Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Flies Again by Frank Cottrell Boyce

Author:Frank Cottrell Boyce [Boyce, Frank Cottrell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-7636-5961-5
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2011-12-01T06:00:00+00:00

“Can I open the window?” asked Jem as they flew over a ferryboat.

“Of course,” said Mum.

Jem leaned out and waved. The passengers on deck waved back. The captain gave them a toot on the horn. Unfortunately, ferry horns use steam from the engines, so Jem was quickly covered in soot and grime.

He was still getting the soot out of his eyes when the rest of the family started screaming.

“Where did they come from?”

“They’re coming toward us!”

“What is that?”

“Make it stop!”

“Go higher, go higher! We’re going to crash!”

“Reverse! Reverse!”

Jem looked up just in time to see a wall of rock and snow rushing toward them. “Is that a mountain?” he said.

“You are now in,” said YouFinder, “the Atlas Mountains.”

“No one mentioned the Atlas Mountains to me,” said Mum, who was driving now. “This is supposed to be Africa. I thought it was going to be sunshine and giraffes, not rocks and snow.”

“The Atlas Mountains, current height — four thousand one hundred and seventy metres,” said YouFinder, and added helpfully, “Your current height — one hundred and seventy metres. Thank you for your time.”

“Go higher!” yelled Dad. “Go a lot higher.”

“Chitty Chitty High High!” Little Harry laughed.

“We can’t go that high!” said Mum calmly. “I’ll turn back.” She pulled really hard on the wheel. As soon as Chitty turned side on, the whole camper van rolled over completely, sending cups and books and bedding everywhere. Mum was trying to drive with a duvet on her head. When she managed to peep out from under it, the mountains were still heading toward them.

“The problem we have here,” said Lucy, “is wind turbulence. You see, the wind comes over the mountains, and a combination of air-pressure fluctuation and temperature gradient sucks it downward. It’s like a river of wind flowing down the mountain. It’s called a downdraught.”

“Just give me the headlines,” said Mum, still tugging at Chitty’s steering wheel.

“OK, to put it in two words,” said Lucy, “we’re doomed.”

“Can’t we just turn back?” said Dad.

“I’m trying. You try. It’s as if the van just doesn’t want to —” They swapped seats.

“There!” yelled Jem. “Over there! Look!”

There was a valley. Over to the left and down below them. A narrow valley. But definitely a valley.

“If we could get to that, then maybe we could get through without going higher . . .”

Dad tried to turn Chitty left, but once again, as soon as she was side on to the wind, she rolled right over and caused another Mug-and-Duvet Avalanche. He tried again to turn toward the valley, but as soon as he pulled the steering wheel, Chitty’s engine snarled, as if she was telling him not to.

“Just nudge her a bit,” said Jem. “You have to listen to her.”

Dad did as Jem suggested, and Chitty moved just a tiny bit nearer to the valley, then floated for a while, her wings fluttering. She was shuddering but not moving much — like a kite in a high wind. Dad nudged her again, and she purred again. And again.

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