Georgie hung his head. “Sorry about that. None of the dogs mentioned that drop. But—we’re here!”
Max looked past Georgie, hoping that here meant the city. But what Georgie was referring to was the tunnel, a giant concrete pipe built under a hill, big enough for a car to drive through. The ditch was an extension of the pipe. Max had never seen one quite this big.
The tunnel was dark and smelled of moldering plants and rotten food. The stench was almost like that of the swamp, and Max half expected to see one of the gators step out of the darkness.
“So, that’s our shortcut, huh?” Rocky said. “Your friends don’t know any other routes, do they, Georgie?”
Georgie’s face drooped. “No. Did I do bad?”
“Of course not!” Gizmo said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. The dogs wouldn’t have sent us here if it wasn’t safe. Right, Max?”
Max felt uneasy. After all the terrors they’d faced, why should he be scared of what lay ahead? They’d come this far, he reminded himself. They just had to hold on a little longer.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Max said. “Let’s just get through it so we can find Belle.”
Reassured by Max’s show of confidence, Rocky, Gizmo, and Georgie fell in line behind him.
A dead tree lay half in the ditch, and a rusting shopping cart lay on its side. Max wound past the debris, crinkling his nose. At least the tunnel was so big they wouldn’t have to brush up against the slimy walls.
It was not quite pitch-black in the tunnel—moonlight streamed in from the far end—but it was dark enough that they had no choice but to walk forward blindly and hope nothing was in their way.
They were about halfway through the tunnel, with the patch of light at the other end growing steadily larger, when Max felt something brush past his ankle. He stopped, his heart pounding.
“What is it?” Rocky whispered. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh!” Gizmo yipped before Max could answer. “I felt something.”
The skittering of claws echoed through the tunnel, followed by dozens of tiny splashes. Shadowy shapes popped out of a crack in the wall up ahead.
“Oh, no,” Georgie wailed. “I did do bad. I heard the directions wrong and led us into a trap!” Blubbering, the giant dog spun away from the group, as more of the creatures appeared in the tunnel.
Hissing voices rose up to join the skittering and splashes in a roar like the swelling ocean.
Hundreds of tiny, beady eyes seemed to glow red. In the dim light, Max could barely make out sharp snouts and long, hairless tails.
“Rats,” he gasped.
“Rats!” Rocky yipped, sounding excited. The Dachshund nipped Georgie’s tail to get the sobbing dog’s attention and said, “Hey, big guy, don’t freak out. I can handle this.”
“Do it, Rocky,” Gizmo barked, her tail wagging.
The hissing rats surrounded the dogs in an endless sea of gray-and-black fur. Clearing his throat, Rocky barked loudly. “Oh, great and wonderful rats! You have outsmarted us lowly, worthless dogs. Truly you are the most magnificent of all creatures.” Ducking his head, he said, “I, Rocky, bow before you in respect. I am most definitely not worthy.”
The hissing stopped, replaced by gasps.
“Could it be?” one rat squeaked.
“Is it him?” another asked.
“It’s Rocky! He’s here!”
The mass of rats began to chatter excitedly. “I love you, Rocky!” one screamed. “Aaah! I love yoooou!”
Sniffling, Georgie whispered, “What is going on?”
Overhearing him, one of the rats said, “Don’t you know?” he asked. “Rocky is legendary! Our cousin Longtooth up north spread word of how amazing he is!”
Max remembered Longtooth very well. Rocky, Gizmo, and Max had fled into a darkened subway tunnel in the Chairman’s city after being chased by dozens of feral, crazed dogs. It was there they’d encountered an army of rats who’d taken refuge from the Chairman’s Corporation.
But Rocky had managed to sweet-talk the rats and their leader, Longtooth, and they’d escaped unharmed. Longtooth had said he’d spread word of the dogs to his fellow rats, but Max hadn’t expected the message to travel this far south.
Puffing up his chest, Rocky said, “Didn’t we tell you, Georgie? I’m famous!”
Gizmo giggled. “Oh, hush.”
The rat who’d spoken to Georgie cupped his paws around his snout. “This is no place for Silver-Tongued Rocky and his Less Impressive Friends!” he squealed loudly. “To the junkyard!”
“The junkyard!” roared the crowd.
And as Max watched in amazement, the swarm of rats parted in the middle, clearing a path through the tunnel and leading the dogs one step closer to Belle.
CHAPTER 19
THE JUNKYARD KING
The army of rats swarmed on either side of the dogs, like a living, welcoming black-and-gray carpet.
As they splashed out of the fetid tunnel and into the fresh night air, the rodents began to sing.
“The dogs went wild and tried to make us their food,” half of the crowd sang.
“But great King Longtooth thought that very rude!” the other half replied. The rats climbed up a hill to a road, still singing.
“In darkened tunnels, an epic battle raged.”
“The subway dogs went wild and then rampaged!”
Soon they were on a flat street again, following the singing rats north toward the darkened city.
“We planned a last stand against mutts both small and stocky.”
“Then out of the darkness came the Silver-Tongued Rocky!”
