by Rina Heisel
Wiley spoke. “What’s it doing?”
“I have no idea,” Tobin replied, entranced by the macabre display unfolding.
The giant spider then raised one front leg, swirled it in the air, then set it back down. After this cue, the smaller spider climbed right up the big leg and across the spider’s back, and began inspecting the websack.
A dizzying wave of terror washed over Tobin. Was he about to witness the unthinkable? After all the worry about his new pinkling sibling being born healthy, to think he would lose it to this monster this way was unbearable. Despite the tremble in his legs, Tobin tried taking a step forward, but Wiley again clamped down on his tail.
“M-mice have many enemies.” Tobin forced the quiver from his voice. “But I never knew spiders were on that list.”
“This can’t be happening,” whispered Wiley.
Talia stepped forward. “No. Look, the little spider’s fixing the websack.”
“What?” Tobin blinked hard, refocusing on the scene and hoping to see what Talia saw. Sure enough, the smaller spider quickly but precisely added a new, glossy layer of webbing around the pinkling. “But why?” Tobin asked.
Inspection and repairs complete, the smaller spider hopped off its big counterpart’s back. The beastly one turned to face the burrow once again. It stomped its two front legs; left, right—stomp-stomp, stomp-stomp.
“Communicating,” Tobin guessed. “Calling to the other spider?” A moment later, another set of legs sprouted from the fresh hole. Tobin checked its rear digits and drew a ragged breath in relief. “Look, this one didn’t catch anything.”
The new spider hurried to its counterpart, probing its face and body with a spindly leg. The first spider turned, raising its catch for inspection.
“I can’t watch anymore.” Talia buried her face in Tobin’s side.
Tobin couldn’t speak; his throat felt as dry as sunbaked mud. The newcomer’s pointy leg stretched forth and gently nudged the webbed bundle. The pinkling squeaked. The newcomer swirled its front leg, and once again the small spider appeared and climbed aboard, but finding no sack to repair, it simply hopped off and scurried toward the bushes. The big hunters turned to follow its lead.
A sudden numbness overwhelmed Tobin. Our pinkling. We’re going to lose another pinkling. Unless . . .
Talia looked around. “Where is everyone else?”
Her question snapped Tobin from his daze. “Yeah, shouldn’t the Eldermice be following them out? Where—” Tobin stopped. There was a Rule:
Rule #15: If the burrow is damaged, bind it fast or the colony will not last.
Tobin’s heart sank. “They’re patching the burrow, fixing however those things got in.” How had they gotten in? Had the storm damaged the burrow so badly? How had they made it into his family’s quarters? And how’d the spider get the pinkling away from—
Tobin’s blood pumped. A growl grew in his chest. The dizzy feeling was back.
Wiley’s paw clamped his shoulder. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I have to do something!” Tobin looked down. The spiders started scuttling back toward the woods, near the creek. Tobin took a step forward but stopped.
Rule #8: Never pursue a predator. Never.
But his mom would lose another baby if he didn’t do something. If she was still alive. No. Of course she is. Those spiders couldn’t take down a group of full-grown mice.
“I have to follow the spiders, okay?” Tobin looked to Talia. “I saw it. I saw our baby’s gray tail. I smelled the milk and mom’s dandelion scent. I can’t just let them go. Tell Mom and Dad that I followed it, and if there’s a way, I’ll bring our pinkling home. Mom’s not going to lose another baby.”
Her face twisted with fright. “What? No, Tobin, you can’t. Rule Eight, remember?”
Tobin’s paws rocked back and forth on the ledge. “I know what it says. Please, Wiley, will you take her home?”
Wiley’s chest puffed. “Not without you.”
“Please,” Tobin pleaded. “If they put the websack down, even for a second, I could grab it. I could outrun them!”
“Not by yourself,” Talia said softly.
Wiley looked at the spiders then back to Tobin. “I’m going with you.”
“But I need you to take Talia—” Tobin began, but never finished.
Talia leaped off the ledge, ending the argument for everyone.
Five
THERE WAS NOTHING TOBIN could do but watch the wind rush through Talia’s fur as she fell. At least the ground is damp! Tobin thought with a wince as she landed.
