Wild Moose Chase by Siobhan Rowden

hurting my arm.”
    Mr Zola was clinging to Cam’s arm as they sped through the streets of Moscow.
    â€œDon’t tell me,” she said, “Monty doesn’t like going fast.”
    â€œYou’re getting to know him very well,” whispered Mr Zola. “Do we really need to go at this pace?”
    â€œYes, we do,” called Officer Sergei from the driver’s seat. “Your queen has made clear you cannot be missing nine fifteen train from Moscow Central. It leaves in two minutes. The next one isn’t till day after tomorrow. If we fail, she cut off my head.”
    He turned and winked at Cam.
    â€œHow long till we get there?” shrieked Mr Zola as they skidded round a corner, knocking a bin flying and scattering the pedestrians.
    â€œAbout three minutes,” said Officer Sergei.
    â€œBut I thought you said the train left in two.”
    â€œYes, but I have plan.”
    â€œAre you going to call ahead and delay departure?” asked Mr Zola, resuming his hold on Cam’s bruised arm.
    â€œNo, no!” shouted Officer Sergei. “No one, not even your queen, can delay Trans-Siberian train. We catch it up and drive beside at exactly the same speed. Then I open hatch in roof of car and you climb out and jump aboard. Easy!”
    â€œAre you mad?” cried Mr Zola. “We can’t do that!”
    â€œThen you must wait for next train.”
    Bert tried to swallow, but his mouth was completely dry.
    â€œWe can’t wait that long,” he croaked. “We have no choice.”
    Cam nodded slowly as Mr Zola crumpled in a heap on her lap.
    Â 
    After a couple of minutes the road turned a bend and ran directly beside the railway track.
    â€œThere she is,” called Officer Sergei.
    The twins looked out of the window to see a train speeding along the track ahead of them. The carriages were white on top, blue in the middle and red on the bottom, just like the Russian flag.
    â€œWe’re catching it up,” cried Bert. “Have you revived Mr Zola yet?”
    â€œHe’s getting there,” said Cam, popping the top back on to the smelling salts. “Mr Zola, if you miss this train then the Queen’s going to be in a right royal rage. We’ve got to do it.”
    Mr Zola sat up and looked at the speeding train. His face was white.
    â€œOK, we’re up to speed,” shouted Officer Sergei. “Out you go! Good luck!”
    Cam was suddenly glad of Mr Zola’s clinging fingers. The discomfort in her arm was taking her mind off what was to come. Now was definitely not the time to be clumsy. But she had to get to Siberia, and she had to get there fast.
    â€œI’m going first,” she said, breaking away from Mr Zola and poking her head through the sunroof.
    â€œNo, I am,” cried Bert, pulling her back in. “You’ll just fall off.”
    â€œI will not!”
    â€œYou’re too clumsy.”
    â€œI am not! It’s my turn to go first!”
    â€œFor goodness’ sake!” shouted Mr Zola. “I would rather die than listen to you two bicker again! No wonder your poor grandfather sent you to Siberia! I will go first!”
    He pushed past Cam and pulled himself through the hatch and on to the roof of the car. “This is for my dear Papa!” he called.
    â€œAnd for our dear Gramps,” gulped Cam, scrambling up after him. Bert followed close behind. The wind screeched past their faces, whipping up their hair. The sound of the roaring train beside them was deafening. Mr Zola was holding on to the flashing light on top of the car. He had secured his cheese hat firmly to his head with the two ear flaps, but Monty was flapping dangerously around his terrified face. He held out his hand to Cam, who in turn grabbed Bert. They managed to get to their feet.
    â€œOK!” yelled Mr Zola. “JUUUUUUUMP!”

The Trans-Siberian Railway
    Mr Zola screamed as he let go of Cam’s hand and