Worm Story Read online

  ‘And that, harpic-for-brains, is a pink lamington,’ said a third bacteria. ‘Don’t worry, they’re not dead worms, that’s coconut.’

  Wilton tried to take all this in but it wasn’t easy because suddenly waves of nausea were rippling through him.

  Must be stress, he thought. The stress and grief of saying goodbye to the dog worms and knowing I’ll never see them again.

  ‘What’s a sandwich?’ Algy was asking the first bacteria.

  ‘Food, you dopey domestos,’ it replied. ‘It’s one of the things our janet eats. That and chocolate.’

  Even though he was dizzy with sickness, Wilton’s think molecules spun into action.

  Of course. Their janet had to eat just like every other living thing. Which answered the question philosophers and thinkers and slime patches had been debating since time began - where does sludge come from?

  Wilton was still digesting this when the paddock started to move.

  ‘The janet’s picking it up,’ squeaked Algy. ‘She’s picking up a sandwich. Quick, we can get back on her finger.’

  ‘No,’ yelled Wilton.

  Through the mist of nausea, Wilton saw something clearly for the first time.

  ‘The janet’s got two entrance and exit places just like me,’ he said. ‘If she eats this sandwich with us on it, we can get home through her mouth, which’ll be much quicker and easier than going all the way to the other entrance.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Algy.

  ‘Pretty jiffing obvious if you ask us,’ said the bacteria.

  ‘There is just one problem,’ said Algy.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Wilton.

  All the bacteria started screaming and swearing. Wilton looked up in the direction Algy was pointing.

  A huge wet open mouth was descending towards them.

  The dog’s mouth.

  16

  Wilton stared up at the black cavern of the dog’s mouth. As it got bigger it blotted out most of the universe, including the pink lamington and the park next to the library.

  ‘Howling harpic,’ yelled the bacteria. ‘Leg it everybody.’

  Wilton couldn’t leg it, but he could wriggle. As he struggled across the sandwich paddock, he felt the dog’s hot hungry panting breath, close and getting closer.

  He glanced up at the janet, far above, who was holding the sandwich out to the dog. Her face looked different now. Her eyes, instead of wet and scrunched, were bright and sparkling.

  Good, thought Wilton. Someone’s happy at least.

  ‘Wriggle faster,’ came Algy’s muffled squeak. ‘Wriggle faster.’

  Wilton wriggled faster. He didn’t waste energy answering Algy. He was too busy thinking about the advice one of the chocolate-covered bacteria had given him before it dived into a sandwich crater.

  ‘Watch out for the jiffing teeth.’

  Very kind, thought Wilton, except I don’t know what teeth are.

  A huge globule of dog saliva splashed into the sandwich paddock near Wilton. It exploded into a spray of smaller globules, which battered Wilton like sludge chunks in a sludge storm.

  Wilton peered up at the dog through the saliva rain. All he could see now were the dog’s vast dripping jaws. Gleaming in the wet blackness were two rows of yellow mountains. The front ones had sharp pointed peaks.

  Teeth.

  Wilton had barely realised this when the teeth hurtled towards him. With a half-wriggle, half-­spasm he flung himself backwards as the teeth plunged into the sandwich.

  Just missing him.

  Phew, thought Wilton, that was close.

  Then the dog’s lip flopped onto him, burying him under twenty-seven billion times his own body weight of slobbery skin.

  That’s what it felt like.

  By the time Wilton had painfully wriggled out from under the lip, he expected to find himself in the dog’s mouth.

  But he wasn’t. He was still on the sandwich. There was still hope.

  Wilton surveyed the sandwich.

  The dog’s jaws were gripping one side of it. The janet’s fingers were gripping the other side. They were both pulling.

  The janet’s face was glowing with what Wilton was now sure was happiness. The dog’s eyes were glowing with what Wilton was equally sure was a desire to eat the whole sandwich, including him and Algy.

  Hold on, Wilton begged the janet silently. For our sake and your sake, hold on.

  The janet held on.

