Free Hercufleas by Sam Gayton

leap brought him down on the crag of Yuk’s knee. The giant’s flesh was bark and mud and rock, held together by white roots running through his body like veins. He bounded up the body – from knee to thigh to hip. His broken arm throbbed; he could barely breathe. After a few jumps, his legs were so tired and stretched they felt like old elastic underpants, ready to fall off his bottom. But he kept going. He had to. His fleamily were on the rattlesnoak that sprouted from the giant’s head.
    Words tumbled down from Yuk’s lips like a mudslide.
    â€˜WHAT ITCH YUK’S HEAD?’
    A giant hand flew up past Hercufleas to grope around the rattlesnoak branches.
    â€˜HEY!’ Hercufleas bellowed from Yuk’s waist, try to distract him. ‘DOWN HERE!’
    His voice faded into the cool night air. He had to try something else. Leaping sideways, he landed in the cave of Yuk’s bellybutton. It was choked with bramble-strangle. Bats roosted in nooks above his head, swooping and shrieking. He ignored them, frantically searching the floor, sensing tender nerve clusters just under the skin like landmines. All fleas instinctively avoid biting the most sensitive parts of their host. But now Hercufleas went for the tenderest spot in Yuk’s bellybutton.
    And chomped down as hard as he possibly, possibly could.
    â€˜OOOOOH!’ A roar echoed around the bellybutton. ‘WHAT ITCH YUK’S BELLY?’
    Hercufleas had one brief moment of triumph. He’d done it! He’d bought his fleamily some time—
    Suddenly bats were all around him – a black cloud of panic, fighting to get outside. Hercufleas dodged their flurry of wings and jaws and claws. What had spooked them?
    Too late, he saw.

    Yuk’s giant finger was rushing up the bellybutton towards him. Of course: he’d bitten, now Yuk would scratch the itch.
    Right where he stood.
    The finger slammed down on him. Crushing. Pulverising. Hercufleas felt his armoured skin crack and pop under the pressure. He tensed his whole body as hard as he could. Trying to stay strong. Trying to survive. He couldn’t get squished.
    At last he felt the pressure lift, but he was lifted up too. Out of the bellybutton. He was wedged in the gunk and sludge under Yuk’s nail. Glued to the end of the giant’s fingertip. A crushed and broken bug.
    With his last ounce of strength, Hercufleas kicked out with his legs. He wrenched himself free, the gunk stretching like a bungee cord.
Snap!
He tumbled down into the clearing, smearing down a tree trunk until he came to a stop. Stuck.
    The giant went back to rummaging around his head. His fingertips brushed the branch where the house-hat sat. Hercufleas watched from below, whispering
The Plea of the Flea
, praying for a miracle. In Avalonian fairy tales, this was the moment when the knight in shining armour appeared and saved the day…
    Yuk’s fingers plucked up Stickler first. ‘YUM YUM.’ He spoke like Ugor: slow and stupid and cruel. ‘YUK NOT NEED TO GUZZLE TOWN FOR TASTY SNACK. TASTY SNACK COME TO YUK.’
    Yuk smiled at Stickler, wriggling like a worm in his grip, then tossed the hero-seller onto his tongue. Stickler sloshed around the giant’s mouth, trying desperately to paddle away from the gnashing stone teeth, clinging to Yuk’s tonsils…
    Then something flew up from the woodn’t like a firework, punching into Yuk’s chest.
BOOM!
    In the burning clearing stood the silhouette of Ugor and his Bazuka.
    Yuk toppled – it seemed to take hours – and slammed down into the woodn’t. The impact made the giant choke and cough up into the air a shining glob of spit. Floating inside it, like a pickled egg in brine, was Mr Stickler. He rose up, slowed, stopped – and fell straight down again into Yuk’s mouth. The giant swallowed him with a gulp.
    â€˜Onk-Onk, now you fire too!’ Ugor bellowed.
    As Yuk lurched to his feet, the