Umbadinga

By Calie Coppinger

When an end-of-term field trip goes horribly wrong and not all the students return, the teacher loses the plot. One student hatches a plan and together with the school bus driver, they attempt their own rescue mission. The lost children enter a new world through a subterranean portal and things take a twist when the group get split up. Umbadinga is full of mystery and intrigue. Their pursuit for self-preservation leads them into encounters with weird and wonderful creatures, but not all of them are friendly. Become part of the adventure in Umbadinga, be a fly on the wall during the battle and mind-boggling escapes. But the big problem is, can they get back home again? That's for you to find out!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528944670

Calie Coppinger

Originally from a small Shropshire town in the UK, Calie moved with her husband and three sons to Palmerston North in New Zealand, where they began a new life. When her sons, Brooke, Dominick and Charles, no longer needed nagging, Calie picked up a pen and began to write. The problem was, she couldn't stop, her imagination was running riot. So brace yourselves for an awesome adventure into a strange world with even stranger inhabitants!

Book preview

Fifty

About the Author

Originally from a small Shropshire town in the UK, Calie moved with her husband and three sons to Palmerston North in New Zealand, where they began a new life. When her sons, Brooke, Dominick and Charles, no longer needed nagging, Calie picked up a pen and began to write. The problem was, she couldn’t stop, her imagination was running riot.

So brace yourselves for an awesome adventure into a strange world with even stranger inhabitants!

Dedication

To my husband, Steve. Thank you for making my dreams come true.

Copyright Information

Copyright © Calie Coppinger (2019)

The right of Calie Coppinger to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781788486743 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788486750 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781528944670 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Chapter One

Esher Venn leapt out of bed, his phone alarm was going off like a ship’s siren driving him nuts. It wasn’t his birthday, and it wasn’t Christmas Day… Today was his geology field-trip. The 7 Green geology field-trip to Summerville Caves to be exact.

Yippee, shouted Esher, Its ‘mufti’ day.

He stood in his bedroom window and scanned, up and down, Upham Terrace. He heard the front door bang, his mum’s china cabinet rattled as a consequence. Esher pushed his overly large aviator spectacles higher up his nose, and re-adjusted his gaze, just in time to see his father walking down the garden path. On the opposite side of the street, Esher could see his uncle, Horace, also walking down his garden path. Uncle Horace and Mr Venn met in the middle of the street, shook hands, turned on the heels of their gum boots beautifully synchronised, and walked until they were out of view.

They do that five days a week and fifty weeks of the year. What do they find to talk about? he said out loud, It’s only twelve hours since they last saw one another.

Uncle Horace and Mr Venn had worked together since they were boys. Both born in the same street, in the old town of Upper Piddle, in the Waidoggo Valley, stuck in the middle of nowhere. There wasn’t much work in Upper Piddle these days, but Uncle Horace and Mr Venn were very lucky. They had worked at the local winery, since they were sixteen years old. They would walk the four kilometres to the ‘Nats Peace Winery’ five days of the week, come rain or shine. Having worn through thirty-six pairs of gum boots each in the process!

They had seen many changes over the years: from oak barrels to metal casks, and manual to mechanical processing. In fact, they were both very happy when technology took over the winery, as the grape treading had played havoc with Mr Venn’s bunions, and Uncle Horace was allergic to the yeast on the grapes. It made him sneeze so much that Mr Nathaniel Peace, the owner of the ‘Nats Peace Winery’ banned them both from grape treading. He didn’t like the thought of having bunions and bogeys in his award-winning wine, so they were both banished to the bottling room.

Esher shuddered, scrunched his shoulders into his neck and turned his back to the window. He glanced down at his watch, which he had forgotten to take off the night before. Jeepers I’d better get a shower, or I’ll be late for school.

