Brighton Lockdown Adventure: Brighton Adventure Stories, #1

By TDL White

A mysterious stranger with an evil plan. A squirrel assassin with a chequered past. And two children who will do anything to save their town.

 

James is stuck in school for the holidays and feeling sorry for himself. But when he stumbles upon the hideout of a local gang of thieves led by a mysterious stranger, he won't let lockdown stop him from investigating.

 

Jenny hasn't been outside in weeks. Then some nasty out-of-town polecats kidnap her neighbour's dog, Teddy, and she finds herself in an impossible position: break lockdown and rescue Teddy, or let the polecats eat him for dinner.

 

With the help of a pair of mercenary rats, along with a deadly squirrel assassin, James and Jenny must find Teddy, stop the thieves, and solve a mystery that threatens to destroy their town.

 

This story is an exciting and magical adventure, perfect for children ages 9 to 12. And perfect for adults who love children's fantasy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brighton Adventure Press
• Release date: Aug 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838147501

Book preview

BRIGHTON LOCKDOWN ADVENTURE

Brighton Adventure Press

Chapter 1: The Drop Lifters

For James, school holidays had always meant time off school. Not anymore. Now, holidays meant coming to school and having to run cross-country every day. The weird thing was, he didn’t mind at all.

The footsteps behind him grew louder. Maisie’s footsteps. Her feet tapped out a familiar rhythm on the sun-baked ground. James had learned to dread the sound. She always caught him up right about now. Not this time, though. He forced his legs to keep moving.

Mrs Fairweather cheered him on, and he crossed the line just before Maisie tore past him. The younger girl peeled off and sat down in the shade.

Well done, James! Mrs Fairweather said. Keep going! Once more round!

James slowed but did not stop. Hot, sweaty and breathing hard, he kept on running. Although his side ached with a stitch, he managed a smile.

By the time he finished his final lap, all nine of the other runners sat waiting on the grass under the tree. James staggered over to them and they clapped him. Last by a mile again. But this was the first time in a month that Maisie hadn’t lapped him. The clap was well earned.

The headteacher came out with bottles of water for everyone. She put a box down at the top of the grassy slope and backed away. Everyone lined up two metres apart, collected a bottle, and sat back down in the shade. Still keeping their distance. They knew the routine off by heart, and James even had a particular clump of daisies that marked his spot.

Mrs Fairweather, their allocated teacher for the day, clearly enjoyed being outside. She wasn’t in any hurry to usher them back to the IT suite that had become their sole classroom under lockdown. So they drank their water and chatted, while the teacher reclined in the sunshine.

Apart from ten children sitting on the grass, the school lay empty. Everyone else stayed at home. Probably. The group of runners were the only students that were forced to attend school; and James only came in three days a week.

Max nattered away, giving everyone the low-down on a series of delivery-thefts around town. My dad had a go at the Amazon guy when he came yesterday, he said. Told him he shouldn’t go running away after ringing the bell. It encourages the thieves.

James would normally have argued with Max and told him that the delivery people were right to keep their distance. But Max was stuck in school for five days a week, which entitled him to a bit of a rant every now and again.

The guy just got back in his van and drove off! Max continued. Didn’t even reply. So rude.

My mum calls them the Packet Pinchers, Maisie said.

That’s funny. We call them Package Pirates, Elena said. The woman next door told us they nicked a box of cat litter she’d ordered.

Cat litter? What’d they want with cat litter? Louis asked.

They don’t know what’s in the parcels, James said. They just take any they see. Some of them might be valuable. Some of them not.

Drop Lifters, Max said with authority. That’s what the Argus calls them. It said that a hoard of youths are terrorising Brighton’s doorsteps. Bunch of bored kids, if you ask me.

In other news: the supermarkets were almost back to normal; one of the local parks had to be closed for overcrowding; and there had been a series of break-ins at a number of businesses in the town centre.

When Max had run out of local gossip, Mrs Fairweather let out a sigh. I suppose we should get back to lessons, she said, and she led the way back up to the IT suite.

‘Lessons’ was a bit of a grand title for sitting at a computer for hours. Each child had their own dedicated desk and computer in the IT suite. And each desk was positioned two metres from its nearest neighbour. They all accessed the same work that everyone else did from home. Or didn’t do. But that was it. That was lessons.

Apart from the daily cross-country runs that counted as PE, they spent the rest of school time in the IT suite. The headteacher even brought their lunches up for them to eat at their desks. Apparently, that meant that fewer staff had to come into school to clean things up.

And James didn’t mind it at all. He had settled into a nice routine. It only took him about an hour to complete the full day’s work, and after that, nobody seemed to mind what he did. Program on Scratch, watch YouTube, play games, whatever he wanted. And even though he didn’t actually get to see his friends, he kept in touch through email and messaging.

