.
    â€˜Yep,’ said Zack, gripping the vine tightly.
    â€˜You’d end up totally splattered,’ said his bum. ‘Splattered just like a rotten watermelon dropped from a . . .’
    â€˜Would you shut up!’ said Zack, grimacing. ‘You’re not helping!’
    Zack was all too well aware of how high they were.
    And how far down they could fall.
    But he was doing his best not to think about it. He was just climbing slowly—and very carefully—across the vines towards the moaning figure.
    â€˜What’s it saying?’ said Zack’s bum, as they crawled closer.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Zack. ‘I don’t know what language it’s speaking. I don’t even know what it is.’
    It didn’t seem to resemble anything he’d ever seen before—man, beast or bum—but, whatever it was, it was definitely trying to communicate with them.
    It appeared to be made of flesh. Flesh that had been pulverised and mashed and then moulded into the rough shape of a man.
    And it stunk.
    Bad.
    Really bad.
    Although he was no stranger to bad smells, Zack gagged as they drew up close to the horrible creature. It appeared to be trying to form words, but was having great trouble doing so because its mouth was so crudely formed—like a hole in a piece of dough.
    â€˜Can you make out what it’s saying now?’ said Zack’s bum.
    â€˜Something about great danger, I think,’ said Zack.
    â€˜Um, Zack . . .’ said his bum, the blood rushing from its cheeks, leaving it white and trembling and—for once—speechless.
    â€˜What’s the matter?’ said Zack. ‘Are you all right?’
    His bum just pointed to the far side of the canyon.
    An enormous black shape was moving across the vines towards them.
    An enormous black shape with two bulbous domes and eight legs.
    Zack didn’t have Ned’s What Bumosaur is That? guide, but he didn’t need it. He could see that it was a bumantula.
    A giant prehistoric bumantula.
    And suddenly—all too late—he could understand what the smelly creature meant by ‘great danger’.
    One thing was for sure. There was no time to save the creature. It was every man—or in its case, every mutant —for himself.
    Zack turned around, but