Eric and The Woolly Jumpers

CHAPTER 1

ESCAPE

Sinisterly black, the car approached the Facility gates. On both sides of them a high metal fence stretched away into the distance. Slowly, the car slithered to a halt. One of the blacked out windows hissed as it was lowered. Dressed in black with a black helmet that covered its face a creature marched out of a hut by the gates, took a card from the unseen driver and pushed it into a slot in the wall. Clanging and whirring, the gates slowly opened, letting the car crawl through under a sign saying, ‘Cloning Facility.’ ‘Top Secret - KEEP OUT!’

It was a long way from the gates to the Facility itself; for the last hour they had driven through an enormous forest, thick with trees. Now there were none, not even a flower: just a huge concrete desert that seemed to stretch forever. Patrolling this wasteland were guards dressed like the creature on the gate, but these were carrying weapons of some sort. If the car passed anywhere near they jumped to attention and saluted.

In the afternoon sunlight the vast, square, silver, eyeless Cloning Facility exuded malevolence. Almost noiseless humming sounds crept out of it, giving the impression it was desperately trying to be quiet so as not to give away any of its secrets. Faceless guards in their black helmets and uniforms were everywhere. Outsiders would have wondered whether they were there to stop things getting in or getting out. Part of the Facility wall slid to one side as they approached, allowing the car to enter then slammed shut with an ominous bang. Inside, the car slid to a halt. The driver, dressed like all the others, got out, walked stiffly to the back of the car and opened the door.

Generalissimo Walter Strumphh struggled out of the car with the help of the driver. What an extraordinary sight! Nearly as wide as he was tall, with short, thin arms and the skinniest of legs. He looked like a large, fat balloon with four knitting needles stuck in it. On top of the balloon was the biggest head you’ve ever seen, bald except for a tuft of hair on top with the smallest shifty eyes that were too close together, a truly enormous bulbous nose that overshadowed everything else, and a tiny mouth that had lived in the shade of the nose for so long it had never grown properly and was so sad it had never learnt to smile. Strumphh pushed his driver away, brushed down his dishevelled lilac suit, adjusted his bright yellow waistcoat that was so tight fitting the buttons pushed out dangerously, straightened his pink tie, most of which was hidden under rolls of fat as it disappeared into his shirt collar and placed on top of his enormous nose the tiniest pince nez eyeglasses. This made him look even more ridiculous but he felt it added to his already inflated sense of self importance.

Last out of the car was an equally bizarre spectacle: Strumphh’s assistant, TD Beagle. Toady to his enemies and Toady to such friends as he had, which were precious few, if any. Toady was the skinniest person you’ve ever seen. His clothes hung off him like washing on a line. He was so tiny he looked like he’d fit into Strumphh’s pocket. In lots of ways Strumphh did have him in his pocket so maybe it was appropriate. His face was thin and gaunt. Over sized rabbit teeth were crammed into a tiny mouth and eyes like organ stops stood out from his head. No matter what he did with his hair it always stood on end, giving the impression that he stuck his finger in a light socket every morning, thus adding to the general air of shock he always carried with him. Toady was always hungry, constantly dribbling whenever he was near food or someone mentioned the subject. It was thought he must have a serious dose of worms to eat so much and be so thin. He said it was his metabolism. Everyone really knew it was because he used up so much nervous energy being both terrified of, and servile to, Generalissimo Strumphh. Toady by name, Toady by nature!

Walter Strumphh looked proudly around, standing in the empty atrium of his pride and joy, The Cloning Facility. Nothing had stopped him achieving this, the jewel in his crown. Whilst he gloated a panel in the wall opened and in came a being in a white coat, a surgical mask that covered his entire face and a white hat. Saluting Strumphh, he ushered them into a lift and pushed the button marked Gallery Floor. Immediately the lift hurtled upwards.

‘Tell me, have you solved the problem?‘ asked Strumphh.

‘We think so,’ said White Mask nervously. ‘There are considerably less.’

‘Considerably less! Considerably less! That’s no good to me! I want none, not considerably less!’ shrieked Strumphh.

‘We are doing our best, Generalissimo, but it’s a complicated process,’ snivelled White Mask.