His shower was a lick and a promise. Esher was far too excited to wash everything more than once. He grabbed his dinosaur towel off the heated towel rail and cloaked himself in it, drying his face with the chewed corners of the towel first. His grandma had sent him the dinosaur towel for his tenth birthday. The birthday card that accompanied it said, ‘to be used for school sports’. There was no way on the planet that Esher was going to take the dinosaur towel to school.

My street cred would be ruined, thought Esher, as he pulled the towel in a sawing motion across his back.

It was supposed to be summer, but there was a nip in the air. Esher ran across the landing in the direction of his bedroom, he had left the door open, his ‘radioactive poster’ flapped gently in the draught, his hurried excitement produced.

What shall I wear? Its ‘mufti’ day, if I donate one day’s school dinner money, then I don’t have to wear school uniform for the trip. Esher didn’t get pocket money from his parents, so he funded his hobbies with an evening paper-round, delivering the local evening news to the neighbours.

Esher had two loves in his life: music and clothes. He was always immaculately dressed. He would save up his paper-round wages to buy the latest trendy clothes, jeans and trainers were his favourites. Esher had also inherited his father’s love of soul music and, between the two of them, had an amazing music collection. As a result of their extensive collection, Esher had been nominated as the school DJ for their end of term discos.

Esher always wore ear phones, they seemed to be a permanent fixture. You could always tell when he was playing his music because his body would be gyrating to the beat, and his head bobbing from side to side like a boxer training.

Esher continued with his towel sawing action, staring blankly into his wardrobe, the doors still flapping open from the day before.

So, what shall I wear today? Esher pulled a face as he pondered.

The wardrobe shelf was very neatly stacked with beautifully folded t-shirts and jumpers. His shirts hung in a neat, colour co-ordinated row, starting with white and ending with black. He wrapped and tucked the towel around his waist, then grabbed his jeans off the chair and threw them onto his unmade bed.

Esher tugged at the lower drawer of his wardrobe with both hands, almost falling backwards in the process.

I really must get Dad to fix this drawer, he thought.

Inside were Esher’s boxer shorts and socks. He grabbed a pair of socks that had Friday written on them and scrambled around looking for the matching boxers.

Esher, are you dressed yet? his mum shouted up the stairs.

Near as damn it, Mum, he shouted back. I’d best get a wriggle on, he thought, letting his towel drop to the floor.

Esher hopped on his left leg waving his right foot in the direction of his Friday boxers. He was trying to rush now, his co-ordination was somewhat below par. He re-adjusted his boxers quickly, as his excitement and hurried dressing had resulted in a rather painful wedgie, which took his breath away somewhat.

Esher thought it was safer to sit on his bed to put his jeans on, especially as they were a snug fit and he didn’t want to turn up at school with an injury. With the waistband gaping on his jeans, Esher peered into his wardrobe once again, and pulled out a sparkling, white t-shirt. He quickly pulled it over his head and fought his hands through the sleeves. Esher sat back down on his bed and pulled on his socks. He pushed his head between his knees and felt under the bed for his trainers. He smoothed out the puckered heels on his socks, and thrust both feet simultaneously into his trainers, grabbing both pairs of laces, he pulled hard. He scrunched up the laces with his fingers and stuffed them neatly behind the tongues with his thumbs. Esher sprung up from his bed landing in front of his full-length mirror. Everything was a bit of a blur, he swung out his arm and grabbed his mock tortoiseshell aviator spectacles from his bedside locker and slipped them over his ears. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and began to finger comb the layers of his poker straight, brown hair, paying more attention to his fringe. He was pleased with his look, he was trussed up, tucked in, trimmed with a belt, and ready for action.

Esher, his mum shouted up the stairs, exhaling deeply in frustration.

Coming, Esher shouted back grabbing his rucksack from the floor. He was always well organised, colour co-ordinated and punctual, although, punctuality had suffered recently, with his inability to make the school bus on time.

He raced down the stairs, two at a time, landing on the hall mat with a thud. The china cabinet rattled again.