  After a few more moments, the dog tossed its head and tore off its side of the sandwich.

  Wilton, deafened by the alarmed curses of millions of bacteria, watched the dog gobble its mouthful down.

  Don’t give him any more, Wilton begged the janet. Have some yourself. You need the sludge.

  He peered up at the janet’s face. Oh no. She was gazing at the dog as if all she wanted in the whole of outer space was to feed this greedy mongrel more.

  Just my luck, thought Wilton. My janet’s the kindest, most generous janet in the whole universe and we’re all going to be destroyed because of it.

  Then a wonderful thing happened.

  The janet licked her lips.

  She opened her mouth.

  She lifted the remains of the sandwich towards it.

  ‘Yes,’ shouted Wilton, relief molecules flooding through him. ‘She’s having some herself. We’re saved.’

  He wriggled as fast as he could over to the janet’s side of the sandwich.

  From inside Wilton’s tummy came a muffled squeak.

  ‘Watch out for the teeth.’

  Wilton felt more ill than he ever had in his life.

  It’s not surprising really, he thought. I’m being swilled around in a great mouthful of cheese and lettuce and saliva and bacteria. Massive teeth mountains are trying to grind me into sludge. Lumps of soggy sandwich keep bouncing off me.

  With a jolt of alarm, Wilton remembered Algy. He hadn’t heard a squeak from Algy since the janet had bit into the sandwich and they’d found themselves in her mouth.

  ’Algy,’ yelled Wilton. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Sort of,’ called Algy’s muffled voice. ‘Hang on. I’ll be out in a bit.’

  Hang on to what? thought Wilton as he tried to swim away from the janet’s huge tongue. Too late. The thrashing monster sent him spinning front over tail through a churning blizzard of sandwich lumps and swearing bacteria.

  He managed to do a sideways wriggle just in time to avoid several teeth as they thundered together.

  But only just.

  What’s happening to me? wondered Wilton. I can understand the headache and the body ache and the tail ache, that’s just stress and grief, but why am I so weak and slow?

  It was all he could do to stop himself being sucked into the massive whirlpool at the back of the mouth. He knew the whirlpool tunnel was the way home, but he just didn’t feel up to going down there yet.

  What I need, thought Wilton, is somewhere to rest for a while and get my strength back.

  But where could a worm rest in a place like this?

  Wilton was just starting to feel despairing as well as very crook when he saw a welcome sight. A cavity in one of the teeth, almost exactly the same size as the neighbours’ cave at home.

  Wriggling into it wasn’t easy because of the spinning lumps of sandwich whizzing past and the swirling saliva dragging at him. Finally, though, Wilton managed to squeeze himself inside.

  He flopped back, hurting all over.

  ‘Algy,’ he called weakly. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Actually,’ called Algy’s muffled voice, ‘there’s something I have to tell you. I’ll be out in a moment.’

  Wilton waited, the pain and weakness getting worse.

  A horrible thought hit him. Was all this sickness just his body trying to tell him it didn’t want to be here inside the janet? That it didn’t want to go back to a place where nobody liked it and everyone called it fat?

  Could be, thought Wilton miserably. Whatever it is, I can’
t ever imagine feeling worse than this.

  Then he saw Algy, and he did.

  ‘Algy’, he gasped. ‘What’s happened to you?’

  Algy was dishevelled and bruised and had bits missing from his ectoplasm.

  ‘You poor thing,’ said Wilton. ‘Did you get bashed around in there while I was being tossed around in the saliva.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Algy, dragging himself painfully up onto Wilton’s shoulder. ‘I got bashed around. But not by the saliva.’

  ‘What then?’ said Wilton.

  Algy hesitated, and Wilton could see there was something his little friend was having trouble saying. He went to reassure Algy, to remind him there was nothing best friends couldn’t say to each other, but before he could get the words out another spasm of pain and sickness twisted through him.

  ‘Algy,’ he whispered. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Remember when you were being a bridge?’ said Algy.

  ‘Yes,’ said Wilton. ‘Why?’

