Get Me Out of Here! Page 10

  So I look closer at the fallen tree. It’s even bigger than I thought. Maybe, just maybe, it might have bridged the entire chasm itself, and if we’re really careful we can just walk across it to the other side.

  But no, that would be too bloomin’ simple, wouldn’t it? Because of the way that it’s fallen, there’s still a real gap between it and the zip wire platform. But what I don’t know yet is whether we can jump the final bit.

  I explain to Dyl that we need to find out, that one of us needs to shimmy along it to work out how far that jump would be, but when he pulls his soaked head so far inside his coat that he looks like a terrified turtle, I realize that person is me.

  So off I go, to the edge of void, where the rope bridge used to begin, and sit on the tree trunk, a leg either side. What follows is clumsy and embarrassing, as I make little bum jumps along the bark, like a rabbit trying to scratch an itchy bum.

  The movements are small, but it’s solid. I manage to make progress without dislodging the tree or sending myself hurtling into the abyss.

  Within minutes, that feel like hours, I’m far enough along to be able to see clearly, and I decide:

  1. The gap is jumpable

  2. The gap would be the biggest jump of my

  life

  3. I don’t know if standing on the tree would make it capsize, and send both of us to our deaths

  It’s not ideal, and the thunder and lightning continue to spit rainy daggers in my direction. How long till another zigzag hits another tree, which wipes out our tree and makes it properly impossible to get across?

  There are too many things to worry about.

  I bum-jump backwards (this should be an Olympic sport), until I find myself face-to-face with Dyl again.

  “It’s good news,” I lie, leaving out my concerns about the tree toppling into the abyss. “There’s a gap at the other end, but it’s jumpable, especially for you.”

  That’s not a lie, cos he’s way bigger than me, and he’s been jumping for years now (even if that is mostly on me).

  He obviously isn’t keen on the idea, but at the same time I can see he doesn’t want to look scared in front of me, so after a bit of stalling he begins bum jumps of his own, which lack the technique I’ve developed but I see him reach the end of the tree in record time.

  I watch from the bank, not daring to step on the tree in case the weight of us both is too much. The tension eats at me, as well as the wind and the rain and the constant threat of being deep-fried by a lightning bolt, and for a while I wonder if Dyl is going to jump at all, or whether the fear has totally grabbed him.

  But then, just as I’m about to shout, he jumps, and I watch as the tree wobbles beneath him. For one horrible second I think momentum is going to make it tumble down, leaving me stranded. I even consider grabbing it and trying to hold it steady until I realize the weight of it could easily catapult me to my doom.

  By the time I’ve made all these realizations, I see that Dylan has landed, safe and cocky, on the other side, and is already winching up the zip line. He probably wont even wait for me, why break the habit of a lifetime now?

  As another rumble hits above me, I sit astride the trunk and shuffle my way along. The bark is wet and slippery, and I feel my hands slide off it on several occasions, testing my balance and my nerve.

  I’m fighting off rain, wind and a dollop of low cloud, just to really test me, and it doesn’t help when the tree trunk starts to groan and ache, reminding me that it is in no way happy about holding me like this. I ignore it and shuffle on, right to the very end.

  The gap seems bigger than it did five minutes ago – five times bigger – and suddenly I’m not sat on a log but stood on a brick wall, back on the estate, and there are little kids laughing and pointing at me, and I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t want to stand up. But I don’t want to stay here either, especially as Dyl has hauled the zip line handle up to the top and is already fastening his safety line to it.

  And you know what? By doing this, he does me the biggest favour, and I stand up instantly. I want him to see me make this jump, to see that no matter how many nettles rub against my bum, or how many times he traps me thirty metres in the air, he can’t beat me. Cos I’m Danny Mack, and without me, his sad little life would’ve been squashed flat minutes ago.

  But just as I make a mental note to remind him of this every five minutes for the rest of our lives, there’s an explosion from above. A crack of thunder, the loudest yet, and with it a blinding forked flash that zigzags behind me, hitting the exposed tree roots on which I’m standing. The trunk trembles with the impact, and there’s a new noise, a sizzle, and I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know that the tree is on fire.

  “YOU’RE KIDDING ME!”I wail, because how can anything as wet as this tree still be catching fire? But from the smell, I know it’s doing its very best.

  So I do the only thing I can do: I look forwards, not at the gap between me and safety, but on the lip that I need to land on. I can do this, I tell myself. I’m a free runner, I’m an explorer, I’m a soldi—

  And then the tree starts to give way beneath me.

