Wild Moose Chase (6 page)

The Trans-Siberian Railway

Mr Zola screamed as he let go of Cam's hand and flung himself at the speeding train. He managed to catch hold of a rail that ran along the roof. Cam jumped next, grabbing the same rail and hauling herself up on to the top of the train. She looked across for Bert. He wasn't there.

“BERT!” she shouted in panic. But her cries were lost in the roar of the train and the blast of the wind.

She lay down flat on her stomach and peered over the edge, still holding tightly to the rail. To her relief, there was Bert, clinging precariously to the top of a window, his legs swinging to the side with the force of the wind. Cam tried to stretch down with her arm but couldn't reach.

“Help me,” she cried to Mr Zola. “I can't reach Bert. My arms aren't long enough.”

Mr Zola was clutching the rail with both hands and legs, the tassels on his man-bag thrashing madly in the wind.

“I would if I had another arm,” he screeched, “but I'm afraid I only have two.”

Cam looked back down at Bert. To her horror, she realized that he'd lost his grip and was now just clinging on with one hand.

“Hold on, Bert! I'm coming!”

She turned around and lowered her legs down, still gripping tightly to the rail. She jammed her feet just above the window frame.

“Grab my legs,” she shouted. “I've got a good hold.”

The wind carried her voice away, but Bert could see what she was trying to do and managed to grab her ankle with his spare hand.

“Climb up me,” she yelled. “Try and get in through the window.”

Somehow, he pulled himself level with the window and knocked against the glass. He waited for a moment and banged again before continuing to climb up Cam.

“I'm all right,” he shouted. “But I can't get the attention of the people inside. We'll have to get back on the roof.”

He used Cam's head as a foothold and pushed himself up. Then he reached down and heaved Cam up beside him. They lay flat on top of the train, gasping for breath.

“The three men from the Specialist Cheesemakers Association are inside the carriage,” panted Bert. “They didn't see or hear me because they all had their heads deep in books –
How to Catch a Moose
,
Moose Training Tips
and
The Three Mooseketeers.
”

“We've got to beat them,” puffed Cam. “But how are we going to get inside the train now?”

“We'll have to try another window … and Cam … maybe you haven't got butter-toes after all … thanks.”

Cam smiled, despite the fact that they were whizzing through the Russian countryside, clinging to the top of a train. She was just getting her breath back when Bert gave a shout and pointed to the sky. She looked up to see a bright yellow balloon sail above them, heading in the opposite direction.

“Primula Mold!” she cried.

Bert nodded. “But she's going the wrong way,” he yelled.

They were interrupted by a shout from Mr Zola.

“Over here,” he called.

He had dragged himself along the rail and was pointing to a hatch in the roof. The twins followed. Bert reached across, undid the bolt and pulled it open. Cam managed to prise Mr Zola off his rail and shove him through the hole. She quickly followed, with Bert right behind. They landed in a large mound of hay.

“The standard in these Trans-Siberian carriages is not at all what I was expecting,” sniffed Mr Zola, raising his lace hanky to his nose.

The carriage was dim. The only light came from two small windows set high in the wall. There were no interconnecting doors to the rest of the train, only a huge sliding gate which took up the whole of one side. Thick stalks of straw were scattered on the floor, hiding great lumps of steaming dung. Mr Zola resumed his grasp on Cam's arm as a large shadow moved across the front of the carriage and a terrible wailing moo-growl burst out of the gloom.

“Mmmmooooooooaaaahhhhrrrrrr!”

Mr Zola screamed as a gigantic bulbous muzzle loomed up above them.

“MOOSE!” he shrieked, frantically trying to jump back up on to the roof.

Shocked by its unexpected visitors, and unnerved by the thin man jumping up and down in front of it, the moose began to moo-growl louder, stamping its feet and swinging its huge head from side to side.

“Mmmmooooooooaaaahhhhrrrrrr!”

“It's going to charge,” yelled Mr Zola, hopping manically round the carriage. “We were safer on the roof.”

“Stop it!” shouted Bert. “You're scaring it.”

“
I'm
scaring
it
?” screamed Mr Zola.

“Yes, now get a grip!”

Mr Zola shrank into a corner and covered himself in hay. The moose calmed down and backed off to the rear of the carriage, eyeing the twins warily. It really was the strangest creature they had ever seen. Its four long spindly legs didn't look strong enough to support the huge body and even bigger head. Two great antlers stuck out from either side, framing a nose the size of a dinner plate.

“What's it doing on a train?” asked Bert, looking around the carriage.

There were several bales of hay and a bucket of water with a couple of empty bottles beside it. The bucket had a panda stamped on the side.