What is it this morning, Esher, cereal, muesli, smoothie or fruit? asked his mum, Esher was a very faddy eater, he drove his mum bananas with his food crazes.

Muesli with fruit please, he said as he pulled the chair out from under the table.

I’ve only got strawberries, Esher, it is Friday you know, lean doo’s on a Friday, said his mum raising her eyebrows.

Saturday was shopping day for the Venn household. Friday was curry night, ordered and collected from the local takeaway, and breakfast was usually toast, a Venn staple.

Strawberries, lovely, yes please, a real treat for a Friday breakfast.

Esher poured the chilled milk into his bowl from the chipped china jug and stirred the muesli with his spoon. His mum dropped a handful of chopped strawberries onto Esher’s muesli, sending the milk splashing in all directions as they plopped. One of which, was at his crisp, white t-shirt.

Oh, Mum, said Esher squeezing his chin onto his chest looking for a milk stain.

It will dry Esher, get a move on, said his mum sliding a small bar of milk chocolate onto the table beside him.

Cool, ta, Mum, said Esher studying the wrapper.

Esher continued to shovel the muesli into his mouth at high speed, his jaw grinding faster and faster.

He picked up the chocolate bar and slipped it into his back pocket and left the table.

Do you need a jacket, Esher?

It’s okay, Mum, there’s one in my bag, I’m off now, Esher swung his rucksack over his shoulder and strutted towards the door.

Have a good day, Esher, wallet, watch, spectacles,

Yes, Mum, all sorted. See you later, Esher could hear the china cabinet rattling as he jogged down the garden path.

I’m surprised that china isn’t in hundreds of pieces, he thought as he ran for the school bus at high speed.

Chapter Two

Miss Caro Van Hyre hovered over her desk glaring at her form register. She had only worked at Angus, McCawtup High School for ten months, and was still settling in. Her specialist subject was geology.

Form 7 Green was not only her youngest geology class, but her tutor group.

Miss Van Hyre was straight out of university, with the exception of a gap year travelling in Europe. She stood five feet tall, or short depending on your own height, and had ginger, wavy hair that hit her shoulders as if in shock. She had a solid, womanly figure, with contours in almost all the right places. Her rosy, red cheeks matched the colour of her super-shiny lip gloss, outlining her lips in such a way that gave her the appearance of having a permanent pucker.

Her potent perfume was her downfall, it was so pungent that students would be scattered against the corridor walls, wheezing as she walked past. Miss Van Hyre didn’t seem to notice. Even her flimsy blouses could not escape the torment of the perfume, their necks and collars stained a lovely shade of vomititous yellow.

Miss Van Hyre had no real style sense, her blouses were always bulging, with buttons taking far more strain than was technically quoted. She always wore skirts, but not today. Today was different, it was leggings day, and the black super-stretchy leggings were already at their elastic limits, one wrong move and all hell would be let loose.

Miss Van Hyre looked across the classroom with a start as the door opened at high speed and hit the worn, rusty door stop.

Form 7 Green students piled into the classroom. A crescendo of excitement and chair legs deafened her. She folded into her chair staring at the door. She waited for the noise to subside, then stood up, and with a loud raspy voice shouted, Good morning everyone.

The classroom noise died back to that of a badly tuned radio.

Before we walk to the school bus, I need to take the register, so bear with me, and I will be as quick as I can, shouted Miss Van Hyre over the buzz of the ‘static’ students. She sat back down at her desk and methodically went through the register in alphabetical order, everyone was present and correct.

Okay, thanks for that everyone, we will waste no more time as I know you’re all eager to get out of here and off to Summerville. I will go over the rules with all the ‘Do’s and Don’ts’ on the way to the caves.

With that Miss Van Hyre lifted the register and slammed it shut. She stood up from her desk and strode towards the door. Her black leather boots kept her enormous feet captive whilst she counted heads as they all filed past.

Miss Van Hyre stood at the front of the bus holding tightly to the back of the drivers’ seat to steady herself.