A great cheer rose up from the swarm of rats. Max couldn’t help but laugh at their sheer enthusiasm. They were on the outskirts of the city now. The rats led the dogs down a side street, and Max was stunned to see cars of all sizes and colors stacked into mountainous piles up ahead. The shadow of a giant crane could be seen towering in the sky behind the piles.
A tall chain-link fence surrounded the field of piled cars, with spirals of razor-edged barbed wire glittering dangerously on top. At the end of the street, above an opening in the fence, an arched sign read ED’S JUNKYARD AND FINE ART, though someone had started to paint the three-ringed symbol as a warning over the sign.
The rats finished their song as they surged into the junkyard. “Rocky praised our greatness and our rule of the tunnels dark.”
“And then he returned to the world above, with one last rallying bark.”
All the voices joined together. “And then the subway rats came to rule again, all thanks to the words of Rocky, our Silver-Tongued friend!”
The rats’ voices rose once more in tinny, screeching cheers, echoing through the junkyard. Max couldn’t imagine how many creatures must live in the place.
“They really love you,” Georgie said in awe. “But why did you help rats in the first place?”
“It’s a long story,” Rocky said. Puffing out his chest, he added, “All that matters is that now I’m some rat folk hero! I bet these guys will take us right to Belle.” Rocky looked up at Georgie. “It pays to be famous, doesn’t it, Mudlurker?”
Max realized a few of the rats were listening in on the conversation.
“Shh, guys,” he whispered. “Let’s see what’s up ahead before we start celebrating, okay?” They went silent as they wound through the maze that was the junkyard.
Directly across from the gate was a dingy, old school bus, a run-down version of the bright yellow bus that used to pick up Charlie and Emma each morning. Only this bus had no wheels; instead, it sat on large cinder blocks. Someone had painted a mural of flowers and leaves on the side, and wild plants sprouted through the open windows.
To the right was a ramshackle building, but the rats didn’t take the dogs that way. Instead they surged to the left, where the walls of cars grew so close together that humans would have to walk through in single file.
As they slipped through the narrow passages, Max realized that th
e junkyard was more than it seemed—the place was an absolute treasure trove of stuff. Metal lamps on tall poles illuminated the so-called junk as insects swarmed around the glowing lightbulbs.
The dogs were led past old ovens with open doors revealing rusted interiors coated in black. Rats watched the dogs from inside, whispering as they ate from dented tin cups.
Around another corner they found piles of box springs surrounded by pillars of stacked tires. Straw and shredded cloth and chewed-up foam had been used to make little nests in the springs, and Max could see baby rats sleeping inside. Larger rats stood watch atop the tires.
There was neat stuff tucked into every nook and cranny. A gum-ball machine as big as a car. A toy robot with metal claws. Brass lamps with spiraling poles. An old-fashioned bathtub with clawed feet.
Max couldn’t imagine why anyone would throw this stuff out. Luckily the rats seemed to think the same thing, and they’d made their homes on every spare bit of junk they could find.
In fact, as they wound through the maze, Max saw hundreds of rats, all standing alert, murmuring and pointing at the dogs. It seemed strange that rats, of all creatures, would be so in awe of a Dachshund—but Max had to admit he’d experienced many strange things during their journey.
After one last bend in the maze, the rats led Max, Rocky, Gizmo, and Georgie through a car at the bottom of one of the stacks of automobiles.
“Whoa,” Rocky said as he took in the new location.
“Oh,” Gizmo whispered in awe. “It’s so… pretty.”
Panting, Georgie wiggled himself through the window frame an inch at a time. “What’s out there?” he said. “Where are we?”
“I’ll go see,” Max said. “You’re almost through, Georgie. Just keep wiggling.”
Max shoved himself through another car window and discovered what had impressed his friends.
The rats had led them to a hidden clearing within the towering walls of cars. Strands of white holiday lights were strung high, illuminating the clearing in a twinkling glow.
Across the open area was a silver trailer, a sleek, futuristic thing. More of the glittering strands were strung up above the trailer’s door and windows. Max saw the cords stretching down to a small machine that hummed and sputtered.
But the trailer and lights weren’t what had impressed Rocky and Gizmo. Max saw five statues taller than even the trailer, made entirely of junk. Two were strange, abstract shapes that twisted and looped toward the night sky. One was a man, hunched over with one hand on his back and the other holding a cane. Another was of a woman sitting on a rocking chair, holding a bouquet of flowers. There was even a dog, one paw raised, tongue hanging out.
Each statue had been created from trash. Max saw wrenches and screwdrivers welded together to form hands, inverted umbrellas and layered nuts and bolts making the bouquet, coiled wire forming a coat of fur. Max was astounded that all these normal items could be put together to create something entirely new.
Max was so taken by the sculptures that he almost didn’t notice that every last inch of space inside the clearing was filled with rats. They sat patiently, whispering and staring at a table and two chairs next to the front entrance to the trailer.
“Oof!”
Max turned just in time to see Georgie fall face-first into the dirt beneath the car window. He spat out a mouthful of slobbery dust, then blinked in surprise as he, too, took in the scene.