Wiley clucked his tongue. “Hey, she landed in the crabgrass. That’s a nice jump.”
Tobin gazed downward and watched Talia shake her head before she looked up. “What’re you guys waiting for?” she called.
“Right.” Tobin nodded, rubbing a waterdrop off his brow. “I guess she showed us the way.” Tobin squatted low, ready to jump. “No turning back. You coming?”
“I’ve always wanted to try this,” Wiley said, peering over the ledge. “Never thought Talia would beat me to it.”
Tobin whipped his tail and centered his balance. “Aim to the left of her,” he said, then he leaped.
Air swooshed through his fur. The sensation didn’t last long. Tall tips of crabgrass brushed his paws and he hit the ground. The spongy roots helped absorb his fall, but it still hurt when his chin slammed the ground.
“Are you okay?”
Between the shimmering green blades he saw Talia’s pink nose, followed by her eyes, bulged with worry.
“Tobin? Are you okay?” she repeated.
“Uh-huh.” He blinked and shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“Are you mad?” she asked.
He felt like yelling—but that’s never a good idea outside the burrow. A harsh whisper would have to do. “You need to be way, wa-a-ay more careful. I can’t handle two Wileys.”
“But I knew you wouldn’t let me—”
A nearby patch of crabgrass shook, and Talia pointed. “Speaking of Wiley, he’s a little off target.”
Tobin turned his head, filling his lungs with air until his chest swelled. “Tchirr, tchirr,” he called out.
A moment passed.
“Tchirr, tchirr,” Wiley called back, then wove through the grass beside them. “Ah, there you are. So, we’re all in this together, right?”
Like there’s a choice? Tobin nodded. “Looks like the spiders are heading toward the fallen tree. If we take cover in those boxwood shrubs, we might be able to work our way down—”
Wiley groaned.
Tobin bit his lip. Of course. Rule-bending Wiley probably wants to charge right after the spiders, taking no cover at all, forgetting that we have a mouseling in tow.
Tobin held out a paw. “Before you say a word, Wiley, remember, Talia is with us, so we need to do things by the Rules.”
Wiley nodded, his paw tapping. “Yeah, uh-huh. But the boxwood shrubs? No. Those bushes are so thick a slug could barely squirm through. The spiders will be long gone.”
Sludge. Tobin scratched his ear. Wiley had a point. But they couldn’t exactly traipse after the spiders in the wide open, either.
Rule #4: Instinct and logic combined plot the successful course.
Was there a compromise?
“How about we don’t tunnel through the shrubs,” said Tobin. “We’ll just run beneath their fringes for cover until we reached the creek, then cut back to the fallen tree. There’s plenty of cover at the creek bed. We’ll scout the spiders from there.”
Wiley cocked an ear. “That’ll work.”
Tobin looked to Talia, and she gave a quick nod.
“I’ll volunteer to lead as Pathleader,” Tobin began, “then you in the middle, Tal. And Wiley, you stay close behind her.”
“Got it,” Wiley answered, with surprisingly no trace of levity in his voice. He was already peeking through the crabgrass, sniffing intently.
Tobin poked his own nose throu
gh the thick blades. Only a few hare-leaps down a pebbly ridge to the shrubs. He focused on his endpoint then scanned the sky and surroundings. Clear. Tobin focused again on the endpoint, and GO.
He burst from the clump of grass; two swishing sounds behind him meant Talia and Wiley were on his tail. He sailed down the rain-slicked slope. Half sliding, half tumbling, he landed under the boughs of the boxwood shrub with a THUD.
Tobin dived to the right, just before Talia and Wiley slammed in after him.
The three looked each other, nodding in satisfaction. The unruly shrub, no taller than a fawn, had plenty of low-hanging branches that provided cover from above. Not total cover, but it would do. Tobin sniffed and pushed his nose through the piles of wind-strewn forest litter, perfect for ground cover.
Proper scouting procedure—as explained in the Rules of Rodentia: Articles of Exploration—requires that if mice are to travel in a group, one mouse must act as Pathleader, with their job being to analyze the surroundings to deduce the safest way forward.
