Part 8 is here.
As the humongous crow left Joel Fields once more, there was still no indication that the goats would be back in the Meadows anytime soon.
Goldberg sighed.
"We really need to get back, Pete," he said forcefully. "Why would you want to stick around here anyway? There's nothing."
Pete's plan may have been slightly flawed as far as location was concerned, but this was one part he had put some thought into. He looked away for a moment and, calling upon all the acting prowess he had garnered in his somewhat limited experience, shed a single tear.
Then he looked back to the group and said:
"I just don't believe it. Joel Fields."
Goldberg sighed again.
"I know, Pete."
"I mean, I know it's a wasteland but...it's Joel Fields, y'know? I can almost smell the dandelions."
"I know, Pete." Tears were now forming in the eyes of the other two goats.
"I mean look at it! No grass, no life.."
He trotted over to the sign.
"Even the sign..."
He bowed his head, stuck out his horns.
"Even the sign is rotten!"
And on that last word, he gave the decrepit thing an almighty wallop.
* * *
Pete wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen when he headbutted that sign. The only clue he had was what the monster had told him when he had fallen asleep in the forest:
"The 'Welcome to Joel Fields' sign. That's the key."
But he reasoned that his attack would provoke some hint as to the sign's role in uncovering the cave and, even if it didn't, he could at least disguise the attempt as an emotional outburst while he thought of something else.
Fortunately, something did happen. The monster had not been being overly cryptic; an evil goat-harvesting horror he may be but, to his credit, the sign was the key.
And once Pete had turned the key, it opened the lock, and once the lock had opened, so did the trapdoor beneath Pete's hooves.
"Pete!" he heard his comrades cry as he tumbled. It was not a very far fall, perhaps a little over ten feet, but it had taken him by surprise. When he got to his feet, his legs were shaking.
"Are you okay?" called Cliffey, peering down at him from above.
"I think so, yeah." His cover remained unblown. "Guys, I know you're all aching to go home but..."
"But what?" came the cry from above after a moment.
"...There's, like, a passageway down here. Goldberg, do you have a torch?"
Another moment passed before a beam of light confirmed that yes, he did. Goldberg carefully clambered down.
"Isn't this exciting? Get Cliffey and Sarah too!"
"Pete, I'm not sure about this. I'm as curious as you are to find out what's underneath Joel Fields, but I can't guarantee it won't be dangerous. And even if could, I couldn't guarantee it won't be boring. The three of you should probably hang back while I check it out."
"And let you have all the fun?" chimed Sarah, for whom the promise of new ground seemed to have erased the trauma of seeing the state of the Fields. She had quietly joined her friends in the rabbit-hole, and was now grinning expectantly.
Goldberg sighed, not for the first time. "Okay. Well. Just...keep your wits about you, okay? And stay close. Are you coming, Cliffey?" he shouted up.
"Sure..." said Cliffey uncertainly. He had personally had enough adventure for one day, but what can one do when swimming against the tide? Especially when one is a goat, a species not known for their strong swimming.
As he prepared to descend the trapdoor's shaft, he looked up. The crow was still there, and it looked like he was just flying around in circles over the Fields.
That's odd, thought Cliffey. He's free to go home. Why doesn't he leave?
He realised that he hadn't been polite enough to ask the crow's name yet, and resolved to do so if they met again.
* * *
Goldberg, naturally, led the way through the darkness, with Pete, Sarah and Cliffey - in that order - close behind.
The passage wasn't too long; it wasn't particularly twisty, and it wasn't at all turny. Goldberg hardly even needed his flashlight - the dim light filtering through the trapdoor would probably have been enough.
It wasn't long before they came to a thick metal door, fitted neatly into the walls of the cave.
"There's a padlock," muttered Goldberg, mostly to himself, "but it looks old. I can probably just bash it off with the end of the torch. Are you guys ready to see what lies beyond?"
A small voice cut through the suspense.
"Goldberg?"
"Yes, Pete?"
"I'm scared."
"That's understandable. But don't be. It's something new. Life - real life, not goat life where you lie around all day and eat and do nothing - life is made up of new things."
Until you find the one that kills you, thought Cliffey.
True to his word, Goldberg dispatched the padlock with ease. He gripped the door handle.
"Here we go, folks."
And in they went.
TO BE CONTINUED
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