Pig Apples: Horse Apples, #3

By Ged Maybury

Back in Kainui, Randy & Piho have cooked up a new money-making scheme: selling mysterious 'Pig Apples' to a mysterious French chef for gob-smacking amounts of dosh. Randy's getting rich but he's not happy. The apple-of-his-eye Tammy Turinger is still furious about his holiday blunder. What can he possible do to get back in her good books? Why – join "A.R.F" of course: the Animal Rights Federation, and start protesting!  Then Randy opens his dumb mouth and triggers a secret mission to invade Barry Boyd's disgusting pig farm, dressed as a girl with a camera in her bra!

Meanwhile, dirty-dealing Boyd is once again trying to grease his way into the good-books of Kainui by promoting the first ever Environmental Arts Festival, much to Beau's delight.

On the big day, however, ARF has other plans: "Free the Pigs!". Chaos and panic, but at least Barry Boyd's villainy is exposed, and the town's finances are saved. Then things really turn to crap!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ged Maybury
• Release date: Oct 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393033646

Ged Maybury

Ged Maybury is an Australasian author of children's and YA novelist, with 14 books conventionally published (not counting this series) and a lot more in the pipeline. Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 1994: “The Triggerstone” Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 2001: “Crab Apples” He began 1994 in his favourite genre: Science Fiction, later adding comedy and slice-of-life, and finally returned to his sci-fi roots with Steampunk. This series is aimed at young adults and anyone else who likes an engaging adventure, but as far as any full-on “adult” content goes: well that's just not his thing. (Okay – there's a bit of it.) He was born in Christchurch, New Zealand, and grew up in Dunedin; dux of his school; blah-blah-blah … Went into architecture, ended up in the performing arts and has been writing plays, poetry and books ever since. He also has earned some notoriety as a Cosplayer and Costumer, Steampunk Sculptor, Performance Poet and Story-teller. Occasionally he writes plays and films. Even more occasionally they get produced. WORLD-FIRST: Maybury lays claim to the world's first custom-written theme-song to a book. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRQ29QkfKNE He currently lives in Brisbane, Australia. He has a blog and a Wikipedia entry, and is on Facebook.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE DOG RAN ONTO THE road, his tail wagging and his fat black belly swaying from side to side.  He was happy - he’d found something very interesting.

Blowfly!  Hey, Blowfly!! called Piho.

Come here, boy!! called his mate Randy, C’mon!  But the dog didn’t come.  Didn’t those humans understand?  This was dead possum!  Blowfly’s pleasure was short-lived.  Piho grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off the fur-and-guts pancake. 

Geez, Dog! he growled, As if you hadn’t had enough breakfast already!

Waddya mean? asked Randy as he caught up, puffing.

This isn’t a dog, explained Piho, it’s an eating machine!  He scoffed my breakfast while I wasn’t looking, then he had a go at the Sunday roast.  Wasn’t even defrosted!

So that’s why your mum sent you out?

Yeah, to keep him from trying to eat the stove too. 

Randy laughed and they went on up the narrow country road.  Blowfly whined pathetically and looked back at his missed prize. 

So anyway, asked Randy at last, how come you’ve suddenly got a dog?  I thought your folks weren’t the doggy type. 

"Well, he’s actually one of Uncle Matt’s pig-dogs, but unc’ shot himself in the hip last Thursday.  It was Blowfly’s fault, apparently.  Knocked the gun and bang!  So unc’s in hospital and we’re taking care of his dogs.  Actually my cousins scored the good ones, and I got dumped with this thing!"

Randy peered at Blowfly, What’s wrong with him?

"What’s wrong with him!? exclaimed Piho, He’s just the most stupid, useless pig-dog ever born!  Here, I’ll show you.  Piho found a stick, Hey, Blowfly, chase the stick!"  Piho waved it twice then threw.  Blowfly ran around in a circle, woofing, watching Piho’s hand intently for another stick to appear. 

