Red Raiders
K.H.Gordon
Copyright 2013
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For Keegan,
who heard it first
and made me finish it.
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Part I
Chapter One
It was a wet, gray afternoon. A young rat crouched between two bags of garbage in a grimy alleyway and watched a man eating a sandwich. The man bit the sandwich and chewed it deliberately, giving it his complete attention. He did not see the rat watching him. A splotchy brown dog lay at the man’s feet and also watched the sandwich and also didn’t see the rat. The rat stayed still and watched the man and the sandwich and the dog, and waited.
The man started to take another bite, then stopped and made a face at the sandwich. He pulled a pickle slice out of the middle and threw it on the ground.
The rat pricked up his ears, and his tail twitched, but he kept still and stayed where he was hidden, his dark gray coat blending into the shadows. He would wait until the man left and then he would dash out and grab the pickle. His name was Torus. He lived in the building on one side of the alley and the pickle would be the first thing he had eaten since breakfast. He waited while the sandwich slowly disappeared and the dog fell asleep. He watched so intently he didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind him until it was too late.
“Hey, Torus!”
He jumped and whirled around.
“Chello, don’t do that!”
It was another young rat, a little smaller than himself, with a rusty brown coat, a quick tail and glittering eyes.
“You’re too jumpy. What’re doing here? Who’re you hiding from?
“Nothing, I’m watching Sandwich Man. I think he’s got pastrami today.”
“Ooh! I want some! Is that a pickle? I want a pickle! I’ll race you for it!”
“We have to wait. That dog is there again.”
“Pfff! What dog? That’s no dog, it’s a piece of carpet wrapped around a pile of old laundry! Let’s go!”
Torus laughed silently. “You’re crazy. Just wait, they’ll leave soon.”
Chello crouched down next to Torus and looked out into the alley with him. The narrow gap between two old apartment buildings was full of big plastic bags of human trash and piles of broken human junk. The rats lived in the building and ran in spaces between the walls. They had homes in the basement and under the floors and they lived by eating what they could find whenever they found it.
After a little while Chello started shifting around restlessly. The man paused eating the sandwich and held it in his lap, staring out the mouth of the alley to the street.
“Cheese! Why doesn’t he just drop the rest and get out of here so we can eat?” said Chello.
“Be quiet! Be patient! If that dog hears you we won’t get anything at all.”
“Uh-oh, look!” Chello pointed out toward the opening of the alley. A pigeon had fluttered down a few feet in front of the man and was eyeing the pickle.
“Oh, no!” said Torus.
“Stupid bird…” muttered Chello. His eyes were dark and hard in the shadows.
The pigeon hopped forward and cocked its head sideways to look at the pickle. The dog lifted up its ears, but didn’t raise its head from its paws. The pigeon picked up the pickle with a swift peck and hopped back away from the man. The dog closed its eyes and yawned as the bird flew up to a window ledge on the corner of the opposite building, its wings clattering in the damp air.
“Hey!” said Chello. “Stupid bird! That pickle was ours! Why don’t they just stay away from here?”
“Calm down,” said Torus. “Just be quiet and wait! Please!”
The pigeon put the pickle down on the ledge and looked at it, cocking its head, first to one side, then the other. Then it picked the pickle up and shook its head sharply, throwing the pickle out onto the sidewalk. It watched it fall, then flapped off the ledge and flew quickly out of sight.
“Oh, great! Just great!” Chello was furious. “It can’t even throw it back where we can get it? Why did it even take it? Isn’t it smart enough to know if it doesn’t like something and just leave it alone? Stupid pig-bird!”
“What? A what-bird?”
“That’s what my dad calls them,” Chello grumbled.
“Oh,” said Torus. “I heard that humans call them ‘flying rats.’”
“What?” said Chello, indignantly. “That’s stupid! Humans can’t even talk. Besides, it’s insulting! Rats are sleek and fast and smart, everything pigeons aren’t.”
He turned around disgusted and was about to leave when Torus saw something.
“Hey, look!” he said.
Chello turned around. The man had moved, taken another careful bite, and something had fallen to the ground.
Chello started to hop from side to side.
“It’s a pickle! It’s a pickle!”
“Okay, well, when they leave we can go get it.”
“No, I want to get it now!”
“But this one’s right under the man’s feet! Even a pigeon wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to get it there.”
“I don’t care! I don’t want to lose another one.”
“But what about the dog?”
“What dog? I don’t see any dog”
Torus rolled his eyes. “You can’t just run out into the alley like that. What about cats? What about the hawk?”
“The hawk never comes down into the alley,” said Chello with exaggerated patience, “and there won’t be any cats as long as that dog is there, right?”
“So what about the dog, then?”
“Pff! He’s asleep! Maybe he’s dead! He’s just a bag of rags and I’m the quickest rat in the building. He’ll never even see me!”
