Chapter Ten – Death by Custard
It wasn’t easy to remain back to back while floating within the centre of a giant mechanical alien, but Carrie and Dave managed it. From the look on Dave’s face, it was clear to Carrie that he blamed her for their predicament, and while that was, she admitted to herself, partly true, she thought he was being harsh. It wasn’t as though she intended to involve him. She wanted to go home just as much as he did. And he did steal the translator from her house, so it wasn’t as if he was Mr. Perfect.
The planet surface zoomed up towards them at a sickening pace. In a sea of yellow the grey island sat, with its forest of red leaves. The island drew closer and closer until, about four hundred feet above the planet’s surface, Carrie realised the paperclip’s positioning was wrong. It was returning them to roughly the same area as before but if they continued along their current trajectory, they wouldn’t be landing on the island.
“Left,” she shouted upwards, though in fact she had no idea what part of the guard contained its hearing facility. “Go left, or...”
Dave followed her gaze downward. All color drained from his face. “No, no, no. Left, left!” The pale yellow, gently heaving ocean drew closer and closer.
“Carrie...Carrie,” shouted Dave. “Do something. Make it change course. Carrie, pleeeease...” Without a sound, the force field holding them was released, and they tumbled down. “I can’t swim.”
They hit the liquid, but instead of sinking like stones beneath the surface, their feet penetrated only slightly. The impact sent shock waves up their legs. The thick, gloopy ocean bore their weight. Carrie could hear a droning monotone.
“Phew,” said Dave, as he regained his balance, “that was...ahhh!” The firm surface beneath his feet gave way, and he began to sink. Carrie was sinking, too. Flailing and thrashing, Dave sank faster.
Carrie stopped moving, which slowed her descent. The liquid was thick but it became runny in response to rapid movements. “Don’t struggle,” she called. “It’s like quicksand. The more you struggle—”
“Carrie, help me,” cried Dave, as his thighs and then his torso began to disappear into the yellow gloop. “Help!” But he was too far away for Carrie to reach.
“Stay still,” she shouted. “Stop struggling.”
Fully panicked, Dave desperately fought the liquid that was swallowing him, even as his arms and shoulders became covered in the glossy goo.
“For god’s sake, Dave, keep still. You’re making it worse.”
“Carrie, Carrie,” called Dave, twisting violently as his neck began to disappear. He tilted back his head to keep his mouth and nose free.
“Dave,” shouted Carrie.
His eyes rolling, he gasped. He took several short breaths and spoke, his words slow and precise. “I think I’m touching the bottom. On tiptoe.”
Carrie exhaled. “Okay. Now don’t move. Do you understand? Not a single muscle.”
Dave spat out the liquid that had oozed into his mouth. “’Kay.”
“If I spread my weight over the surface, I bet I can wriggle across. Once you’re in this kind of liquid there’s no point fighting it, you just sink.”
Dave spat again. “I think I’ve discovered that.”
“The shore’s only about ten metres away. Move slowly, and try to work your way upward.” Carrie was already doing this herself, and it was working. Her top half lay across the surface, and she wasn’t sinking. She gently wriggled her legs, easing them free of the gloop.
Dave wasn’t so successful, but he knew where safety lay, and his painstakingly slow movements drew him gradually closer and closer to the shore. Emerging from the yellow ocean, the two flopped down on the dry, dusty sand. Their energy returned, and they stood and ran their hands down their clothes to remove the remains of the yellow goo. Carrie took the translator out of her pocket and placed it on the ground. The ocean’s murmuring ceased.
“You know, I think that paperclip did it on purpose,” said Dave. “Dropping us in the sea I mean. Vindictive little piece of stationery.”
“Not so little,” said Carrie.
Dave was flicking the yellow liquid into the ocean. “My boots,” he exclaimed. The once neatly brushed suede was flat and dark and very, very spoiled.
Carrie held out her arms to dry her sleeves in the breeze. The gloop had been easy to remove, and had left their clothes only slightly wet. Wondering what kind of substance it was, she sniffed her hands. “You know what, this stuff smells the same as the inside of our cell back on the placktoid spaceship.”
Dave took a sniff. “Does it?” he asked. “I can’t say I really noticed.”
Carrie dipped her finger in the ocean, and held it to her nose. “It smells like...” She popped her finger in her mouth. “Mmmm ...” Her eyes widened. “It’s custard.”
“Eurghhh,” exclaimed Dave, “we were just swimming in that.”
Scooping a handful of the liquid, she sucked it up and licked her hand clean. “It’s quite nice. It tastes exactly like the vanilla custard my mum makes.”
“That’s disgusting.” Dave stepped back. “How could you eat it? Anyway, shouldn’t you be contacting those people your bug boss was telling you about? Was it the oootoon he called them?”
“Don’t you want to try some? It’s lovely and creamy and not too sweet. Brilliant. A whole ocean of custard. Now all we need is some apple crumble.”
“There’s no way am I eating that.”
“Oh well, I’m hungry.” Carrie scooped up some more liquid in two hands and began slurping.
“Wait a minute,” said Dave. “Don’t drink it, you idiot. Just because it tastes like custard, it doesn’t mean it is. It isn’t likely, is it? We’re on an alien planet. That stuff could be poisonous.”
Carrie’s satisfied expression fell. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that. Whoops.” She opened her hands and the remains of the liquid dripped out. She spat what was left in her mouth back into the ocean. As she turned back to Dave, his eyes focused on something behind her and widened in fear. She only had time to utter, “What’s—” before the deluge hit. A wave of custard swamped her, knocking her off her feet. Blinded and smothered in yellow goo, she felt herself being dragged backwards into the ocean.
Her feet touched the floor, and she staggered up, scraping her eyes clear of liquid. She opened them just in time to see a tall tongue of gloop rise up, ready to grab her again. But Carrie’s long hours of Bagua Zhang training kicked in, and she reflexively sidestepped, thrusting out a flat, hard palm. As had happened when she and Dave landed upon the liquid, the fast contact created a dense viscosity. Resistance sent a jarring tremor down her arm, but the blow was effective, and the tongue split into two and fell into the ocean, where it was rapidly absorbed.
“Short, sharp, jabs,” muttered Carrie as another tongue rose and raced towards her. She punched it squarely in the middle, wincing at the shock. This tongue fell apart and tumbled down, quickly dissipating.
As a third tongue arose, she thought, Wait, what am I doing? She was at the shoreline. Maybe all she had to do was move out of reach? A sharp kick destroyed the next attacking wave, and she raced inland before glancing over her shoulder. The ocean didn’t seem to be pursuing her. When she was well out of reach she stopped. At the shore edge the yellow liquid flopped towards her, seeming to reach out, and tongues rose and fell, but they didn’t, or couldn’t, leave the ocean.
Carrie relaxed. She was covered in gloop once more, but she was safe for now. She gazed in wonder at the ocean that looked and tasted like custard but had the instincts of predator. It took her a few moments to realise there was something missing from the scene. Dave. There was no sign of Dave. She drew in a breath. Scanning the gently heaving waves, she spotted a flailing hand.
“Dave,” she shouted, running back to the shore. But the hand was no longer to be seen. Her heart in her mouth, Carrie gawked at the spot where it had disappeared. A bubble of air burst on the surface, then there was nothing. Not a splash, not a ripple. He was gone. “Dave.” Carrie whimpered. “Dave.”