  He’d never heard Algy sound so miserable or concerned.

  ‘Remember how we thought we escaped from the killer fungus?’ said Algy.

  Suddenly Wilton felt so weak he couldn’t even reply.

  ‘Some fungus spores must have sneaked inside you and hidden themselves,’ said Algy. ‘They’re in there now, multiplying, and I don’t know how to stop them.’

  17

  Wilton shuddered.

  The sick dizziness was getting worse.

  He wasn’t sure if it was from hearing Algy’s terrible news or because the killer fungus inside him was already starting to destroy his molecules.

  Both probably.

  ‘Hold on, Wriggles,’ Algy was saying on his shoulder. ‘I’m going to get help.’

  Wilton felt panic on top of everything else.

  ‘Algy,’ he said. ‘You can’t go off on your own. It’s murder out there in that saliva. There are huge chunks of unrestrained cheese and vicious tidal currents and a tongue without any respect for life.’

  Wilton tried to wriggle into a circle to somehow stop his friend from going, but it was no good, the tooth cavity was too small and he was too weak. And, he realised with another anguished shudder, Algy couldn’t even take refuge inside him. Not with the fungus in there.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Algy was saying. ‘I’m not frightened.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Wilton gently. ‘You’re allowed to be frightened. I don’t blame you. I’ve been frightened by a lot of things on this trip and I’m much bigger than you. If I was as tiny as you I’d probably be trying to hide up my own food tube right now.’

  Wilton wasn’t sure if he was making sense. He was too sick to think straight.

  Algy wasn’t saying anything. Wilton could see he was embarrassed.

  ‘While I’ve been hanging out inside you,’ mumbled Algy, ‘I’ve been borrowing a few molecules. Including some bravery ones.’

  Wilton stared at Algy.

  In among the weakness and the nausea, he felt a surge of relief and pride.

  ‘Good on you, Algy,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’ve got them. I’d much rather you have them instead of them being destroyed along with all the others by that mean vicious fungus.’

  ‘Don’t even say that,’ replied Algy.

  ‘Too late,’ croaked Wilton, confused. ‘I just did.’

  ‘I’m going to get help,’ said Algy. ‘Hang on. I’ll be back soon.’

  Wilton lost track of time.

  ‘Algy,’ he called at one point. ‘Algy.’

  There was no reply.

  Wilton remembered that Algy had leapt onto a passing lump of cheese to go and get help.

  That was ages ago.

  What was ages ago?

  Wilton struggled to think straight. Why couldn’t he think straight?

  A spasm of pain went through him and he remembered why. His think molecules were being choked by mean vicious killer fungus spores without a kind molecule in their bodies.

  Not like Algy.

  He’s got loads of kind molecules in his body, thought Wilton. And not just ones he’s borrowed from me. Algy is the kindest microbe in the whole universe.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ he shouted weakly at a passing swarm of enzymes. ‘The kindest microbe in the whole universe.’

  The enzymes didn’t seem to hear him. Wilton realised it was because they were bits of cheese.

  He didn’t care.

  ‘The kindest microbe in the whole universe,’ he repeated to the cheese.

  That’s why, thought Wilton a short time afterwards, or perhaps it was a long time, that’s why I’ll understand if Algy doesn’t come back. It won’t be because he’s unkind. It’ll just be common sense.

  Algy’s a parasite, thought Wilton a bit or a lot later.

  Like me.

  We parasites need a healthy host.

  It’s OK, Algy, I’ll understand if you don’t come back.

  Thank you for being my friend.

  ‘Wriggles, wake up.’

  Wilton struggled to work out where the voice was coming from.

  ‘Wake up, Wriggles, please.’

  Then he realised.

  His shoulder.

  ‘Algy,’ he tried to say, but the pain was too great.

  It was Algy. And he seemed to have an army with him. Battalions of tiny warriors. And one bigger companion, a lady with the sort of intelligent expression on her cell wall that made Wilton think she’d be very good at solving the dopey riddles slime patches came up with when they were bored, which was most of the time because their attempts to play soccer were pretty pathetic and . . .