As soon as he sat down at his desk, he started writing a message to Jenny, his oldest friend. She was isolating at home. But not like everyone else; living normally and not going out much. Jenny had self-diagnosed as a super spreader and prescribed herself a course of total isolation. Wouldn’t come out of her room at all. Did everything in there.

Max’s news about the break-ins around town was exactly the kind of thing Jenny would want to know. James got halfway through writing the message before he remembered that Jenny’s phone had stopped working. Her only link to the outside world had broken. He’d only found out because he popped round on Sunday when she stopped replying to his messages and one of her older sisters told him.

James sat back and spun round slowly in the office chair. A broken phone made it almost impossible to contact his friend. That was one of the most frustrating things about the pandemic. That, and how annoying his parents were being about it all. He actually felt lucky that he got to go to school three days a week. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were his schooldays. Even during holidays. Thursday, Friday and the weekend he stayed at home. All because his mum had to go into the London office every day and his dad could only work from home for two days a week.

If you had told James before lockdown that he was going to be getting a four-day weekend every week, he would have jumped for joy. But unluckily for James, his parents took lockdown extremely seriously. Which meant he was only allowed outside for half an hour a day. He spent the rest of his four-day weekends inside alone. Even two laps of the school field in the hot sun was better than that.

No spinning, James, Mrs Fairweather’s voice drifted over the computers. Try to keep your breathing in one direction, not out toward everyone else.

James caught the desk as it came round and stared at his half-written message. Today was Wednesday. That meant that his four days of boredom at home were about to start. He sighed and deleted the message. Another one popped up in his inbox. From Max, with the subject ‘Impressive skills!’. He opened it and watched a video of someone turning a log into a wooden spoon with an axe. He had to admit, it was impressive.

When he finally walked out into the fine spring sunshine, James had watched a lot of wood-carving videos. Not quite enough to distract him from his impending home boredom, though. And so he ambled along, taking as many long-cuts as he could find, while all the time heading in the general direction of his house.

The sun beat down, and he drifted to the shady side of the street. He decided to cut through Withdean Park, up and over the hill, and then make his way to Preston Park. That would keep him under the trees and out of the sun as much as possible.

A white van pulled up ahead of him. The first moving vehicle he’d seen since leaving school. The driver got out, fished a parcel from the back and ran it through the front garden to the door of a yellow-painted house. They knocked twice on the door, put the package on the doorstep, and then jogged back.

James paused to give the man space to cross the pavement. The driver smiled at James through a homemade face mask, then got back in the van, made a note, and drove off to his next stop. That had become totally normal behaviour in lockdown: contactless delivery.

The package sat alone on the front step, waiting for the inhabitants to emerge and claim it. James walked on, remembering his own mask and putting it on. Jenny made him promise to wear one, and he felt guilty for forgetting it.

There was a twitten ahead between two houses. It was a narrow path punctuated with steps that led from the street up to the woods on the north side of Withdean Park. James turned off the pavement and started up the first set of stairs at the start of the twitten.

Where’d he go? an out-of-breath voice called out from the street behind him.

Up here, I told you. Get a move on and check the doors as you go! a second voice hissed.

For a moment, James thought the voices were after him. They did not sound like they wanted to make new friends. He tucked in close to a bush at the side of the twitten and watched the street through the gap between the houses.

Two youths on bikes rode past. Both older than James. Both wearing face masks. Both with courier bags slung over their shoulders. Neither of them paid any attention to the twitten or to James. He relaxed a little. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he moved level with the house on the left and peered back up the road.

The bikers stopped by the yellow-painted house. One of them jumped off their bike and ran up to the front door. They grabbed the freshly delivered parcel and stuffed it into their bag. A thief. The other one stayed in the road with the bikes, head sweeping watchfully up and down the street. A lookout.

James ducked back behind the house. It was the Package Pirates—or Drop Lifters—whatever Max called them. It must be. He had witnessed a crime and should do something. But what? Call the police? Confront the thieves? Before he could make up his mind, a movement on the road at the bottom of the twitten distracted him.

Thought so! the Lookout said, rolling into view. A spy! Get him!

The Lookout left their bike on the pavement and started up the stairs. The other biker, the Thief, skidded up to the freshly abandoned bike.

You can’t leave this here! the Thief called out. It might get nicked!

The Lookout paused and turned back to the Thief. James didn’t wait to see what happened next. He sprinted hard up the twitten to the next set of steps and bounded up them three at a time.

The twitten opened out and became a wooded path behind the houses. James was glad it hadn’t rained in weeks; the ground was dry and firm under his feet. He was less glad that he had tried so hard at the cross-country; his thighs were burning already. The mask didn’t help him breathe, either. He risked a glance back and saw the Lookout dragging his bike up the last stairs of the twitten.