“Look,” said Cam. “That's the sign for the World Wildlife Foundation. They must be relocating the moose. Maybe they're taking it back to the wild.

Bert slowly walked towards the moose and held out his hand. “It's OK, big fella,” he said, gently. “We're not going to hurt you.”

The moose snorted suspiciously before sniffing his hand. Very gently, Bert began stroking its huge muzzle.

“I see why you're so nervous,” he whispered. “You're not a ‘fella' at all, are you? Cam, come here and look.”

From out of the gloom a tiny moose calf ventured from beneath its mother, its dark, worried eyes flicking from one child to the other.

“And where there's a moose calf…” said Bert.

“There's moose milk,” finished Cam.

 

Moose Milk

“Did someone mention moose milk?” asked Mr Zola, popping his head out of the hay.

“Yes,” said Bert, still gently stroking the enormous moose, “and we have to make friends with this lovely lady if we're going to get any.”

“Impossible! I've already explained that I'm moose-phobic. Poor Monty will turn white if we have to stay in this carriage a moment longer.”

“He already has,” giggled Cam.

Mr Zola whipped out a hand mirror from his man-bag and studied his moustache. It was covered in hay.

“Monty!” he chided. “You're a disgrace!”

He produced a silver pair of tweezers and began picking out every strand of hay. Cam turned to Bert.

“I can't believe he's telling his moustache off,” she whispered.

“Just let him get on with it,” said Bert. “Let's concentrate on getting some moose milk. It must be just like milking a cow at home … but bigger … much bigger. I'll keep her distracted while you milk her.”

Cam looked around for something to put the milk in and spotted the empty water bottles lying beside the bucket. She grabbed them both and walked slowly towards the mother moose. But when it saw her coming the moose pulled away from Bert and trotted towards its baby with a great, “Mmmmoooooooo
aaaa
hhhh
rrrrrr!
”

Cam staggered back and Mr Zola disappeared under the hay again. Bert sighed and held his hand out to the baby.

“C'mon, little one,” he whispered. “If you come closer then maybe your mum will too. We just want to share some of your milk.”

The calf tottered over on its skinny little legs and nuzzled against Bert. It was closely followed by its mother.

“There we go,” he said, tickling two pairs of silky ears. “Quickly, Cam. Do it now, while I've got both of them.”

Cam tried again but every time she came close, the mother moose shied away. “She won't let me near her.”

“Try harder,” cried Bert. “I can't do everything myself.”

“You can't do
anything
by yourself!” spluttered Cam. “You wouldn't have even got this far if it wasn't for me.”

“Would.”

“Wouldn't.”

“Would.”

“You didn't even know where Siberia was!”

“Did.”

“Didn't.”

“Did.”

Suddenly, Mr Zola sprang from the hay.

“Stop it!” he wailed. “Your incessant bickering is driving me crazy!”

The mother moose swung her enormous head round and looked straight at Mr Zola. She grunted softly and took a step towards him.

“She's staring at Monty,” he gulped, edging back.

The moose made a low snuffling sound and slowly nudged against him.

“What does she want?”

“I think she likes you,” said Bert.

Mr Zola was now backed against the wall with the huge moose sniffing his cheese hat.

“She's going to eat me,” he said in a terrified whisper.

“Quick,” said Bert, “let's milk her now while she's distracted. Don't worry, Mr Zola, she won't hurt you.”

Cam handed one of the empty bottles to Bert.

“Don't let her see you coming,” he said. “You take the left side and I'll take the right, and remember to be gentle. Don't move a muscle, Mr Zola.”

The twins were used to milking the cows on their farm and soon both their bottles were half full. The moose still had Mr Zola pinned against the wall. She had finished licking his hat and had now turned her attention to his moustache.

“For the love of mooses, help me!” howled Mr Zola. “She's nibbling Monty.”

“Nearly there,” called Cam. “Just a few more squeezes.”

The calf was not so happy to see its milk disappearing and started pawing the wooden floor.

“Mooaarrhh,” it called, trying to nudge Bert out of the way.

“Mooaarrhh, yourself,” said Bert. “There's plenty left for you, little one.”

The mother moose turned at the sound of her calf and then trotted away as “God Save the Queen” started up in Mr Zola's top pocket. He pulled out the red phone with a shaking hand.

The twins stared at him. His cheese hat was covered in moose slobber, but worst of all, one half of his moustache had completely disappeared.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” he whimpered. “I do apologize about the Crown Balloon… I fully understand how upset you are… I'm sure it can be repaired, but in the meantime, please don't concern yourself with my transport. I will find my own way of getting around… Yes, ma'am, the Russian police were most helpful. I'm on the Trans-Siberian Railway now … with some younger contestants from Cheddar Gorge. The leader, ma'am? It's early days yet, but I shall check my Cheesemaker-Locator and get back to you… Yes, ma'am… Straight away, ma'am… Goodbye, ma'am.”

