Chapter Sixteen
They were late for the forage. The Chief had revoked all forage exemptions for juniors, so Chello and Nevi had to go out as well.
“Let’s meet up at Nile’s after, okay?” Nevi said as the stopped in front of Chello’s den. “We should tell him what we heard.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Chello grumbled as he turned to go in.
A voice came from inside that Torus recognized as Chello’s father.
“Chello? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” said Chello as he disappeared into the tunnel. “Who else?”
“I thought you were supposed to be at the forage tonight.”
“That’s where I’m going, okay? I just had to drop off some stuff, cheese!”
Torus and Nevi exchanged an awkward glance and moved away from the sounds of a growing argument.
“So we’ll meet at Mr. Nile’s, okay?” Nevi said.
“Sure, I guess so,” he replied.
“Good,” she said. “Come up right after. We won’t be too late and you can get home on time.” She turned and headed off in a different direction, leaving Torus standing at the intersection of two empty tunnels, with the silence and the comfortable darkness stretching out in every direction. He stayed for a moment, enjoying the stillness, and the simplicity of it.
Then he remembered he was supposed to have met his father to forage before the real forage started.
“Scat,” he muttered to himself. Well, he’d have explain that later.
He turned and ran down the tunnel that led to the big, newly improved tunnel that wound out of the building, under the sidewalk and the street to the dumpster in the park to catch up with his foraging team.
He knew the tunnel well, from his months of work there, and was able to skitter lightly around each turn without any problem. He could smell the recent passage of his team, but couldn’t hear them up ahead, so he had no idea how far behind he might be. Hopefully he could slip up and join the group without attracting much attention from the forage leader. He suddenly remembered, with a little lurch in his stomach, that it had been his turn at forage leader that night, so there was no chance his absence would not be noticed. Well, worse things had happened. He could always make some excuse about helping someone build something and that made him late.
He passed the two empty sledges the team had brought, and, still planning his excuse, poked his head out the hole at the far end of the tunnel. It came up between the roots of a huge old tree that stood next to a cinderblock wall. On the other side of the wall was the dumpster, surrounded on three sides by the block wall, and nearly hidden in the late evening shadows. Torus crept around the wall, keeping an eye out for any humans or dogs and moved toward the piles of garbage that surrounded the overflowing dumpster. The park was filled with small garbage cans, and humans in orange coverings pulled plastic bags of trash from them and piled them in and around the dumpster every day or so, but the dumpster itself was only rarely emptied. Torus’s father had once told him the rats should sing a song of thanks to the orange humans that did all that work for them. Torus wasn’t sure if he was joking or not until he started singing:
Oh, giant humans,
Thank you for all your garbage
Oh, giant humans
Without you there would be starvage
We’re glad you’re so big and orange
We thank you while we forange
Torus had rolled his eyes at the time, but the song stuck in his head, and now he hummed it quietly while he crept over the piles, keeping one eye open for his team and the other open for any promising food items.
He found a french fry that was too small to carry easily, so he ate it. Then, under a piece of newspaper, he found a thick piece of bread that was practically half his size. It had been part of a sandwich, and still had some mayonnaise and the faintest trace aroma of pickles. His whiskers twitched as he nosed it, trying to work out the best way to pick it up and get it back to the tunnel where the sledge was waiting. Then he was startled by a strange voice from above his head.
“No! Rat no!”
He looked up and saw two dark shapes on the top of the wall silhouetted against the faint light in the darkening sky. They were pigeons, and they cocked their heads and walked across the top of the wall until they were directly overhead.
“Bread leave. Leave. Bread bread pigeon!” And one of the birds reared back and fluttered its wings before folding them back smoothly and crouching down to gaze at Torus.
He looked up at them uncertainly. He had never spoken to the birds before, although he had almost gotten used to seeing them fluttering around during the early hours of the forage.
“This is our time to forage,” he called up finally. “Rat time.” He wasn’t sure how to phrase things so they would understand.
“Rat no! Bread leave leave!” Said one of the birds, shaking its wings again, but more forcefully. There was a sharp edge to its voice he had never heard before, an angry, shrill, almost hysterical sound that made the hair along his spine stand up. He wished he had found his team before finding the bread. He clutched it and called up to them again, fighting to keep his voice level.
“No! Rat time! My bread!” He thought he sounded ridiculous and was glad he hadn’t found his team, when the suddenly pigeons screamed and drove all other thoughts from his mind.