See?

But Randy wasn’t exactly listening.  He was looking at a scruffy old signboard half-vanished into the scrub at the edge of the road.

JOURNALE FOREST RESERVE

This land was given to the

Kainui District Council by

Jacques Journale  1882 - 1961

I didn’t know this was here.

Didn’t you? asked Piho, giving up on the stick, It’s been here for yonks.

Has it?

Nah; aliens put it here last night.

Oh.  Randy looked up at the forest of old trees that covered the hill.  It was nearly the middle of winter but a scattering of autumn leaves still fluttered on the branches.  Very pretty.  Looks more like England, doesn’t it? he said.

You've never been there.

Nah, course not.  Seen it on TV.

Uh.

There was an open gate beside the sign.  Blowfly tugged forward against Piho’s grip, gasping in his choker-chain and dribbling endlessly.  They could hear a car coming up the road, and it was narrow.  Piho let Blowfly loose.  He bounded up the path and they followed at a more leisurely pace.  The track was hardly used and carpeted in a thick layer of fallen leaves.  Randy looked about.  The sun beamed through the leaves in long faint parallel shafts, highlighting every subtle shade of colour.  In the soft silence an invisible bird sang.

Geez this is boring! 

He started looking around for a stick to break or something to kick to pieces.  Then he noticed that the ground was covered in thousands of little nut-like things.  He bent down and scooped some up.  Cool, look at these!  Hey - I know!  They’re acorns!  I’ve seen them on TV!  He looked up, So, these must be acorn trees then.

"Oak trees, you moron!" Piho said.

I knew that! snapped Randy indignantly.

They mooched on.  Blowfly was running about, sniffing and grunting.  He’d come back every minute or so to slobber on the boys’ shoes before racing off again.  Happy dog. 

The boys were happy too.  Blowfly wasn’t getting hit by cars or rolling in dead possum.

Hey,’ said Piho suddenly let’s see if we can find the apple trees." 

Apple trees?

Nah, I said booger trees.  Course I meant apple trees!  There’s a place somewhere up here where an old house used to be and there’s like two or three apple trees and stuff.  C’mon.  Piho started heading up the hill.  Randy followed.  But then they both stopped.  Blowfly was barking somewhere behind them.

"Aww, geez!  Now what?!" 

He’s probably got a possum up a tree! yelled Piho enthusiastically, Come on!  And he went crashing back down the hill. 

They found Blowfly scuffing madly at the ground and barking joyously. 

He’s got something! said Randy.

I can’t see anything, replied Piho doubtfully.

"Well he must have something."

"Nah; this is Blowfly we’re talking about!" sneered Piho.  He bent and looked closely at the spot where the dog was digging.  It all just looked like dirt.  Blowfly scratched deeper, paused, woofed at the dirt, and dug some more.  He had exposed part of a tree-root and seemed to be trying to pull it right out of the ground. 

Randy glanced impatiently at his watch.

What’s the rush? asked Piho.

Nothin’. Randy muttered, gazing off through the trees.  He was wondering what Tammy was doing.

AH, TAMMY!  LONG THIN gawky Tammy Turinger.  How he loved her!  And how she hadn’t talked to him all year – since that silly business last summer.  Just a little accident, that was all - a few hundred people got splattered with rotten seaweed.  No big deal, but snd she’d taken it all so personally!  Sheesh!

HEY! SHOUTED PIHO suddenly, It’s an ant nest or something!

Randy snapped back to reality.  There was certainly something in Blowfly’s hole; a black golf-ball-sized knob.  Piho pulled Blowfly back and grabbed it.  There was no sign of any ants. 

What the heck’s that? asked Randy.

Dunno.  Piho had to hold it higher to stop Blowfly from pawing it from his hand.  The dog whined anxiously after its prize.  The boys peered at the object.  It looked sort of shrivelled, and slightly sticky, and sort of woody, but not totally hard.  It’s a petrified alien’s brain! Piho suddenly announced, waving it around in the air, Weee-zooo-weee-zoooo...!

