Praise for
“Brilliant.”
Konnie Huq, Blue Peter presenter and author of Cookie and the Most Annoying Boy in the World
“I read Sticky Pines: The Bigwoof Conspiracy in one day. Once I started the adventure, I couldn’t put it down.”
Julie Pike, author of The Last Spell Breather
“Book of the Week: An hilarious, exciting sci-fi series with wide appeal.”
The South Wales Evening Post
“Dashe Roberts cleverly combines paranormal phenomena, conspiracy theories and mysterious creatures into a breathtaking, genuinely funny caper which deserves to be cult reading for 9+ readers.”
Armadillo Magazine
“The most entertaining book I’ve read this year.”
Mr Ripleys Enchanted Books blog
“Sticky Pines: The Bigwoof Conspiracy is going to be a bedtime-destroyer. It’s the perfect book to read with a torch while pretending to turn the lights out and go to sleep.”
Louie Stowell, author of The Dragon in the Library
“Perfect for fans of Stranger Things! A fast paced, spooky adventure with plenty of twists and laughs along the way.”
Aisling Fowler, author of Fireborn
“I fell in love with this book: the voice is fresh and funny, SO funny. It’s the fabulous sci-fi mystery I have been waiting for and I just can’t wait to read the next one and the one after that and the one after that.”
Rashmi Sirdeshpande, author of How To Be Extraordinary
For JGR. This one’s all for you.
In the Headlights
VAGGGHHHRRRROOOOOOOOOM! Milo Fisher flew back in his seat as his father floored the accelerator. The boorish rev of the cobalt blue sports car echoed across the Dentalia mountains.
Mr Fisher switched gears and they zipped round a bend, dissipating wavy columns of mist rising from rust-coloured leaves blanketing the forest floor.
“What did I tell you about the cornering on this machine?” Fisher flashed his son a toothy grin as they continued down the deserted dirt road winding through Nu Co.’s vast forested property. “Have you ever felt so alive?”
Milo swallowed the sick creeping up the back of his throat. I wonder how alive Dad would feel if I vomited grapefruit juice and poached eggs all over his ridiculous new car? “This is great,” he said, trying to sound cheerful rather than terrified. He gripped the edge of his seat as they raced down a steep incline.
Mr Fisher had purchased the Aston Martin to celebrate the launch of his company’s latest moneymaking venture. After the public relations disaster caused by Nucralose, a pine-sap sweetener that turned out to have some rather unfortunate side effects on the local populace, Fisher was “pivoting” Nu Co. in a fresh direction. All Milo knew about the endeavour was that it was keeping his father extremely busy. So busy that he’d cancelled their trip to Vancouver for a wildlife photography exhibition that Milo had set his heart on. Figures.
As a consolation prize, Fisher had woken his son before dawn for a surprise ride in the flashy two-seater. “Driving a fast car down an open road is as American as apple pie,” Fisher winked.
Aren’t these things made in England?
Milo stared out the window. A flock of crows took off cacophonously from a tangle of naked branches as the coupé zoomed past, forming a speckled swirl of darkness across the pink clouds.
If only I could fly away, too.
The sun peeked over the jagged mountains, illuminating a landscape scarred by recent deforestation. Nu Co. was in the midst of expanding its operations in Sticky Pines.
“Could you slow down a bit?” Milo rolled down the window.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Fisher scoffed.
“I’m starting to feel carsick.”
Mr Fisher slowed the vehicle. “That better?”
Milo offered a feeble thumbs-up. This was the first “quality time” he and his father had shared in over a month. He’d always enjoyed their special outings, but lately things between them had been … complicated.
The strange events that had transpired several weeks ago skipped through Milo’s mind in flashes of sticky golden goo, hideous hairy beasts, and the determined face of a girl with glasses and purple hair – a face he tried not to think about these days.
Mr Fisher braked hard in front of a hiking trail. “Think we can fit through there, sport?” With a glint in his eye, he trundled the compact car on to the footpath. They drove through a grove of indigo-needled pines, their twisty grey trunks glistening with the unique black sap from which Nu Co.’s products were made.
Is Dad showing off or what? “Aren’t you supposed to stay on the road?” Milo stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black pea coat.
Mr Fisher reached over and mussed his son’s sandy brown hair. “This is private property, kid. The rules don’t apply here. And besides,” he added, “this forest won’t be here for much longer. Consider this a farewell tour.”
Milo looked around the dappled hillside. “Do you really have to cut it all down?”
“Nothing lasts forever,” said Fisher. “Sticky pine sap is worth its weight in gold. The stuff can be used in construction, medicine, technology, you name it. What’s a few trees, compared to all that?”
Fisher checked the time on his wrist, where he was wearing two different watches. One was his usual platinum Rolex, but he’d recently been sporting a black digital device as well. Instead of telling time, it displayed a high-security password that changed every thirty seconds. Milo didn’t know what it was for.
“I suppose you have to go to work soon?” said Milo.
“I’m afraid so.”
If Dad couldn’t take me to the photography exhibition, he could at least have taken half a day off. “I’d better get to school, then.”
Milo slumped in his seat. School was an emotional minefield these days. He’d started eating lunch in the debate classroom so he no longer had to run into his former friends Lucy Sladan and Tex Arkhipov. Which was fine. He didn’t need them. He had a very respectable array of acquaintances. Acquaintances who, sure, were maybe not as interesting, fiery or funny as Lucy and Tex, but who were much more compatible