  I feel it tip and turn and know that the moment is now – I need to go, throw myself forward before the spinning log sucks me down into the gorge.

  With every muscle and every sinew bursting, I launch myself, eyes fixed on the ledge. Wind whips my face and rain stabs at my eyes, but I ignore it. I’ve done too much these last few days, and had too many things done to me to fail now, and with each centimetre I cover, I feel my confidence grow.

  “ARGHHHHHH!” I yell, arms outstretched and braced, but the momentum seems to stop, and that forward motion morphs into a downward one. The ledge seems to be further instead of nearer, and I hear the tree trunk give up its fight as it topples head first into the gorge.

  I feel pain rip at my fingers as they bite into the stony ledge. The rest of my body slams into the ridge below, bruising me instantly, but my fingers hold on.

  I can do this, I tell myself, not even considering for a second about shouting for Dyl – he’s probably zipping down the line by now anyway. I dig my toes into the wall, finding a crevice I can use as leverage.

  I push, my legs straightening, my fingers on fire, until I can wedge my elbows onto the ledge instead. The wind gusts at me and pulls at my trouser legs, but I’m too close now to let it win, and with one final, monumental effort I swing my left leg up and onto the ledge, my body rolling with it, to safety.

  Everything hurts – my hands, my ribs, my legs, my brain – but all I can do is laugh. I turn my head up to the clouds and I laugh myself silly, drinking the rain as I do so.

  “You,” Dyl sneers, “are a nutter. And don’t even think about telling the others that you saved me up here. Cos let’s face it, no one will believe you.”

  Tucking his legs up and clinging to the zip line, he begins his final, speedy descent, leaving me alone, at the top, laughing like a loon and feeling like the king of the world.

  We wave at Geri from the window of the coach, and she salutes back, perfectly balanced despite the pot hugging her ankle and the crutches wedged under her arm.

  It wasn’t an emotional goodbye – elderly cyborg warriors don’t tend to cry often, probably cos it damages their wiring. The salute and the smile said all she needed to say.

  Miss D doesn’t say a right lot either. She just shakes her head endlessly, while whispering something about “never again”. Looks like she could do with a hug, to be honest.

  There’s plenty of chat on the bus, though. Everyone’s got a tale to tell, some of them true, a lot of them properly over-exaggerated. Everyone wants to be a hero, I suppose.

  Me? Not so much. I haven’t told anyone about what happened at the top of the mountain. Not because of what Dyl said – I don’t care if people believe him over me. I know what happened and so does he, and we’ll carry that over the next few days and weeks and months.

  I am watching Dyl thoug
h, sitting a few rows ahead. On his own, of course.

  And I’m watching him for a very good reason. Before we got on the bus, we had to make ourselves a packed lunch. And I managed to do a good thing. Well, for me at least.

  I got my old mate Giraffles to distract our Dylan, while I put on some gloves and swapped the wild rocket in his sandwich for something equally green, but way more spicy.

  I’ve never eaten nettles, but I hear they carry quite a kick. It might be a while before he gets hungry, but that’s OK. I can wait.

  I turn my head and look out the window as the countryside rolls past.

  There are fields and mountains and pylons as big as iron giants, and in the distance, there’s a big old beast, grazing on some grass. I look at Giraffles and MandM and Lucky and poor old Jonny, and we point, and smile, and say, all at the same time…

  “LOOK! A RHINO!”

  And then we laugh so hard we think we’ll never laugh again.

  Until, that is, our Dylan, opens up his lunch box…

  1. DID YOU GO ON SCHOOL TRIPS WHEN YOU WERE A KID?

  ANDY: I can remember just the one. I was in primary school and we went to Crystal Palace Park to see the life-sized concrete dinosaurs. I never went on any other school trips because normally parents had to pay, and my parents didn’t have the money to do so. But it was OK because there were lots of kids whose parents couldn’t pay, so it felt sort of normal and we became a bit of a gang.

  PHIL: Yes, but they were nowhere near as cool as the one in this book. We got to walk across the Humber Bridge (yawn). At the end of it you were given a commemorative spoon… To this day I have no idea why!

  2. WERE YOU USED TO THE COUNTRYSIDE AS A KID? WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER ABOUT IT?

  PHIL: I grew up in Hull, which has plenty of green areas but it is the flattest place on earth. The first proper hills I ever saw were in the Lake District, and it took my breath away (even before I started walking up them). I live in the hills now, and wouldn’t live anywhere else. I love it.