  ‘Wriggles,’ said Algy urgently. ‘Stay with us. These are white blood cells from our janet’s immune system. They’ve kindly agreed to help us with our fungus problem. And this lady’s a brain cell. She’s from the part of our janet’s brain that manages the immune system. She’s here to supervise the operation.’

  Wilton struggled to take all this in.

  ‘What operation?’ he asked feebly.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Algy. ‘We’re going to make you better.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Wilton. He wanted to say more, to tell Algy he was the best friend in the whole universe, but his chat molecules were in a bad way.

  ‘Young worm,’ said the brain cell.

  Wilton realised she was speaking to him.

  ‘Do we have your permission for an entry?’ said the brain cell.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Wilton. He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but anything that was alright with Algy was alright with him.

  The brain cell started ordering the white blood cells to proceed to Wilton’s entrance points.

  Wilton managed a final couple of words to Algy.

  ‘Be careful.’

  Algy held his tendrils out wide.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ’when am I not careful? I’m so careful that in dangerous battle situations, I even take a spare.’

  Wilton didn’t have a clue what Algy was on about.

  Then he saw that Algy’s ectoplasm was stretching out of shape, and his nucleus was . . . pine-o-clean, was this possible? . . . dividing into two, and his whole body was twisting, splitting, separating . . .

  . . . into two identical Algys.

  The two Algys finally separated with a loud pop. The sound reminded Wilton of being on his ledge long ago, gazing down into the valley and hearing popping noises in the distance and not knowing what they were.

  He did now.

  ‘Sorry you had to see that,’ said the Algys. ‘We microbes prefer to do that in private, but this is an emergency. Try to relax, and we’ll have you better before you can say “tickle me”.’

  Wilton stared at the two Algys, astounded, delighted, praying his squiz molecules weren’t as crook as his chat ones.

  Two best friends were even better than one.

  The Algys touched him tenderly on the shoulder with their tendrils.

  ‘See you soon,’ they said.r />
  18

  Wilton was amazed how quickly he started to feel better.

  Soon the pain and sickness were almost gone. Even his skin, which had been burning where it touched the inside of the tooth cavity, was cool again.

  ‘Good on you, Algy,’ Wilton called out gratefully.

  Algy didn’t reply. Wilton wasn’t surprised.

  Probably can’t hear me over the din of the battle, he thought.

  It had been a big battle. Wilton’s body had bulged in all sorts of odd places. He’d experienced the sort of tremors and convulsions and twitches that he guessed could only be caused by huge internal troop movements. Some of the skirmishes had almost flipped him out of the tooth cavity.

  But now there was very little movement.

  The battle must be almost over.

  He couldn’t hear battle sounds any more. Not even the squeak of dying fungus spores. They must all be dead. That’s why he was feeling so good.

  And it was all thanks to Algy.

  Wilton was filled with so much gratitude he couldn’t stop himself. He called out to a swarm of passing cheese fragments.

  ‘Algy’s the best friend in the whole universe.’

  The cheese fragments didn’t respond, but the enzymes on them waved to Wilton and cheered.

  Wilton felt like cheering too, because suddenly the saliva around him was full of white blood cells emerging from his rear exit and forming up into their platoons and squadrons.

  There were less of them than had gone in, Wilton noticed, but they carried themselves like victors.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Wilton. ‘Thank you all very much.’

  He was deeply grateful. But he was also starting to feel the first tiny stabs of anxiety.

  ‘Algy,’ he called. ‘Algy, where are you? Come out and get a medal.’

  The brain cell emerged.

  Alone.

  ‘Where’s Algy?’ asked Wilton.

  The brain cell seemed not to hear. She started dismissing the white blood cells, who sped away through the saliva, relieved to be off-duty. Within moments they were partying with the enzymes on the cheese fragments.

  Wilton didn’t feel relieved.

  Panic was building inside him.

  Until he had a thought. Of course. What would be the one thing Algy would do after an energetic and draining battle?