Read The Beasts of Upton Puddle Online
Authors: Simon West-Bulford
The Beasts of Upton Puddle
The
B
easts
of
U
PTON
P
UDDLE
Â
Published 2013 by Medallion Press, Inc.
The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.
Copyright © 2013 by Simon West-Bulford
Cover illustration by Chase Stone | © Chase Stone, 2013
Edited by Emily Steele
Illustrations by James Tampa
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro
ISBN# 978-160542520-7
ISBN# 978-160542594-8
EDICATION
For my wife, Ruth,
who still smiles when I draw monsters
and write about them!
A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
With special thanks to my wife, Ruth, and also to Kirstie, Charlotte, Carrie-Ann and Andy, Jenny, Gill, Jennie, Bev, Michelle, Mo, and a whole host of other friends too numerous to mention. Your encouragement and enthusiasm when I first wrote this book have always stayed with me.
Also a massive thanks to everyone at Write Club, especially Jason Heim, Caleb Ross, Paul Eckert, Anthony David Jaques, Richard Thomas, Mlaz Corbier, and Nik Korpon. Your encouragement, advice, and critiquing were amazing.
Thanks also to everyone at Chronicles, where the world of Pyronesia first blossomed.
And also a huge thanks to Medallion, especially Emily Steele, who put the sparkle into my words and is fantastic to work with.
Thank you!
ROLOGUE
1962âLocation Unknown
One more minute and Ronnie would be free from the stifling heat of the cavern. Five more minutes after that and she would be back on the boat, sailing home.
Safe. Alive.
But that was not going to happen now. There was a terrible moment when Ronnie thought she might actually pretend that she heard nothingâthat she was the only one left alive and could run away to safety.
But the cry was unmistakable.
“Ronnie! Help!” It was weaker the second time, with subtle tones of defeat.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she stole a final glimpse of the island she loved so dearly. Framed perfectly by the cavern mouth, the bay stood, gentle waves lapping on its virgin-white beach. And sweeping back in a huge rocky crescent, the swelling green hills that nurtured the untroubled wildlife tempted her to abandon
any remaining hope. In a place of such unspoiled beauty, the horror of the past two hours could almost be considered a lie. But the truth forced her back into the cavern with terrible cruelty.
A coiling jet of fire seared the air above. A warning shot.
“I'm coming, Heinrich,” she called.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he was hurt, but the answer was obvious. She saw exactly what happened, and it was a miracle he was still alive at all.
A roar like the sound of a freight train rushing through a tunnel shook the cave walls, but she carried on. No turning back. She'd rescue Heinrich or die trying. Probably the latter.
The mouth of the larger cavern loomed aheadâa hub area connecting a series of vast underground tunnels and caves, richly embedded with diamond deposits and lush natural architecture. Earlier that day it was a place of popping champagne corks and snapping group photographs. Now all she expected to find when she got back inside were smouldering bones and the stench of death.
Testing not only her balance but her nerves too, she grabbed at the rock face to steady herself, ready to bite back the pain radiating from her torn ankle before running inside. Her skin blistered when she touched the hard surface, and at once she pulled away, feeling a rush of cold adrenaline as her foot took all her weight. She conceded a small yelp, but the ache was bearable, and without pausing for thought, Ronnie half ran, half
hobbled toward the hub area.
Great rhythmic thuds crashed somewhere ahead and above her, each one followed by a fiery snort of breath. It was coming.
“Ronnie!” It was more a scream than a cry for help that time.
“Almost there! Don't move! If you can see it, don't provoke it!”
“Quickly!”
Ronnie tripped as she entered the area. Cursing at the sudden pain, she glanced back at the cause and saw the jutting handle of a barrow they had brought in earlier. It was full to the brim with diamonds, each one sparkling with fiery brilliance, illuminated by the tiny flames lapping the roof.
The roar came again.
Flinching, Ronnie glanced around the cavern, desperate to find Heinrich. All she could see were the charred remains of their equipment blasted across the ground. Oscilloscopes and clinometers smashed; notebooks, specimen bags, and tools scattered. And, of course, the bodies.
Then she saw him. A hulk of a man now reduced to a battered wreck, Heinrich lay sprawled in the blackened dirt next to some storage cases, a red sheen covering one side of his face, one leg twisted underneath him. Something was huddled between his shuddering arms beneath his burnt trench coat.