Chello slipped out of the shadow of the garbage bags and shot silently behind an empty bucket that lay on its side behind the man.
“Chello!” Torus whispered as loud as he could. “Don’t be an idiot!”
Chello looked back and smiled. He waved his arms like wings and mouthed “I’m a flying rat,” then crept out toward the man and the dog. The man was sitting on an old wooden crate and Chello slipped in through a gap in the slats so he was hiding right under the man.
Torus’s heart was pounding. He could see Chello’s black nose poke out of the crate between the man’s feet. The pickle was right in front of him, but so was the sleeping dog. The gap between the slats of the crate was too small for him to squeeze through, and though he strained and stretched as far as he could he couldn’t reach the pickle. Torus wanted to call out to him but he was afraid of waking the dog so he watched silently.
Chello pulled his head back into the crate and tried reaching out with his paw. He could get a little closer that way, but he was still unable to reach the pickle. He pulled his arm back into the crate. For several moments there was no sign of him. Torus thought he had given up and decided to wait for them to leave. Good, he thought. He needs to learn to be more patient.
But then Chello’s arm appeared again through the gap, this time holding something, a stick or a piece of wire. He reached out and stabbed at the pickle with it, trying to hook it and pull it into the crate. He tried three or four times and then finally snagged it and started pulling it toward him.
As he worked, the stick scraped on the ground and made a small scratching sound. The man didn’t react, but Torus saw the dog’s eyes fly open.
“Chello!” he called, but the dog had already whipped its head around to see a rat’s arm, holding a slice of pickle, disappear into the crate.
“Rat!” it shouted. “Rat! Rat! Rat!” It lunged at the gap in the crate. The man jumped up but the dog slam
med into his legs and he lurched backwards, falling on top of the crate and smashing it. Chello ran out from under the pile of splintered boards with a pickle in his teeth and sped toward the back of the alley. The dog saw him and leaped over the man lying on the ground and chased after him. It kept shouting “Rat! Rat!” and the man howled at the dog with strange, wordless, human sounds.
Chello ran in a long arc around the back of the alley, leading the dog over piles of trash. Torus hadn’t moved, still hidden by the garbage can, watching with amazement. When Chello and the dog turned around, though, and came racing toward him, he jumped up and dashed back to the wall, to the gap in the bricks that led to the secret passageways of the rats’ home. Once inside, he turned around just in time for Chello to race in and crash into him. They tumbled over in a heap in the dark crevice while the dog growled and shouted at the entrance.
“Rat! Rrrrrrrrrrrrat!”
Chello was laughing wildly.
“That was great!”
“You’re insane!”
“Do you want a pickle?” Chello asked. “I’ll split it with you.”
“No, I don’t want a pickle, I want you to not be insane!”
The man pulled the dog away, making angry wordless sounds while the dog said “Rat! MY rat! Why?”
Then there was silence and Chello slowly stopped laughing.
“Dogs are soooo stupid,” he said.
“Who’s stupider, the dog or the rat that offers himself for lunch?”
Chello stretched grandiosely.
“I’m the fastest rat and the best fighter in the Clan,” he said pompously. “Maybe next time I’ll give him a head start. Now do you want some of my pickle or not?”
Torus looked at his friend and shook his head.
“Sure,” he said. “You split it.”
“Nah, you have it. I’m not hungry. I ate before I came down.”
Torus stared at him in disbelief.
“Not hungry? Then why did you—?”
Chello smiled. “Because,” he said expansively, “it was there.”
Torus rolled his eyes and bit the pickle slice in half, handing a piece to Chello. Then he took a bite of his half and closed his eyes. It was salty and sour and crunchy, with a little bit of mustard on it. The pungent flavor made his teeth ache a little and his stomach lurched in anticipation. They munched in silence for a while and then Chello chuckled to himself.
“Dogs are so stupid.”
“You shouldn’t have used that stick, you know,” said Torus.
Chello glanced up at him.
“This is a really good pickle.”
“I’m serious! What if that human had seen you?”
“It didn’t see me and you’ve got a really good pickle. Relax.”
“You need to be more careful. Thank you for the pickle. You just make me nervous, that’s all. They shouldn’t see things like that.”
“Okay. You worry too much.” Chello suddenly brightened. “Hey! Do you think that human dropped its sandwich when that stupid dog knocked it over?”
Without waiting for an answer he ran through the crevice in the wall and out into the alley. Torus followed him out as far as the garbage cans and watched as he nosed around the broken crate. A light rain had started. There was no sign of the man or the dog or the metal cart full of bundles the man pushed around. Chello came back looking damp and dejected.
“Nope. Nothing left. It probably gave it to that stupid dog. Stupid dog.” He picked up a pebble and threw it at the pile of broken boards.
“Hey!”
Torus and Chello both jumped at the sudden sound of a voice and turned back toward the hole in the wall. Another young rat, a female, was looking out at them holding the last bit of Chello’s pickle. Her coat was darker than Torus’, almost black. She was practically invisible in the shadows.
