Washed Up Read online

  It was at that point that Agent Banks leaned over and shoved Milo out of the plane.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  “Sorry, but we really don’t have time for this,” she said. She raised her arm towards me.

  “I can do it myself,” I said. I turned and peered out of the door. It was a long way down. I looked back at Agent Banks. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Good luck,” she said, giving me a shove.

  Falling from that height feels a lot like flying. Though it’s probably important that you don’t confuse the two. As I spiralled through the air, the island zooming towards me, I caught sight of Milo some way below me just as his chute opened.

  Seconds passed but mine still hadn’t. My brain used the opportunity to start thinking up what-if scenarios. Like:

  What if I was so hated that someone had tampered with my parachute?

  What if they’d mixed up my luggage bag with my parachute bag and I was now going to have to try to land using my underwear?

  What if when it opened, an anvil came flying out like it always did in old cartoons?

  I could feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat. Just as I was convinced I was a goner, my parachute burst open and I felt my speed drop. I scanned the ground below for a safe landing spot.

  I could see palm trees, sand, more palm trees, some sand, palm trees again, even more sand, a giant black skull, palm trees…

  Yeah, it was probably the giant black skull, wasn’t it? It was printed on a huge piece of canvas spread across the beach. As something to aim for it certainly stood out but as a welcome sign it left a lot to be desired.

  I tried my best to steer towards it, not really sure how. This was where training would have come in handy. But after several seconds of fumbling at my backpack I found two cords attached to either side. By pulling them I could make myself turn in a particular direction. Somehow I was able to keep myself on target as the skull got closer and closer.

  I could see Lexi had already landed. Someone was helping her with her chute but even from my height there was an unmistakable look of panic on her face. As my mind began to race, I almost forgot I was about to hit the ground.

  I overshot the giant skull, tripped and fell face first on to the beach.

  I sat up, spitting out a mouthful of sand. I suppose that could have gone worse. A guy with a camera was already hovering nearby, probably getting a good close-up.

  Someone dragged me to my feet. “All right, sunshine?” said a short, heavily muscled man in a gruff voice. “You ’it that ground like a sack of potatoes.”

  “You’re—” I said.

  “Joe Bruiser, pleased to meet ya,” he said as he helped untangle me from my chute.

  “Lexi?” I said.

  “You mean that kid over there?” he said. “She’s fine. It’s that other one you want to be worried about.”

  “You mean Milo?” I asked as the backpack that had held my chute fell to the ground. I hurried over to Lexi as people rushed past us towards the sea.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “It’s Milo,” she said. “He must have lost control. He landed in the water.”

  Milo was a lot of things. He was an inventor and a singer and a superstar. But the one thing he wasn’t was a swimmer. It wasn’t so long ago that he was too afraid to even leave the house, let alone learn how to not die in a pool of water.

  I could make out Milo’s parachute bobbing on the waves but couldn’t see him.

  “Don’t tell me he can’t swim?” said an obnoxious-sounding voice to my right. I looked round to see a tall, tanned man in his early twenties shaking his head – Bo. He took off a pair of sunglasses and placed them on his coiffed hair. “Why’d he even come on a show like this, then? There’s always swimming on these things.”

  He came on the show to try to save the world, I wanted to shout. But there wasn’t time to waste on this idiot. I had to rescue Milo.

  I kicked off my trainers and was about to plunge into the sea when I felt Lexi’s hand pulling me back.

  “Look, someone’s already got him,” she said, pointing at the water.

  Sure enough, I could just make out someone with Milo, the two of them heading towards shore. But my relief quickly turned to anger when I realized who it was. Cruul.

  Suddenly they stopped.

  “What are they doing?” I cried.

  But then I saw. They weren’t alone in the water. A single fin was heading straight for them.

  “SHARK!” screamed Lexi.

  Why weren’t they moving? Cruul was behind Milo, using him as a shield. He was about to feed my best friend to a shark and there was nothing I could do.