The path ahead forked. James took the steeper route to slow the bikers down. But he knew that if the Drop Lifters split up, they could cut him off when he left the woods and had to cross the open grass of the park. He pushed on, hoping to lose them in the trees.

Something grey flashed over his head. James ducked instinctively. The blur landed on the wide trunk of a tree ahead of James. It paused and looked at him for a split second before springing off. It was squirrel-shaped, well, the shape of a squirrel with no tail, at least. Arcing high in the air, it came to rest lightly on the boy’s left shoulder.

Hi Notail, James said, still running hard. I’m a little busy right now.

In response, the no-tailed squirrel sprang forward along the path and took a hard right turn between two bushes. James didn’t need to be told what to do. He followed the squirrel with a leafy leap of faith, plunging into the undergrowth.

Leaves whipped his face, but they were not thick enough to really hurt. To his surprise, James found himself on a thin trail, a rabbit-run, invisible from the path through the woods. He ran flat out for a few seconds until the path opened into a small clearing surrounded by thick bushes. A dead end.

A large tree dominated one side of the clearing. Notail waited for him on a low branch. When James stepped forward, Notail scampered to the next branch up, easily ten feet from the ground. The squirrel with no tail wanted him to follow her. The climb, though easy for Notail, looked hard for a human. James hesitated. He did not much like the idea of getting stuck up a tree.

You see him? The Lookout’s voice drifted through the foliage from somewhere behind.

I think he’s in the bushes! the Thief said.

They sounded close. If James pushed his way out of the clearing, they would hear and almost certainly catch him. He swallowed and clambered onto the lower branch. He stood up carefully, hands against the smooth grey trunk for balance. The tree was bigger than it first looked; far too wide to shimmy up. Even on tiptoes, he couldn’t reach the higher branch. This was useless.

A clumsy rustling came from behind him. One of the Drop Lifters must have found the rabbit-run.

Notail scampered back down, pausing and scratching the trunk near James’ shoulder. He put his left hand where Notail had been and found a deep groove in the bark. James pulled hard at the groove, kicked up on a knot by his knee, and stretched high with his right hand.

With only one hand and one foot on the tree, he was off balance and started to swing out. His foot slipped, and he almost cried out, but his right hand slapped down hard and caught the high branch. He dangled silently from one hand for a second before his free hand joined it. Then he pulled himself onto the branch, walking his feet up the trunk before squirming his body safely over.

At that moment, while James clung to the branch, the Lookout burst from the bushes into the small clearing below. James held his breath and kept his body completely still. The youth took a second to determine that it was a dead end. He swore loudly and disappeared back through the bushes.

James breathed a sigh of relief, but he was not out of the woods quite yet.

Chapter 2: The Cowboy

James eased himself up into a crouching position on the branch and shuffled back until his feet touched the trunk. Slowly and surely, he shifted onto his feet and stood up. This was a bad idea, as he was now high enough above the bushes to see the main path beyond. On that path the other Drop Lifter, the Thief, stood waiting with both bikes for the Lookout to return. They hadn’t noticed James. Yet.

Higher up in the great tree, there were lots more branches for climbing. He carefully stepped round to the far side, away from the path, ducking under one branch while stepping over another. The trunk grew wider here too. Easily wide enough to conceal James from the Drop Lifters on the path.

With his face inches away from the giant trunk, he peered up along a wide and knotted highway which stretched away through the leaves. The smooth grey bark felt warm against his skin. He had no idea what kind of tree it was nor how tall it was. Fleeting patches of blue sky revealed themselves as a gentle breeze ruffled the new spring foliage.

About fifteen feet further up, a massive branch jutted out of the tree at a right angle. It disappeared through a wall of vegetation belonging to a neighbouring evergreen. On this branch was Notail, dancing back and forth to catch James’ eye.

Really? James whispered. Don’t you think I’m high enough already?

Notail responded by running along the massive branch to the evergreen and back.

At least the branches were thick and sturdy. Even so, James climbed cautiously, checking that each branch had new leaves growing before trusting his weight to it. Ever mindful that the two Drop Lifters might still be somewhere nearby.

The branch that the squirrel had chosen was broad and flat on top. Wide enough to sleep on. At thirty feet above the ground, falling meant death, so James crawled onto it tentatively. It didn’t sway or bend or give any acknowledgement of his added weight at all. He edged along after Notail and found that the branch sloped slightly down. Soon the feathery fronds of the evergreen were brushing his face. The scent of pine filled his nose. He crawled through the cool shade for a metre or two, then emerged into the warm sun.

Ahead, the great bough split into three smaller, but still substantial, branches that rose smoothly away. The point at which the three branches met formed a smooth, broad saddle. James thought he could sit in it rather comfortably. Which he did. Notail perched on one of the smaller branches, looking down. James put his