She doesn’t need to hold on with feet that size, thought Moo Poo, who was sat with Justin on the front seat of the bus. She’s never going to topple over.

Right everyone, shouted Miss Van Hyre as loud as her raspy voice would allow. Let me introduce you all to Mr Withers, our driver.

Miss Van Hyre introduced the driver as if he was a famous stage performer.

Perhaps Mr Withers is going to break into song? said Rea nudging Shirley a little harder than intended. Shirley looked up robotically and glared at Rea with a vacant expression.

You what?

Oh, never mind, said Rea, the moment has gone.

Miss Van Hyre continued. Mr Withers has asked me to insist that you all sit still, belt up, and keep the noise to a minimum.

The bus began to hum with boos and hisses, no one was really listening anyway, they were all too fixated on their electronic gadgets, and had already ‘zoned out’ at the ‘right everyone’ stage.

Esher already had his ear phones stuffed carefully inside the meatus of his shell-like ears, he hadn’t heard a word. He was nodding like a lucky pottery cat in a Chinese takeaway to the beat of the music.

Esher sat next to Willy, they were great friends, despite spending the whole journey in complete silence.

William Nilly was tall and slim, in fact, he had quite an athletic physique for a bakers’ son. He had short, dark, spiky hair. Large, dark, staring eyes. Goofy, white teeth and a pale and yeasty complexion which accentuated his dark eyes. Willy was a popular boy, everyone liked Willy. Not least because he would take cakes and cookies to his rugby matches and share them with the team.

Esher and Willy had one very big thing in common; they both loved music.

Miss Van Hyre sat behind Mr Withers in her own personal space, she watched as the countryside flicked past like an old-fashioned slide projector. She was oblivious to the happy hum on the bus as she too had ‘zoned out’.

Mr Withers brought the school bus to an abrupt halt outside the ticket office at Summerville Caves.

Miss Van Hyre rose from her seat, and once again held onto the back of Mr Withers seat.

Right everyone, Mr Withers will unload the packed lunches and hand one to each of you. They’re all the same, I’m afraid. Please listen carefully to the instructions from the tour guide, and stay together, I don’t want to lose anyone. Okay, let’s go and have some educational fun, shouted Miss Van Hyre watching each student as they walked past her, and descend the bus steps to the pavement.

As the last student got off, Miss Van Hyre waltzed towards the back of the bus, turned on her heels and walked back again, checking each seat as if counting invisible passengers.

Mr Withers stood on the pavement handing out brown paper carrier bags. School dinners were not particularly popular at Angus McCawtup High School and were often used as ammunition in food fights. Esher held out his hand towards Mr Withers, who hung the handles of the bag across Esher’s fingers.

Thanks, shouted Esher in a loud unruly voice. He was still listening to his music and had no concept of volume control. Mr Withers flinched and took a step backwards, then waited for Esher to move on.

Chapter Three

Miss Van Hyre negotiated her way to the front of the group with a degree of difficulty, as most of the students in 7 Green towered above her. She eventually arrived at the front, and heaved her unfit body up onto the top step.

Now that you have your lunches, please put them in your bags, and make sure you take all your rubbish back to school. Listen carefully to the tour guide, and behave yourselves, please behave yourselves. Miss Van Hyres enthusiastic voice tailed off, her brain was already one step ahead, imagining all possible scenarios of a badly behaved tutor group.

At that moment, a strange looking man arrived, and stood statuesquely next to Miss Van Hyre.

Quieten down everyone, put away all your phones and gadgets, our tour guide has arrived, shouted Miss Van Hyre.

Rocky was an old man, well, at least 30. He was tall, very tall, with short inside legs, long arms and an over-stretched torso. He had a kind, clean-shaven face and a mop of curly black hair.

Good mm-mm-morning, my name is Ro-Ro-Rocky, Miss Van Hyre seemed to deflate, she desperately hoped that Rocky had a hearing impairment as well as a stutter.