  As the shark bore down on them, Milo’s parachute suddenly came free. There was a WHUMP as the wind caught it, sending the chute exploding into the shark’s face, propelling it backwards.

  A cheer went up across the beach.

  “Cruul must have got Milo’s parachute off,” said Lexi.

  They were certainly moving much faster through the water now. Moments later, Nigel Cruul strode on to the beach with a coughing and spluttering Milo in his arms.

  I couldn’t move at first, unable to grasp what was happening. There could be only one explanation. Unless I had somehow parachuted into an alternative universe where Nigel Cruul, instead of being one of the most evil men alive, was actually a hero who had just saved my best friend, then something … well, fishy was going on.

  “He’s swallowed a bit of water,” said Cruul as someone handed him a towel, which he used to dry his head and his bear-like hairy chest, “but luckily I got to him in time. He’ll be fine.”

  I barged through the crowd and grabbed Milo by the arms. Instinctively I put myself between Milo and Cruul, before realizing it was entirely pointless. Whatever reasons Cruul had for rescuing Milo, it probably wasn’t to then try and harm him right in front of a group of people. On national TV.

  “Th-thank you,” spluttered Milo, looking towards Cruul.

  “Quite all right,” said Cruul.

  “Don’t thank him,” I said.

  All heads turned towards me.

  “Ah… Sammy,” said Cruul wearily.

  “SAM!” I shouted. “My name’s Sam, not Sammy.”

  Cruul smiled. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Old habits die hard.”

  “I’ll bet,” I said. “Why did you do that? Why did you save him?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Would you rather I had left him out there?”

  I could hear some of the people around me tittering.

  “I know you, Cruul,” I said. “You don’t do anything if it’s not in your interest.”

  “Says the boy who lied his way into a pop band,” said Cruul. “Is it really so hard to believe that I saved Milo because I didn’t want him to drown?”

  “YES!” I shouted.

  Cruul didn’t reply. He just tilted his head and gave me this look of complete pity. It was the sort of withering gaze he used to give when he was judging talent shows.

  That’s when I became aware I was being watched. Not just by the other contestants. Among them were a man and woman, each holding a video camera, both of which were alternating between Cruul and me.

  “You just saved him to look good on TV,” I said.

  Cruul made a pained expression. “You’re so cynical,” he said. “And even if I did, do you think I’m the only one here hoping to come across well on camera? To improve my image? Look around you. I can assure you I’m not alone.”

  “I hope you’re not talking about me, young man,” said a posh-sounding voice. It was Betty Black. It was weird hearing her talk like that, seeing as her character on Cliffhanger Road had an East London accent that put Joe Bruiser to shame. Given the perfect condition of her massive bouffant hairdo, it seemed a safe bet that she hadn’t been asked to parachute in.

  “Of course not, Betty,” said Cruul. “Had much work since they wrote you out of the show?”

&nb
sp; “How dare you…” said Betty, looking flustered.

  “The fact is,” said Cruul smugly, “the only person who doesn’t stand to gain much from being on this show is the young man I just saved. Unlike everyone else –” he glanced at the rest of us – “his career is on the up. I can’t really get my head around it, to be honest. Unless… Ah yes, of course. He must be here to help his best friend.”

  I gave Milo a nervous glance. Did Cruul already know we were here to stop his plans? “What do you mean?” Milo asked.

  “What else could I mean?” he said. “You’re hoping your popularity rubs off on him. Lord knows Sammy’s not very well liked. Still, if I were your manager, I wouldn’t have let you come. This show’s beneath you, Milo.”

  “Well, you’re not his manager,” I said.

  “More’s the pity,” said Cruul. “When I think of all I could do with a band like Aftermath…”

  I laughed at the thought. Aftermath was the complete opposite of the groups Cruul managed. Its members were misfits – talented but unique individuals, not dull cookie-cutter clones. I was just about to point this out when a shadow briefly passed over us, accompanied by the roar of a plane flying overhead.