“Culuuu!” they cried, leaping off the top of the wall and diving down upon him with their wings clattering. There was a clenching icy feeling in his chest, and he stood frozen in place as they descended toward him with their wings flapping wildly and their claws outstretched. He stared at their sharp beaks, open and screeching, and their blank, yellow eyes. He tried to breath. As they drew close he felt forceful puffs of air striking him like blows from their wings, and as they flew into his face, his mind went gray and the bread slipped from his claws.
The next thing he knew he was away from the dumpster and around the wall, running at full speed toward the tunnel at the base of the tree. He bolted into the comforting darkness and immediately slammed into an unexpected turn, where he stopped and lay gasping for breath and trying to understand what had happened.
His heartbeat was pounding in his ears so hard he couldn’t think, his tail was thrashing and his claws were working the floor of the tunnel convulsively. He unclenched his teeth and shook his head, his eyes wide open in the near total darkness. Gradually, he was able to calm down enough to smooth the hair on his back and breathe without shaking, and then he heard voices deeper down the tunnel.
He realized it was his team, in the process of loading food onto the sledge. He edged forward until he could make out their shapes and watched them for a short time. Arkon had apparently been made temporary leader in Torus’s absence, and was doing a good job of organizing the items they had gathered so far. One sledge was nearly full and the other partly so. The team would need to go back out to the dumpster to gather more to make the trip worthwhile. Torus was still standing in silence, wondering what to do when the team suddenly turned and headed toward him.
“Oh, hi, Torus,” said Arkon. “Where did you come from?”
Torus shrugged and managed to say “Late,” before looking away from their questioning eyes.
“Well, that’s fine. Come on back out and help us finish up the load and we can get back early tonight. Lots of great garbage tonight, right team?”
There were one or two non-committal grunts from the rest of the team and they filed past Torus in the tunnel headed back outside. He only hesitated a moment before following them. He had no desire to be stuck outside alone again that night. He stuck close to the group and shuddered a little as they approached the area where the pigeons had flown down on him. But there was no sign of them, or the bread, and Torus remained silent.
The rest of the shift was uneventful. They gathered more food and filled both the sledges. Then they headed back to the building, with A
rkon leading the way, two rats pulling and one rat pushing each sledge, and one rat – Torus – bringing up the rear to gather any food that fell from the sledges. Back in the building they made their way to the Clan Stockpile in a space the rats had dug out behind a hole in the basement wall.
They were nearly last team to return, since their forage area was so far away. They helped the stock-keepers sort the food. Items that would keep well were stored in one pile, things that might spoil sooner were put in another, and everything else was put in a third pile to be distributed that night.
Torus retrieved his pouch from a nail on one wall and waited in line to get his share of the food, listening to the usual after-forage chatter.
“We found a big piece of meat! It was too big to carry, so we just ate some and left it.”
I couldn’t bring back much this time. I think the humans in my area have gone away.”
“I heard someone found some chocolate! I hope we get some.”
“Nah, all the chocolate always goes to the Chief and his crowd, you know that.”
“Shhh! Not so loud, you’ll get in trouble!”
Torus shuffled along patiently in line, trying to get the vision of flapping wings and snapping beaks out of his mind. He still felt foggy and confused from the event. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t remember actually turning to run away, why he had totally blanked out.
After his pouch was filled, he hefted it and thought if felt a little light.
“Is this all?” he asked the stock keeper. “We’ve got little ones at home.”
“You’ve also got two foragers at home. This is plenty.”
Torus didn’t have the mind to argue.
“Sure,” he said. “Okay.” He slung the pouch onto his back and headed for home.
Once he got there, he found his father already unloading a pouch into the food nook.
“Hey, Dad, I’m sorry about missing – ” he started, and then noticed something was missing.
“Where’s the sledge?” he asked.
“It got, um, donated to the greater good,” said his father, with just a trace of mischief.
“What does that mean?” asked Torus tiredly. He was in no mood to deal with his father’s word games.
“It means that my forage team is now using the sledge so we can load it fuller and pull it farther and get more food into the building for everyone.”
“But it’s ours! We built it! It’s better than any other sledge around.”
“True, but with a whole team using it, rather than just me, we get more food, the team does better than any other team, and who knows, maybe they make me permanent forage leader!”
Torus was unconvinced.
“But we made it, we should be the ones to use it.”