He put the phone back into his dusty man-bag and pulled out the smelling salts, inhaling deeply.

“She wants to know who the leaders are,” he said, replacing the small bottle and studying the Cheesemaker-Locator attached to his wrist. “But it's hard to concentrate when one has just been manhandled by a moose!”

The twins were glad that he hadn't noticed his missing moustache yet. They peered over his shoulder, eager to find out who was in the lead. The Cheesemaker-Locator was a large round screen with a map of the world on it. With a tap of Mr Zola's finger it zoomed in on Siberia. The twins could just make out several flashing dots. Mr Zola then scrolled down to where a flashing dot was heading south. He zoomed in closer.

“There's a ‘PM' heading towards Mongolia already,” he said. “Let me just check who that is.”

He tapped the screen again.

“Primula Mold.”

The twins glanced anxiously at each other.

“So, she
was
heading in the right direction,” sighed Cam. “She must have got the moose milk already.”

“Do you know this Primula Mold?” asked Mr Zola.

“Yes, she's our neighbour,” said Bert. “She sailed right over us in her yellow hot air balloon.”

“I'm supposed to be keeping pace with the leaders,” Mr Zola sighed. “I have to catch her up, which means heading straight for Mongolia. Unfortunately, this is an overnight train. It doesn't make a stop till tomorrow. If only we could move carriages.”

“Animal transportation carriages don't have connecting doors to the rest of the train,” said Cam. “We had to transport some of our cattle last year and I read all about it.”

“She knows everything about everything,” muttered Bert to Mr Zola.

“And the reason the windows are set so high,” she continued, “is so the animals can't see out, as this might panic them. But they still need light during long journeys.”

“We could always go back on to the roof,” said Bert, pointing towards the hatch above them. “But the problem is getting back in again.”

“I don't think I can bring myself to go back up there,” said Mr Zola. “We'll just have to bed down in the hay and go our separate ways in the morning. You two must form a human barrier between me and the beasts. It's the least you can do after the trauma you've put me through.”

Bert looked over to the far corner of the carriage, where the two moose were drinking from the large bucket. He slowly walked over and began to stroke the baby's fuzzy muzzle. Cam followed.

“How are we going to get to Mongolia from here?” whispered Bert.

“I thought you wanted to split up when we reached Russia,” said Cam.

Bert frowned. “It might be better to do it when we reach Mongolia,” he muttered. “I'm still going to win, though.”

Cam nodded. “Me too,” she said. “But at the moment, I think our best bet is to keep in with Mr Zola. Come on.”

They wandered back to Mr Zola and sank into the hay in front of him.

“We'll make sure the moose don't come anywhere near you or Monty,” said Bert, grinning. “We don't want any more
hairy
situations.”

Cam glared at Bert, but Mr Zola didn't seem to notice and settled back into the hay.

“So, have you always been a cheesemaker?” asked Cam, trying to keep his attention away from his missing moustache.

“I wanted to serve my queen and country from a very young age. So I joined the Royal Air Force,” said Mr Zola. “Now, that's an organization that appreciates a fine piece of nose hair! Monty and I became members of the RAF Whisker Club – a fraternal society that promotes charitable work and aid to our facially fuzzy friends. Unfortunately, it turned out that Monty didn't like heights, and we had to leave the RAF. So I decided to follow in my father's footsteps, and took up the art of cheesemaking instead. There must be something in the blood, because I'm really rather good at it.”

“I am too,” said Bert.

“Nearly as good as me,” added Cam. “But our Gramps is the best. I wonder if he won ‘Best Cheese in Show' at the fair.”

“Apparently it was cancelled,” said Mr Zola, closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into the hay. “Not enough entrants. Everybody was more concerned with making moose cheese, and I can't say I blame them.”

Cam sighed. Gramps had been relying on winning that competition to boost their international sales. She moved closer to Bert. He was fiddling intently with a piece of straw.

“Poor Gramps,” Bert whispered, glancing over to make sure Mr Zola wasn't listening. “First of all, we go off without telling him, and then ‘Best Cheese in Show' is cancelled. He will not be happy.”

“I know,” Cam said in a low voice. “But imagine if we didn't go. There would be no hope of saving the farm. At least one of us has the chance of getting that prize money now. It's just made me more determined than ever.”

Bert nodded. “And Lord Curd of Whey Farm does have a certain ring to it.”

Cam snorted and fell back in the hay.

“Not as good as
Lady
Curd,” she muttered.