Gizza a squeeze. begged Randy.

Piho backed off and looked at him peculiar-like, Aww, what are ya?

No, I mean let me touch it! 

Piho laughed and handed it over.  Randy squeezed it.  It was like a very firm sponge.  Almost wood, but not quite.  And it had a distinctive smell.  Randy sniffed it closely.  Pwwugh!

What?  Piho took it back and sniffed too.  Pig. he said with authority.

Eh?

It smells like a wild pig.

Just smells like rotten chocolate to me, said Randy, come on!

Okay.  Piho slung the object away and they began walking again.  Blowfly took off like a shot.  He was back in ten seconds, holding it in his happy-doggy slobber-gob, proud of getting it back.  He dropped it on the ground.  Piho threw it away again.

So they proceeded in this fashion, hurling the increasingly gross object away through the trees and letting Blowfly tear after it.  It kept him busy, and kept him close, and so they could get on with finding that place. 

They found it eventually.  Only three old apple trees were still alive.  Piho picked two apples from the best looking tree.  Here, try one, he said, letting Randy bite first.

Yeck! spluttered Randy, spitting out his first mouthful, sour!

Target practice! called Piho, hurling his away and grinning to himself.

They threw apples for a while, choosing different targets around the glade, until Randy remembered to check the time.  Arrrgh!  It’s nearly twelve!

They started back.  By now Blowfly’s beloved alien-brain had been thoroughly chewed to death, so he’d gone off to find another one.  The boys called, and swore, but it was useless.  The dog was nowhere to be seen. 

Then, Woof –woof- woof- woof...!

They found him digging away frantically at the roots of another tree.  Randy got down and helped with a sturdy stick.  A minute later they had unearthed another alien-brain, about the same as the first one.  Randy plucked it out of the dirt the moment he saw it, Come on, boy, he said, moving downhill towards Kainui.  Blowfly followed obediently.

Aww, let him have it! said Piho.

Nah, replied Randy, waving the alien brain slowly left and right, saying in a suitably villainous voice, "I - HAVE - HIM - IN - MY - POWER!"

And indeed he did.  All the way home Blowfly trotted neatly along behind them, looking slightly perplexed but otherwise totally happy.  He even went past the possum-pancake without much more than a brief sniff.

AT PIHO’S PLACE THE smell of Sunday roast was heavy in the air and Blowfly finally lost interest in the alien-brain. He had a stove to chew open.  But Piho grabbed his collar, dragged him to the porch and clipped him to his chain. 

See you after lunch? he called back to Randy, who was already off home.

Nah, sighed Randy, I think we’re all s’posed to be going out for a Sunday drive.  Oh God give me a gun!  Stuck in a car for two hours with my sister!

Better you than me! said Piho cheerfully, See ya!

Yeah; termorra!  Randy stuck the alien-brain in his jacket pocket and headed for home with things on his mind.  He went a roundabout way, past Tammy’s place, just in case he saw her.  Just in case she’d changed her mind.

But he didn’t, and she hadn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

HE WAS LATE FOR LUNCH.  His parents were annoyed, and so was big sister Beau.  It was Sunday, the day she was allowed to drive the family car.  Since she’s got her learner’s license she had become a total pain.  (Before that she’d only been a partial pain, which was painful enough!)

Hurry up and eat! she chanted at Randy relentlessly as he ate his half-cold lunch, while his mother and father did the dishes nearby.  So Randy slowed down.

Quit it! Beau snapped, You’re only doing that to bug me!

Beau! came a warning from Mother, And Randy, don’t do that to your sister!

Do what? he asked in an injured tone.

You know what!

Randy said nothing and kept eating, normal human speed.  His true speed was Human-Vacuum-Cleaner speed. 

Okay: lunch done. It was Sunday-drive time.  He changed his clothes and dutifully took his place in the