  Everyone turned to see another parachute drifting over the beach, before touching down right in the centre of the black skull. Whoever the new contestant was, it was clear they had done this before from the way they quickly extracted themselves from their chute.

  I looked around to see who we were missing. It could only be Zizi Summer.

  She was sprinting towards us. Or rather, she was sprinting towards something else and that was sprinting towards us.

  “Pierre, no!” she shouted, but it was no use. The fastest, most furious-looking pug I’d ever seen soared through the air and came crashing down on Nigel Cruul.

  “Get that mutt off me!” shouted Cruul, writhing around on the sand as the pug growled and snapped at him.

  “Pierre! Bad!” said Zizi, scooping up the pug and holding him to her face. “What a naughty doggy-woggy you are!”

  “Naughty? That thing tried to kill me!” yelled Cruul, pulling himself up.

  “Pierre wouldn’t hurt a fly,” said Zizi. “He just got a bit excited after his first parachute jump. Didn’t you, snookie-wookums?” As if in agreement, Pierre started licking Zizi’s lips, covering her face in drool.

  “Eurgh, that’s disgusting,” muttered Bo.

  “What’s that dog even doing here?” asked Cruul.

  “I don’t go anywhere without my baby,” said Zizi.

  “Well, keep him away from me,” said Cruul. “I’m— ACHOO!”

  “Sorry?” said Zizi. “You’re what?”

  “I think he was about to say he’s allergic to dogs?” I said, grinning.

  Zizi looked bewildered by the thought. “Surely you can’t be allergic to Pierre?” she said. “He’s a nice dog.”

  “ACHOOOO!” screamed Cruul, blowing a stream of snot into the face of a woman who had just arrived, clutching a tablet and a walkie-talkie.

  “Ugh, perfect,” she said, wiping it off. “All right, guys, my name’s Karen. I’m the production manager. Now if everyone can please follow me, we’re due to go live in a few minutes.”

  With Cruul trailing along at the back, still snivelling, we followed Karen up the beach, cameras filming our every step.

  Finally we reached a cave. I stopped suddenly, causing Lexi to bang into me.

  “Ow!” she moaned. “Why did you stop?”

  “It was just… Sorry, it doesn’t matter,” I said, giving an involuntary shudder as I remembered the last time I had been in a cave. Of course, that one had been located in another dimension and I had been a prisoner inside it. So not quite the same but it still felt a little weird as I stepped into the gloom.

  At the opposite end of a large chamber, a row of fold-up chairs faced a stage with a red velvet curtain drawn across it. Dark shadows danced across the drapes, caused by the flickering of the hundreds of candles that lined the walls.

  “This is just like the set we used in the music video for Transylvania-Mania,” said Milo.

  “Very ’andy,” said Joe Bruiser, pulling a cigar from the pocket of his shorts and using one of the candles to light it.

  “You can’t smoke that in here,” protested Milo as Joe took several puffs, before returning the candle to its holder.

  “Course I can,” said Joe, giving him a big grin. “Until they figure out which country owns this place, there’s no one to enforce a smokin’ ban, is there?”

  Milo opened his mouth to speak then frowned.

  “He’s got you there,” said Lexi.

  Milo muttered something under his breath before heading off towards the opposite side of the cave. I sat down between him and Zizi. On the seat next to her was Pierre, who was busy licking his butt.

  “This is exciting, eh?” said Zizi, giving me a gentle nudge. “Your first time on one of these shows, then?”

  I nodded, glancing around for Lexi. She was sitting next to Bruiser and appeared to be badgering him with questions.

  “Well, you’re in for a treat,” said Zizi. “I love doing them. I must have done about twenty last year. Twenty-one if you count the one I accidentally made myself when I left my laptop’s webcam on for five months.”

  Zizi was cut off by the sound of rock music blasting out of the speakers on stage as the curtain dropped to reveal two men dressed in bright orange Hawaiian shirts, khaki shorts and white sandals.