“Torus, there’s nothing wrong with using what we have or what we’ve made to help out the rest of the clan. What about all those little sledges you’ve been building for the neighbors? The ones that can’t pull a full sized sledge for whatever reason?”
“That’s different, that’s my job. This was our sledge.”
“So we’ll build another one. A better one. I’ve seen the things you’re making for other rats. I’ll bet you could make us a sledge that could carry ten rats and slide across the ground like butter!”
Torus smiled grumpily.
“At least they’re letting you keep it on your team rather than ‘donating’ it to the Chief’s team.”
“That’s just it,” said his father excitedly. “My team got promoted! We are the Chief’s team now! After we get back, the stock keepers load up our sledges with the Chief’s supplies and we take it up. We deliver it right to the advisors themselves! They just announced it tonight. Anaka turned green!”
Torus looked puzzled.
“Anaka is Nevi’s mom,” his father explained.
“I know who she is,” said Torus. “Why did she turn green?”
“Oh, because her team was the Chief’s main team before. But I guess their returns have been falling off lately, and we’ve been doing really well since that big family of humans moved into our area. So we got the job. Great!”
Torus couldn’t remember seeing his father so excited.
“And besides,” he continued, “there are other perks to being the Chief’s main supply team.” He became suddenly sly and mysterious and picked up his nearly empty pouch. “I have here,” he said, reaching inside, “a piece of chocolate, and,” reaching inside again and drawing his hand slowly out, “a…whole…pickle!”
Torus’s jaw dropped. There, indeed, in his father’s hand, was a whole dill pickle, as long as his father’s arm. He suddenly realized he was starving.
“Can we…eat it?” he asked, without much hope.
His father smiled and broke the pickle in half.
“The pups are asleep. I don’t think it’ll keep until they wake up…”
Torus sat down to eat his half without even unloading his pouch. The pickle was so sour it almost made his eyes water. After the troubling events of the evening the pickle was the perfect thing to improve his mood.
“If this keeps up, I’ll build your team a whole fleet of sledges. You’ll be the most famous foragers in the Clan.”
“I could probably get you on the team, when there’s an opening,” said his father. “I’m the new leader until some Advisor changes his mind. Then you could really take credit for the sledges you build and the highest levels of the Clan would notice. Pretty good exposure for a young rat.” They ate for a moment in silence.
“I might have gotten you on the team tonight,” his father continued, “if you’d showed up after dinner like we planned.”
“Yeah, sorry, I got...distracted, I guess,” Torus said.
“Well, next time, maybe,” his father said around a mouthful of pickle. “I feel kind of bad for Anaka, though. It’s not her fault the humans left her area. Maybe I’ll try to get her on the team, too. When there’s an opening, I mean…” He swallowed a particularly large bite. “Oh, speaking of Nevi, she came by just before you got here. Wondering if you were going to ‘meet’ later. Are you going to ‘meet’ Nevi?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Torus said, uncertainly. “I mean, we talked about it earlier and…”
“Okay that’s fine. That’s great, you go ahead and go. I’ll unpack your pouch for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Torus taking his last bite of pickle, and wishing his father would stop staring at him with that stupid grin. “It’s just a bunch of us getting together. To…hang out. I’ll see you later…” and he headed out the door, hoping his father wouldn’t say anything else.
“Okay, later,” his father called. “She’s cute, though, right?”
Torus hollered back without turning his head.
“All rats are cute, Dad. It’s what sets us apart from the other creatures.”
Then he ran off down the tunnel before he could hear anything else his father said.
After the strange events of the night, and the strange conversation with his father, running felt good. Energized by the pickle, and burning off the stress of the evening, he ran all the way to Mr. Nile’s home and arrived with a crash, panting and half laughing as he flopped down on his side in the middle of the floor.
“My word!” said Flinka, eyeing his disheveled fur. Nevi was there, too, along with Chello, Arkon, and Juke. Arkon was pulling the pretzel bag out into the room, and everyone else was gathered around the open space.
“Where’s Mr. Nile?” asked Torus, sitting up.
“Over here, Torus,” came a weak voice. Mr. Nile was laying in his bed, under a piece of cloth. Torus walked over to him with a question in his eyes.
“Oh, I’m alright, I suppose. I just feel quite chilled and weak. I want to hear what you have learned, but I feel much more comfortable here, so if you don’t mind…”
“No, that’s fine, you stay there if you’re
comfortable. Do you want me to work the…the warmth fan thingy while we talk?”