“Don’t do that!” said Chello.
“Hi, Nevi,” said Torus.
“Greetings, Mighty Pickle Hunters,” she said.
“You’d better enjoy that pickle,” said Chello. “I worked hard for it. I fought a dog for it!”
“Oh really? You’re so wet I thought you went diving for it.” She turned and went back into the wall and they followed her.
“There was a dog,” said Chello, shaking out his fur. “A big one. Stupid dog.”
“I know. I was watching from the second-floor lookout. You fought that dog good!” She laughed and winked at Torus.
“You bet!” said Chello. He lay on his back and closed his eyes.
“I came to get you guys for the gathering.”
“Nope. Naptime,” said Chello without opening his eyes.
“No, you have to come to this one. Everyone has to come. It’s a ruling.”
“A ruling? How come?” said Torus.
“What do you mean, ‘a ruling’?” said Chello. “Do you mean it’s a ruling that we have to go or that the Chief is going to make a ruling at the meeting?” He yawned.
“I don’t know, maybe both,” she said impatiently. “Now come on, I don’t want to come in late again.”
“Everyone has to come?” said Torus. “That’s strange. Usually they just want the Family Heads and maybe the Patrol Commanders. Why would they need everyone?”
“It’s something to do with the food,” said Nevi. “I heard someone talking to PC Dumash about it.”
“Patrol Commander Dumash makes me nervous,” said Chello. “PC ‘Dumpish.’ Of course he’s talking about food. He’s twice as fat as a normal rat! He keeps talking to me about joining his Patrol when I come of age.” He was still lying on his back with his eyes closed.
“It’s because he knows you’re such a mighty pickle hunter,” she said. She poked him in the ribs and scampered away down the winding tunnels that were the rats’ paths through the building. Chello jumped up and chased after her and Torus watched his friends disappear into the tunnels.
He sat for a moment and then got up to follow them. He strolled along toward the meeting place thinking about what the Ruling might be. There weren’t many Rulings anymore. The Chief had been Chief for so long – since before Torus’ parents were born – that everything had been Ruled already and he didn’t have any more ideas. Mostly he relied on the recommendations of his advisors. The recommendations had become just like Rulings and it seemed like nobody paid much attention to either of them. Torus walked through the empty tunnels and past the empty nests of rat families. Everybody must be there already, he thought.
He’d be last again. Oh, well… Then, in the tunnel up ahead, he saw the figure of an old rat shuffling along and pausing to rest. He hurried to catch up with him.
“Hello, Mr. Nile.”
“What? Oh, hello, Torus. You’d better hurry, you’ll miss the Entrance.”
“I can miss the Entrance. I’ve seen it before. I’ll walk with you. Do you need help?”
“No, thanks, I can get along fine. I’m just slow these days.”
They walked in silence through the tunnels. Then, as they approached the meeting room, Mr. Nile spoke again.
“Big changes are coming. My bones feel it. Everyone should be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready for anything, Torus,” said the old rat, comically ominous. “Here, let’s see what the Chief has for us today.”
They turned a corner in the tunnel and came into the meeting room, a room behind the furnace room that used to hold piles of coal and now was empty except for cans of old paint and other junk. The room was in the basement of the building and had one window high up on the back wall. The glass had been painted over, but one pane was broken out in one corner and that allowed enough light for the sharp eyes of the rats. No humans had been in the room for as long as anyone could remember.
Now the room was filled with rats, sitting on piles of rubbish in the corners, laying on the floor, or perched on the empty
shelves that lined two of the walls. Torus looked for his friends but couldn’t see them among the crowd of dark, furry bodies. He didn’t see his father or his younger brother and sisters, either, so he stayed with Mr. Nile as the old rat found a spot on the floor close to the podium. The podium was a metal box about a foot high in the center of the room, and on this box stood the old Chief and his two advisors.
“We missed the Entrance after all,” said Mr. Nile with a wry smile. “We’ll have to apologize to the Chief afterward.”
The Chief looked around at the crowd of rats gathered in the room, smiling pleasantly. His advisors stood behind him, conversing in hushed tones. Then one of them stepped up beside the Chief and whispered in his ear, and the Chief nodded vaguely, still smiling, but said nothing. The advisor waited a moment and then whispered again, more urgently, and gestured out at the crowd. The Chief opened his eyes wide, as if he had suddenly remembered something, then stepped out to the edge of the platform and raised his arms as a hush fell over the crowd.
“My friends!” he called. His voice rang through the room. “My friends, we have called you together today to discuss a matter of gravest importance to us all. There are great changes and tremendous opportunity ahead of us. But it will not be easy. We will need every rat’s help and support in the days and weeks and months to follow.”
Mr. Nile muttered under his breath, so only Torus could hear.
“That’s what I was afraid of…”
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