Free The Warrior Sheep Down Under by Christopher Russell Page B

their bodies forward and backward.
    Links nodded approval. “Hey, nice moves, guys…Now, with the beat.” And he began to rap.
    â€œWe ain’t so daft as it might appear,
    An’ we’s rocking this raft ’cause we can hear
    The lady out there and her voice, we know,
    Is our fairy godtingy, so we gotta go…
    But it sure won’t be no laughing matter,
    So we’s sayin’ no, no time for chatter.
    So guys just rock,
    Rock this raft…Rock this raft,
    Don’t pitter-patter.
    Rock this raft. Rock this raft…”
    The other warriors joined in and the raft began to tilt up and down rhythmically. It rocked farther out into the little bay. The boatman splashed after it, yelling for the sheep to stop, but before he could reach it, the raft suddenly span round twice, then shot off down the river, caught and carried along by the swift current.
    â€œStop rocking!” shouted Wills. “And all sit down!”
    The sheep crouched as low as they could. The raft bounced along faster and faster and once more the sheep felt the spray of the Rotapangi River on their fleeces.
    â€œWhat a splendid way to travel,” observed Sal. Then as they got even faster, “Um, Wills dear, do we have any of those things humans use to, er, slow things down a bit?”
    â€œBrakes?”
    â€œYes, dear.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh.”
    The trees beside the river had become a green blur again. The raft was gaining on the kayak, but Alice was completely unaware of what and who was behind her. The crash helmet blocked out most sound, and her eyes were still fixed on the river ahead.
    â€œAlice Barton, going strong, bound to claim the…”
    Suddenly, as she rounded a bend, a wall of rock appeared in front of her, like a high dam blocking the river. Halfway across it, splitting the wall of rock from top to bottom, was a narrow gorge. The entire Rotapangi River had no choice but to force its way through this narrow gap. And Alice had no choice either. This was Tickler’s Turnpike. And it was sucking her toward its dark mouth.
    Even inside her helmet, Alice could hear the echoing roar of tumbling water from within the gorge. Mist billowed out like breath from a giant’s jaws. She braced herself and paddled hard into the mist. Soon she was plowing through a curtain of spray. The roar was deafening. The kayak plunged into the gorge and down the furious white slope of churning, racing water. Alice screamed, and her scream seemed to be answered by another noise, even louder.
    â€œMmmaaaaa…!”
    It was coming from behind her. She ducked as something large and wide and red skimmed over the top of her helmet and landed with a flat-bottomed whack on the white water ahead of her. As it landed, its occupants bounced high in the air before dropping back down again: splat, splat, splat, splat, splat! The raft careered onward and downward with five sheep onboard. Five sheep!
    Alice lost her paddle, lost her grip, lost everything. The kayak bounced off one wall of the gorge, then the other. It turned sideways and rolled over with Alice trapped in her seat. Cold water surged into her mouth and up her nose. Then she was the right way up again, spluttering and gasping, with water streaming down her face. But only for a second. The kayak rolled over again. And it went on rolling and tumbling, like a twig down a storm drain.
    Ahead of her, the raft with its heavy load of sheep crashed from side to side but stayed upright. Sal managed a backward glance through the drenching spray.
    â€œOur fairy godtingy seems to be very fond of getting wet,” she observed before being hurled against Oxo’s bottom.
    Then the raft shot out of the lower end of the Turnpike, into the relative calm of a wide pool, before twirling twice and floating onward downriver.
    â€œGood effort!” yelled Shelly. She was on the bank with Deidre, waiting for Alice’s kayak. Only after she’d