“Yes, if you like, that would be fine. The human isn’t baking right now, but there is a little warmth from the pilot light that might help.”
Torus found a spot where he could work the fan easily and still be part of the conversation. He began tugging the string rhythmically and slightly warm puffs of air began to wash over the small crowd.
Nevi related their visits to the cat, with interjections from Chello.
Flinka said “I cannot believe you actually sat down and talked to a cat!” She addressed the crowd at large, “Would you do that?”
Juke said “I might,” but Arkon shook his head vigorously from side to side.
“That cat’s just a ball of puff,” said Chello. “It couldn’t catch anybody.”
Nevi continued telling the story, and Chello continued interrupting, until she told them about the rat that had gotten attacked by the birds. Then he just repeated what he had said before.
“Pathetic.”
There was silence. Nevi looked at Chello and Chello looked at the ground. Finally she said, “Chello, don’t. I mean, that was…your dad, right?”
Chello shrugged.
“So what if it is?”
“Well…I mean…” Nevi faltered.
“He was supposed to be this big Patrol rat,” Chello said, with brittle calm. “He was supposed to be in line for Patrol Commander, and then what happens? He gets beat up by a couple of birds, and Poof! It’s all over. P. C. Chello, with one eye, afraid to leave the house. Pathetic.”
“Chello, stop it!” said Nevi, with pain in her voice.
Chello just grunted.
“You don’t know what they’re like,” said Torus, as much to his surprise as anyone else’s. The other rats all looked at him questioningly. “When they attack, I mean. You don’t know what it’s like.”
He faltered a little, but with prodding from Nevi and Mr. Nile he told what had happened to him that evening at the dumpster.
“When they come flapping down at you like that, they don’t look so ridiculous any more. They look huge and crazy. It’s pretty intense…”
“What did you do?” asked Arkon.
“I, uh, I just backed away,” said Torus. Then they took the bread and left. Then I turned around and came in the tunnel and met you. So I guess I’m pathetic too…” He pulled hard on the string and felt a gust of air wash over him.
“At least you had sense to leave,” said Chello. “At least you didn’t get caught.”
Mr. Nile spoke up from his bed.
“A rat who is out collecting food for his family has more to risk than just his pride,” he said softly.
That seemed to set something off in Chello.
“Stupid birds!” he cried. “Stupid scat-stinking birds! We should attack them! We should drive them away from our dumpster and make them pay for what they’ve done, what they’re doing to the Clan!”
“Yes!” said Juke bluntly.
“Really?” said Arkon nervously.
“No way,” said Flinka.
“But they can fly,” said Nevi. “How would you – ”
“That’s their only advantage!” said Chello. “We’re smarter, we have weapons, we’re better organized…we could totally do this!” There was a wild light in his eye.
Torus pulled the string again, felt another puff of air and had the beginning of an idea.
Flinka turned toward him and smoothed down a patch of fur on her back that the breeze had ruffled.
“Can you stop it with that please?” she plaintively. “It’s not helping.”
Torus didn’t hear her. He pulled again, quite hard and the rush of air ruffled the fur of every rat in the room.
“Why can’t we fly?” he asked no one in particular.
“Because we don’t have wings, you dope,” said Chello.
“But we could make wings, right? We make sledges, we make weapons, why not wings?” He pulled on the string and the wave of warm air flowed through the room again. All the rats’ eyes were fixed on him and a slow smile spread across Mr. Nile’s tired face.
“What if we did? Humans call them flying rats, but what if we really could? They don’t have any weapons other than their claws and beaks. If we could fly and use our weapons they could never beat us!”
Chello stared at him and walked up slowly until they were nose to nose. He squinted at him and said, challengingly, “Can you do it?”
“I don’t know,” said Torus, still inflamed with the idea. “I bet I could figure it out.”
“I’ll bet you can, too,” said Mr. Nile. He was sitting up, still weak, but bright-eyed. “But if you want help, I think I can send you in the right direction.”
“What, another ‘friend’ of yours in the building,” asked Chello, skeptically.
“Not a friend, exactly, but an acquaintance,” said Mr. Nile. “And not in the building, either. I usually meet him on the roof.”
There was a tense silence as some of the rats began to understand what Mr. Nile was suggesting.
“If you want to learn about something,” he said, “you must go to someone who knows it best. If you want to learn about flight…” He looked Torus directly in the eye. “You should go and talk to the hawk.”
* * *