  “Aloha,” said Ronald.

  “That’s Hawaiian, you wally!” Donald laughed.

  “Well, where are we?” asked Ronald.

  “We’re on a mysterious island called Fin Del Mundo, in the centre of the Bermuda Triangle,” said Donald.

  “Bermuda?” said Ronald. “At least we got the shorts right, then!”

  Zizi burst out laughing. “O-M-G, those guys are too funny,” she said, slapping her thighs.

  “Well, Donald, why are we here?” asked Ronald.

  “Because it’s in our contracts,” replied Donald.

  “Fair enough,” said Ronald. He waved his hands towards us. “So why are they here?”

  “They’re here to take part in the toughest, most gruelling, most disgusting reality show ever produced!” said Donald.

  “Sounds like fun,” said Ronald.

  “It’s not!”

  Then, in unison, the two of them shouted at the same camera: “WELCOME TO END GAMES!”

  All the candles in the cave flickered.

  “Are you guys ready to play?” asked Ronald.

  There was a murmur among the contestants.

  “He said, are you guys ready to play?” repeated Donald.

  There was a slightly louder, more enthusiastic mumble of agreement. Except from Zizi, who stood up and screamed, “WOOOOOOHOOOOO!”

  “That’s a bit more like it,” said Ronald. “OK, Donald, shall we explain the rules?”

  “If we must,” said Donald. “All right, here’s what you need to know. Some of you who can count might have noticed that there’s eight of you here, not including Pierre, of course. Unlike other shows, this isn’t about individuals. This is a team game. You’re going to be split into two teams. Four against four. Your only aim is to make sure your team wins. The only prize will be the sweet taste of victory over your rivals.”

  Bruiser and Bo made grumbling noises at this.

  “And five hundred thousand pounds…” added Ronald.

  The grumbling turned to cheers.

  “…to be given to a charity of your team’s choice,” finished Donald.

  And back to grumbling.

  “There will be a series of challenges,” continued Ronald. “Now, there are two types of challenge – Elimination and Golden. An Elimination Challenge is exactly what it says on the tin. If you lose, you’re off the island. Every day, members of the public will vote for the person they want to see face the chop. The contestant in each team with the most votes wil
l then face each other in a fiendish challenge, live in front of the nation.” He turned to the camera, then added: “Voting for tomorrow’s challenge is already open, so do pick up the phone, vote online or text GETRID and the number of the contestant on the screen in front of you.”

  “But what about the Golden Challenges, I hear you ask?” said Donald, even though no one had. “Well, I’ll tell you. During the course of the competition, there will be three Golden Challenges. As tough as the Elimination Challenges are, they’ll have nothing on these.”

  “The team that wins the most Golden Challenges will be our End Games champions,” continued Ronald. “So as long as a team has one member left they still have a shot of winning. Unlike Elimination Challenges, contenders for the Golden Challenges will be picked by the team themselves and… Er, yes?”

  Everyone turned to look at Milo, who had his hand raised. “What happens if a team wins the first two Golden Challenges? They can’t lose at that point, so do we just all go home?”

  It was a fair point. Usually these shows ran for a set period of time. I couldn’t think of any that could potentially finish early because of its own rules.

  “Milo, I’m glad you asked that,” said Donald. “And the answer is yes. We get to go home early.”

  “But don’t worry,” said Ronald. “We still get paid the same.”

  “Um … we’re not getting paid,” said Lexi.

  “You need to get a better agent, sweetie,” said Bo, exchanging smirks with Bruiser.

  “You need to throw out everything you ever thought you knew about reality TV,” continued Donald. “This is going to be unlike anything anyone has seen before.”

  “I dunno,” said Zizi, “I’ve done a LOT of reality shows.”

  “You’ve never done one like this,” said Donald.

  “Well, I did I’m a Cele—” said Zizi, before her microphone cut out, and Ronald and Donald began waving at her to stop.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” shouted Ronald. “We are certainly nothing like that show.”