Stone Age Rampage

“Hush, slave!” said the high priest, Acalan, his face hidden by a jade mask. “The ceremony is about to begin.” He raised his knife in the air.

“Shame I’ll be missing it,” said Zuma. “Tell Tlaloc I’d like to take a rain check.” As the priest lowered the knife, she pulled up her knees and kicked him hard in the stomach with both feet.

“Oof!” The priest doubled over, clutching his belly. The blade clattered to the floor.

Zuma rolled off the altar, dodging the other priests, who fell over each other in their attempts to catch her. One priest jumped into her path, but the little Chihuahua dog sank his teeth into the man’s ankle. As the priest howled in pain, Zuma whistled to the dog.

“Nice work, doggie!” she said. “I’m getting out of here and you’re coming with me!” She scooped him up and dashed down the steps of the pyramid.

“Grab her!” groaned the high priest from above.

Many hands reached out to catch the slave girl, but Zuma was fast and determined. She bolted towards the jungle bordering the pyramid. Charging into the cool green leaves, she ran until she could no longer hear the shouts of the crowd.

“We did it,” she said to the dog. “We’re free!”

As she spoke, the sky erupted in a loud rumble of thunder, making the dog yelp. “Thunder’s nothing to be scared of,” said Zuma.

“Don’t be so sure about that!” came a deep voice above her.

Zuma looked up to see a creature with blue skin and long, sharp fangs, like a jaguar. He carried a wooden drum and wore a feathered headdress, just like Zuma’s.

She knew at once who it was. “Tlaloc!” she gasped.

The rain god’s bulging eyes glared down at her. “You have dishonoured me!” he bellowed. “No sacrifice has ever escaped before!”

“Really? I’m the first?” Zuma beamed with pride, but the feeling didn’t last long. Tlaloc’s scowl was too scary. “I’m sorry!” she said quietly. “I just wanted to be free.”

“You will never be free!” Tlaloc hissed. “Unless you can escape again …”

Tlaloc banged his drum, and thunder rolled through the jungle.

He pounded the drum a second time, and thick black clouds gathered high above the treetops.

“This isn’t looking good,” Zuma whispered. Holding the dog tightly, she closed her eyes.

On the third deafening drum roll, the jungle floor began to shake and a powerful force tugged at Zuma. She felt her whole body being swallowed up inside … the drum!

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“I don’t understand,” said Zuma, from the back seat of the car. She looked out at the countryside whizzing past. “Where are the temples? Where are the pyramids?”

“We don’t have any pyramids in England,” replied Tom.

Tom’s dad was driving the car in the front seat next to him. He gave Tom a curious look. “Of course there aren’t any pyramids in England!” he said.

Zuma giggled as Tom’s face flushed.

“Er … what I meant to say was it’s too bad we don’t have any pyramids,” Tom stammered. “Because that would be really cool.”

“Yes,” Dad agreed. “It certainly would, especially for an archaeologist like me and a history fan like you.”

“Absolutely!” Tom nodded enthusiastically. Then he sighed with relief as Dad turned back to focusing on the road. Usually he wasn’t so careless when it came to talking to Zuma around other people, but sometimes he forgot he was the only one who could see or hear her.

“That was close,” giggled Zuma, sliding across the car seat. Her Chihuahua dog, Chilli, stuck his head out of the open window. His pointy ears flapped in the wind.

This time, Tom remembered not to say anything back.

Having a 500-year-old slave girl for a friend could sometimes be a challenge, but Tom didn’t mind. After all, it had been him who’d accidentally released Zuma from her magical imprisonment by banging a drum belonging to the Aztec rain god, Tlaloc. And ever since then, they’d been travelling through time in search of the six gold coins that Tlaloc had scattered through history. Only by finding all six coins could Zuma win back her freedom and return to her own time.

Tom had become so used to Zuma’s being there that now he barely noticed she was painted blue and wore a large feathered headdress. He had also grown very fond of her Chihuahua dog. Chilli had lots of energy, and for such a small animal he was very brave.

The car slowed down, and Tom’s dad pulled over at a farm shop to pick up some supplies. When he was gone, Zuma asked, “Why are we heading so far away from home?”

“It’s called going on holiday,” Tom explained. “It’s something people do when they want to relax and have a good time.”

“We can have a good time at your house,” Zuma pointed out. “You’ve got that big television thingy and your computer games. And we can play tennis – I’m getting good at that.”

“This is different,” Tom explained. “It’s called camping. We’re going to spend a few days sleeping outdoors and exploring the woods.”

Zuma frowned. “Why sleep outside when you’ve got a lovely bed?”

“Because it’s fun!” replied Tom. “Don’t you like roughing it?”

“I was a slave,” Zuma reminded him, with a roll of her eyes. “I spent my whole life roughing it – sleeping on hard floors without even a blanket to keep me warm, waking up stiff and freezing cold. I’d much rather relax somewhere comfortable.”

Dad came back with two shopping bags and put them in the back seat, right on Zuma’s lap. “The campsite’s just around the next bend!” he announced.

“Brilliant!” cried Tom.

“Great,” grumbled Zuma.

Minutes later they were unloading the car and carrying their rucksacks and tents to a clearing beside a crystal blue lake. Chilli scurried around, barking happily, while Zuma sat on a rock, dangling her feet in the water. The shiny black pendant she wore around her neck glinted in the sun.

Tom and his dad worked together to put up the tents – a large one for Dr Sullivan and a smaller one for Tom. When Dad went back to the car to fetch the sleeping bags, Zuma came and climbed inside Tom’s tent.

“This looks a bit flimsy,” she said, with a frown. “How’s it going to protect us from the dangers of the forest? What happens if a giant snake tries to slither inside in the middle of the night? Or a ferocious jaguar attacks us?”

Tom laughed. “There aren’t any ferocious jaguars in England,” he said.

“Maybe,” said Zuma. “But we can’t be too careful. Let’s go back to your house where it’s warm and comfortable and—”

At that moment, Chilli came racing into the tent and crashed into Zuma, who fell backwards against one of the tent poles.

“Watch out!” cried Tom.

Too late. The pole went flying out of the ground, and the tent collapsed in a heap on top of them.

“Help!” cried Zuma, flailing around. “Get me out of here!”