‘Not as complicated as having potential revolutionaries running amok!’ yelled Strumphh, his face getting redder by the minute, the veins on his nose fit to burst. ‘They’re out there now, plotting, scheming, trying to ruin my plans. Make sure you kill them all!’

‘There are none in this batch. We’ve been very thorough,’ he replied.

‘There’d better not be,’ said Strumphh threateningly.

When they reached the Gallery Floor the lift door slid back. Before them an enormous black mirror-glassed window looked down onto the ground floor of the Facility. Through the window they saw an endless stretch of white, slowly moving like waves on a gentle sea. It took a while to make out any distinct shapes in the huge mass but slowly it became clear that they were looking at an ocean of sheep, thousands of them, all perfectly white and utterly silent. Strumphh gloated at the sight laid out before him.

‘I’m a genius, a total genius. Food, clothing, fuel, all we need from my one Facility, my dreams made real! My wealth will become inestimable. No one can stop me!’

Standing in front of the gallery window, arms raised aloft, he shouted, ‘There has been no one like me before nor will there be again. I am Lord of the Geniuses!’

Through the blackened glass the sheep could neither see nor hear him. White Mask applauded politely. Strumphh turned from the window, arms still outstretched. Food consumed Beagle’s mind and he failed to take in his master’s speech until nudged violently in the ribs by White Mask. Realising his error, he started to applaud too.

Beagle started to dribble, muttering under his breath, ‘Endless, glorious, beautiful food, meaty food.’

Saliva started to run in rivers down his suit before dripping onto the floor in front of him, forming a large pool.

Strumphh dropped his arms to his sides, looking at him in utter disgust. ‘Much more of this,’ he said, pointing at the sticky mess. ‘And you’ll be joining those sheep on their final journey!’

‘I’m sorry master but the mention of food, it’s too much,’ snivelled Toady. ‘Surely you could spare just one for me.’

‘Never! We have targets, targets that must be met!’ He looked menacingly at White Mask. ‘Or heads will roll!’

‘Yes master,’ Toady said resignedly.

‘Now on to the processing plant!’ shouted Strumphh.

White Mask was shoved towards the lift. Strumphh turned on his heels to follow, slipping in Toady’s dribble. Making frantic efforts to stay on his feet, he did a mad Irish jig with his two minions desperately trying to keep him upright. Faster his legs whirled until they were just a blur. His arms flailed like demented windmills. Button bullets shot off his waistcoat, ricocheting off the walls and Toady’s head.

‘Ow!’ shrieked Toady. Another one hit him in the eye, making him let go of his master. ‘Ow, Ouch, Ow!’ he yelled as button after button hit him.

Strumphh’s glasses sailed through the air, landing next to him, and whilst doing his crazy dance he trod on them, squashing them flat. Eventually his whirling extremities slowed down and with White Mask’s help he managed to retain his balance but not his dignity. Facially, he was way past the colour of beetroot and sweat was pouring off him. The veins on his nose throbbed dangerously. Furious, he turned to Toady, smacking him on the top of his head. By doing so, Strumphh felt he had restored some of his lost dignity.

‘Ow!’ howled Toady, almost crying.

Strumphh tucked his shirt back in under the great rolls of fat that slopped over his belt like congealed custard and wobbled into the lift, shoving White Mask before him. Toady, still hopping and shrieking, was left alone as the lift doors slammed shut. Slowly he recovered his composure, hit the button for the lift and stood for a while watching the sea of sheep, trying not to dribble. Smug pleasure overcame him because he managed it for a while. He did it by thinking what he’d really like to do to Strumphh and what he’d like to do was horrible but it cheered him up no end. A demonic grin settled on his face. Momentarily, he had forgotten to be frightened. With a clunk the lift doors opened and Toady got in. The doors shut behind him. In the vastness of the white room below the sheep fidgeted restlessly.

If Strumphh and Company had bothered to look hard enough they would have seen something unusual amongst the white, shifting sea below them. One of them had a slightly different coloured woollen coat: fractionally dustier than the rest. They would have also seen that he was the only one wading his way slowly...