Tobin scratched the fur behind his ear. Had any Pathleaders been in the pursuit of predators before? A footstep, just outside the shrubs, snapped Tobin from his thoughts. Click-clack—the telltale sound of claws hitting ground. Bird claws. Then the sound of powerful lungs drawing breath.
Kraak-kraak-kraak-kraak!
A great heron. The ground litter trembled beneath Tobin’s paws from the bleating call. Tobin stood frozen. A clawed foot entered his line of vision. Talons curving down from orange, leathery skin, attached to a leg as thick as a sunflower stalk. The heron called again. This time, some distance away, another heron shrieked back. Excited gurgles bubbled from the huge bird’s chest. It took a few shaky steps, nearly stepping on a bullfrog. Tobin squinted, bracing himself for the gruesome spearing he knew was coming. But the heron launched into the air, leaving its potential prey to hop into the bushes.
“I’ve never seen a heron pass up a meal,” Wiley muttered.
Tobin nodded. “The creatures of the wood are still shaken from the storm. Even the hunters are off their game. We need to take advantage of it.”
Reaching the canopy of the crashed tree, Tobin stepped out from under the shrub. The tree had sliced the creek bed, pools of mud swirling beneath it. He nodded to some soggy squirrels still pulling themselves from the muck.
“Poor things,” whispered Talia.
Wiley shook his head. “Them? Those squirrels are lucky to be alive. See those vultures circling up there? Once the dust settles, they’ll pick through this tree and find the critters that didn’t survive.”
Talia shuddered. “That’s really awful, Wiley.”
Wiley shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s better than having dead animals lying around, stinking up everything.”
“You really have a way with words,” Tobin said, and shook his head. A shimmer of black near the creek caught his eye. He rose onto his hind legs, peering between fluttering leaves and broken branches.
“The spiders.” Tobin blinked twice before looking again, hoping what he thought he saw wasn’t really happening.
His heart sank to his paws. “They’re using the fallen tree like a bridge to cross the creek. They are escaping with our pinkling.”
“No,” Talia gasped, raising herself up to see the spectacle.
Wiley’s forehead scrunched with concern as he stared at Tobin. “What are we going to do?”
Follow them.
The very thought made Tobin’s head swim. “I need a better look.” Tobin drew in a steadying breath and leaped into the mangled branches, scurrying along the twisted, broken limbs until he neared the tree trunk. He stopped short of stepping out onto the exposed, bare bark of the tree trunk.
The trunk itself was as thick around as a small boulder, so there was plenty of dry surface to cross—the creek water only splashed over the sides a bit. And really, if the spiders could manage it . . .
“I’m going over.” The words tumbled from Tobin’s mouth before he could think any further. He looked back to Talia and Wiley.
Talia rubbed her paws together, glancing from the tree bridge back to Tobin. “Maybe we should go back and get Dad, tell him where the spiders went.”
“There’s no time for all of us to go back.” Tobin looked back to the spiders, focusing on the one with their pinkling in tow. The arachnids were already across, already climbing down the big knot of tree roots ripped up from the ground. “You don’t have to come, either of you.” Tobin narrowed his eyes as he spoke.
“You’re not going alone,” Talia said, and she stopped rubbing her paws together. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any burrow mice crossing the creek before.”
No specific Rule about creek-crossing came to mind, but Tobin remembered again—
Rule #8: Never pursue a predator. Never.
Tobin coughed and cleared his throat. “I think our pinkling might be the first to cross it.”
“Then we’ll be the first to cross voluntarily,” said Wiley.
“Look,” Tobin began, then blinked for a moment, trying to will the words to come. “I don’t expect, or even want, you two to come with me. This is beyond dangerous, this is . . .”
“Reckless?” Wiley offered.
Tobin cocked his head. “Beyond reckless.”
“No.” Talia slapped a paw to the ground, a subtle growl in her voice. “Charging the spiders directly would’ve been reckless. Running through the woods without a plan or path would be reckless. What we’re doing—together—is special, Tobin. And it’s working. We can keep up with the spiders. We just need our chance to grab our pinkling and run.”