  ANDY: I was maybe ten or eleven years old when I first saw the countryside. I went with my dad to a place near Portsmouth called Cowplain, because he had to collect some furniture from an uncle there. I had never seen a cow before and was disappointed as there were only houses in Cowplain, so, while my dad loaded the furniture, my auntie drove me out to the countryside to see some cows. She explained how the milk came out of them, which was news to me. It was very exciting, as I didn’t realize how big they were!

  3. HAVE YOU CLIMBED MOUNTAINS? HAVE YOU EVER GOT LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS?

  ANDY: Yes, it happens sometimes when the clouds come down low over the mountain and you can’t even see in front of your nose. The last time this happened was when I was in the Black Mountains in Wales. The only thing to do is stop and keep warm and dry before trying to work out where you are. Only then can you start moving to where you want to be. If you keep moving while not knowing where you are, you become even more lost.

  PHIL: I have. I’ve climbed, abseiled and walked up them, including in Peru, where I had the most embarrassing experience of my life … see below!

  4. WOULD YOU KNOW HOW TO USE A MAP IF YOU GOT LOST?

  PHIL: I wouldn’t have a clue! I like to follow my nose…

  ANDY: I learnt to read a map when I joined the army and it is still taught to all soldiers because it’s so important. Technology can run out of power, it can get broken or lost when used out in the field. If that happens, soldiers have to go back to getting out their map and compass and going old school.

  5. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN KAYAKING? AND DO YOU HAVE ANY TIPS ABOUT STAYING SAFE IN THE WATER?

  PHIL: I have. I went sea Kayaking in Canada. We paddled out to a deserted island and slept out there. It was incredibly exciting.

  ANDY: I haven’t been kayaking, but I suppose the best way to stay safe in the water is to learn how to swim – and also to learn the skills to save others.

  6. WHEN DID YOU LEARN TO SWIM?

  ANDY: I learnt with mates at the local baths. We just messed about bombing each other and poor unsuspecting swimmers, and we sort of got the hang of swimming through trial and error!

  PHIL: I learnt when I was young. It basically involved being shouted at by a man who was bitter that he wasn’t quite good enough to go to the Olympics. I’m not a very good swimmer, and I absolutely blame him for it…

  7. HAVE you EVER MADE A BIG JUMP AND FALLEN?

  ANDY: Thousands of times! Falling isn’t the problem; it’s the last centimetre before hitting the ground when it starts to become painful.

  PHIL: YES!!! About fifteen years ago, I went trekking in Peru. We were walking up to Machu Picchu, and on the first night we camped in a clearing on the edge of a mountain. Now I’m not a snob, but the toilet was exactly like the one in this book. It was a bucket with a bin-liner in. Oh my word … it STANK. And you could see what everyone had done in there before you, so I was desperate not to use it. That night though, before I went to bed, I needed a pee, so instead of using the toilet tent, I decided to walk off the clearing and wee in the trees. The only problem was, it was dark, and I walked off the edge of the mountain instead, and slid about forty metres down the cliff. It was properly, properly scary, and even more embarrassing, as the trek leader had to abseil down to retrieve me… I’m blushing even thinking about it.

  8. HOW WOULD YOU DEAL WITH DANGEROUS TERRAIN, OR BEING SCARED?

  PHIL: Probably really badly. I think I’ll stick to writing about it.

  ANDY: The best way is to avoid it if you can. Try going around it to get where you need to be. People think that being scared is weakness, but it isn’t. Even boxers are scared but they call being scared “the gift of fear”. Fear makes you more determined to get on with the task and succeed.

  9. WHAT WOULD MOTIVATE YOU TO KEEP GOING WHEN YOU’RE TIRED, COLD OR HURT?

  ANDY: There is nothing else to do but accept the situation you are in and just get on with getting out of it!

  PHIL: Probably the thought of food at the end of it. Pie and chips, that should do it.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Huge thanks to Jodie, Emily, Philippa, Robin, Pete, Sam, Rachel, Beth and definitely Fiz who edited on the dash without ever breaking sweat!

  – Andy & Phil

  Big love to Albie, Elsie, Stanley, Louise (xx), Rufus, Bebe and Nancy. You lot make me proper happy – Phil

  Scholastic Children’s Books

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  First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

  This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

  Text copyright © Andy McNab and Phil Earle, 2019

  Illustration copyright © Robin Boyden, 2019

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  eISBN 978 1407 19568 1

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, event
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