“Heinrich!” She scrambled across ash and broken glass to reach him, suppressing a shriek when he revealed what hid beneath his coat. A small boy, streaked with dirt, lay there shivering. He stared directly aheadâthe look of shell shock Ronnie had seen so many times as a girl in the warâbut then she saw. Two bodies, burned almost beyond recognition, lay against another barrow filled with diamonds.
“There were supposed to be no children on this expedition.” Heinrich sobbed. “He hid himself away to be with . . . to be with . . .”
Ronnie could not look at the bodies for another moment. She fought back a surge of despair as she closed her stinging eyes.
“Get him out of here, Ronnie. Beforeâ”
The dull thud of something heavy impacting the ground interrupted them, and Ronnie, knowing precisely what she would see, turned to look.
A fluttering of ash churned around a huge reptilian head, larger than a truck, dark red like congealed blood. Two great eyes, each a river-green vortex of light, shone through the settling cloud.
Ronnie drew in a faltering breath and stifled it, as though some primal instinct told her any movement might be the last she made.
As if it sensed her fear, the beast slowly lifted the top half of its jaw to reveal a pink thorny tongue and an explosion of twisted grey fangs. A blast of earthy breath
ruffled Ronnie's hair as another roar blasted out.
Behind Ronnie, Heinrich moaned, but she dared not turn.
The jaws clamped shut, and the head, still pressed to the ground, began a fluid zigzag motion toward them. A thick scaly neck trailed behind it, leading into one of the connecting caverns ten feet above. It was then that Ronnie realized just how huge this creature was.
Two sizeable forearms dragged a huge body out from the hole, and with a sound not unlike the snapping of a hundred wet branches, an intimidating set of leathery wings unfolded. With its head still flat to the ground, back arched, and wings fully extended, the enormous lizard was a terrifying sight.
“Such a sudden end for so magnificent a venture,” Heinrich said quietly.
From somewhere, Ronnie managed to find the strength to steady her shaking as she said what might be her final words. “Ah, Heinrich, but how many people can say they have lived to see a real dragon?”
“Don't you mean dragons, Ronnie?”
Ronnie was about to ask what he meant when two more reptilian heads, much smaller than the first, appeared from behind the enormous wings, hissing in defiance.
“Hatchlings,” she gasped. “No wonder it attacked so ferociously.”
“A breeding colony?”
“Exactly.”
“Could we have stumbled upon a more dangerous place?”
“We have only one chance to survive this,” she said, staring at the boy cowering within Heinrich's coat.
“No!”
“Bring the boy. Now.”
NE
Joe Copper yawned a fourth time, switched off his mobile phone, and listened for birdsong, bemused. Most Sunday mornings, he would finish his paper round by five thirty, drag his old trolley into the woods, slump against his favorite tree stump, and fall asleep listening to the unhurried noises of nature. Most of the other twelve-year-old boys he knew couldn't care less about wildlife. But to Joe, Ringwood Forest, aglow with the blush of first light and alive with the dawn chorus, was the most wonderful place on earth.
This Sunday was different. The lull of sleep beckoned him as it always did, but not a single chirp or whistle could be heard. A brooding silence smothered the forest, as if everything living had paused to stare at something in astonishment.
And that wasn't the only mystery Joe had encountered since he started his day. At exactly three minutes
past five every Sunday, Joe delivered the
Telegraph
to the Gordon residence. Today he did just that. Peering cautiously through the black bars of the gate, as always, he pushed the newspaper into the letterbox and braced for the inevitable maniacal barking from their oversized rottweiler. As far back as he could remember, it was the only animal that had ever disliked him. On several occasions, the ferocious dog almost took a chunk out of him as it rammed its spittle-covered jaws through the gate, but oddly enough, there was no sign of the animal today.
Joe fought his sagging eyelids, sucked in another yawn, and smiled despite the strange atmosphere. The aroma of baking bread from Mrs. Parkin's home bakery near the edge of the woods reminded him that Upton Puddle would always hold fond memoriesâespecially on a Sunday. Collecting rejected loaves from her backyard was one of the many things that made his paper round such a pleasurable routine. He stared through the trees, straining for a glimpse of the puffy clouds rising from her chimney, but these days it was hard to see. A huge tower block loomed on the far side of the woods, swallowing the sunrise and spoiling Joe's view. It soared far above the tips of the ancient oak trees, glowering at the forest with its deep red brickwork and long shadow. Joe hated it.