Tobin looked at the fallen tree before them, then back to the faces of two of the most important mice in his life. They weren’t budging. Tobin nodded. “Okay. But Talia is right. We talk, we agree on a plan, and we follow it.”
Wiley and Talia both nodded.
“All right.” Tobin turned back to the tree bridge. “Let’s stay close together. Me, then Talia, then you, Wiley.” Tobin looked to Talia. “Grab my tail if you need to.”
Talia lowered her head and grabbed the tip of his tail in her mouth. “Is dis gud nuf?”
“Perfect,” Tobin said. He turned to face the creek. Suddenly, his paws felt as heavy as clams. He knew these woods, but across the creek? That was unknown territory. He couldn’t move.
“Tobin?” Wiley called from behind.
“One sec.” Tobin drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes. What if they didn’t go? Sure, Mom. I could have saved the baby, but I really didn’t want to cross a log.
No way.
Tobin opened his eyes. He scanned the sky. All clear. He focused on the creek bank ahead and called over his shoulder. “Okay, quick and steady. Here we go.”
He took a step, then another. Step, step, step, until they were over the creek. The bark was wet and soft. His claws dug in easily. Step, step—tug. Glancing back, he saw Talia’s eyes fixed on the rushing water.
“Tal, I need to lead you across, not drag you.” Tobin forced himself to smile. Talia nodded, so he moved ahead. Splashes of water soaked his feet and belly. At the center of the tree bridge the current was faster, sending splays of water that doused their whiskers. Again, Talia froze, squeaking a muffled yelp.
Tobin had to holler. “If the spiders made it across, we can make it across, right?”
Talia replied with a squeal-like grunt.
Taking that for a yes, Tobin continued. Water splashed inside his ears. He snorted water from his nose. All he could smell was algae and wet bark, but they were almost across. The creek water was overwhelming—and a Rule blazed to memory:
Rule #2: Never become blinded by a singular worry; there are plenty of ways to die.
The Rule only managed to trip his panic trigger. There was more danger than the river below. We’re exposed, look up!
Hawk.
Six
THE HAWK WAS ALREADY beginning its dive, its beak open and talons unfurling from beneath its feathered b
ody.
Move or die. Tobin thought furiously, realizing there was only one way to go.
He spun around, shoving Talia into the creek.
His eyes met Wiley’s, and his friend leaped.
Tobin sprang off the tree bridge with every ounce of force he could muster, just as talons sliced the air above him; the scent of death brushed his nose. The hawk’s angry screech cut out as Tobin plunged into the creek.
His limbs tingled with the shock of cold water. The current tumbled him downstream like a leaf in the wind. Air—he needed air! Tobin snapped his muscles, legs pumping, pushing up through the murky green water into the light above. His chest burned until his muzzle broke the surface. He gasped in a lungful of air as he paddled toward shore.
Over the ripples of waves, a line of cattails sprouted from the water’s edge. Tobin kicked toward them, swishing his tail, his legs searing with exhaustion. A piece of driftwood poked out invitingly from between the reeds. He stretched his neck, clamping down on the wood with his teeth. Grabbing the plank of wood with his paws, he heaved himself up, muscles shaking.
For a few moments he lay still. His cold, waterlogged body soaked in warmth from the sunbaked slab. “Tal?” he croaked. He coughed and tried again. “Talia! Wiley?”
“Shh! Tobin, be quiet!”
Wiley!
Tobin craned his neck, looking into the towering cattails. “Where are you?”
“Look to your right. Slowly! Do not rock that driftwood.”
Tobin turned his head. A soaking-wet Wiley clung to the brown tuft of a cattail reed. And below, an equally drenched Talia pulled herself up into the crook of a sprouting cattail leaf.
“Listen, Tobin,” said Wiley, his paw outstretched. “Do not panic, but—there’s a monster catfish checking you out.”
That’s when Tobin felt it. A nudge against the driftwood—not the rocking of the waves, but a bump. Every few seconds—bump! He understood, and his stomach turned. “Is this fish trying to knock me into the water so it can eat me?”
Wiley grimaced. “Yeah, I think so. You’re gonna have to jump, but wait till I say go. I’ve seen catfish snap dragonflies right from the air.”