“Wow,” the big dog said. “Who would waste all that junk on such ugly statues?”
“I like them!” Gizmo said. “It’s… art.”
The whispering of the rats grew louder and then fell into a sudden hush. There seemed to be some sort of commotion beneath the trailer.
As Max watched, three rats appeared from the shadows, carrying what looked like a small red pillowcase. They scurried up the chairs and then jumped onto the table.
Two of the rats grabbed the top corners of the pillowcase and stood on their hind legs, as though holding a curtain. The third rat raised a paw.
“May I present,” it pronounced, “the one and only, the astounding and amazing, the enlightened and effervescent, our king, Flicktail!”
The rats swirled away the pillowcase-curtain with a flourish. To Max’s surprise, a large white rat appeared, wearing a gold thimble on his head.
Now all the rats rose up into a cheer as Flicktail placed one hand against his chest.
“Oh, my people,” he said. “Oh, how you do go on. I don’t deserve it.”
This only caused the rats to cheer louder.
Flicktail clutched his enormous pink belly and laughed with glee. The three rats who had introduced him lifted a plastic yellow bucket onto the table. Max saw that the inside was filled with a small pillow.
Flicktail plopped backward into his bucket throne. He said, “I hear we have special guests! Do come forward, please. I am delighted to meet you!”
Max glanced down at Rocky. “How about you lead the way?” he asked.
Rocky pranced forward. “But of course.”
Gizmo followed Rocky, then Max, and then Georgie. The rats shouted out greetings. One baby, clinging to its mother’s back, tried to mimic Rocky’s distinct waddle.
“Calm down, Wildrump. I’m trying to see!” the mother said.
“I gotta practice, Mama,” the baby rat squeaked. “I wanna be just like Silver-Tongued Rocky when I grow up!”
“So adorable,” Gizmo whispered.
As the dogs neared the table, Flicktail clapped his paws together.
“Silver-Tongued Rocky,” he said. “You are as dashing a dog as I’ve ever seen. Did you enjoy our song about you? It’s been all the natives have wanted to sing around these parts for ages.” He laughed again.
Rocky sat back on his hind legs. “Yes, sir, King Flicktail. I enjoyed it a lot. Longtooth said he’d spread word of us, but I never expected anything like this!”
“You’re the best, Rocky!” a rat cried out from the crowd.
Flicktail laughed again. “Oh, you darling dog, you have no idea how much your words rallied the rats! If it weren’t for you, we might not have dared make this junkyard our kingdom.” Flicktail stood and raised his claws. “Give it up again for Rocky, my people!”
The assembled rats let out a great hurrah, the squeaks and chirps piercing the night sky.
“And you!” Flicktail cried, pointing one claw at Gizmo. “You must be the brave and gracious Gizmo. Truly our songs haven’t done your beauty justice.” Looking at Max, he said, “And with the golden fur and giant size, you can’t be anyone but Max, Fleet of Foot and Bold of Heart.”
“You’ve heard of us, too?” Gizmo asked.
“Of course!” Flicktail cried. “You’re Rocky’s sidekicks, after all.”
Rocky chuckled. “Oh, definitely.”
“This is Georgie,” Max told the rat king. “He’s a friend of ours that some know as the Mudlurker.”
Flicktail looked Georgie up and down. “Never heard of him,” he said. “No matter! Any friend of Rocky is a friend of ours. And Rocky and his friends should not have to sit on the ground.”
The crowd rustled, and Max looked to his right to see three brown couch cushions winding between the towering metal statues. They were being carried on the backs of dozens of rats, who plopped them side by side in front of the dogs, just beneath the table.
“Sit,” Flicktail urged. “Are you hungry?” Before any of the dogs could respond, the king called out, “Bring our guests sustenance!”
Now four plastic mixing bowls were carried across the clearing to be set before the dogs. Two contained fresh kibble, and the others sloshed with water.
“Wow,” Max said, curling up on one of the cushions. “Where do you get all this food?”
“I don’t know,” Flicktail said, sounding bored. “My rats just bring it to me.”
“Sounds good,” Rocky said as he climbed onto the second cushion next to Gizmo.
Georgie took up the final cushion, and all fo
ur dogs ate and drank. Above them, Flicktail gnawed on a chicken leg.
“So tell me,” Flicktail said, “what brings Rocky and his friends to our neck of the woods?”
Gizmo offered Flicktail a wag of her tail. “Well, it’s a long story, but we’re in Baton Rouge to find a dog.”
Flicktail tossed his half-eaten chicken leg aside. “Oh? You didn’t come to see me?”
“Not really,” Gizmo said. “But we’re glad we met you anyway!”
The rat king twitched his whiskers. “So who’s this dog you seek?”
Max said, “We’re looking for a Collie named Belle.”
Some of the rats gasped. Flicktail jerked up, his red eyes wide.
“Belle?” he squeaked. “You don’t want to see her.”
“Why not?” Max asked. “We promised a friend we’d track her down, and he told us she was the nicest, kindest dog in the whole city.”
Flicktail crossed his arms. “Well, your friend must have known another Belle. No, I wouldn’t recommend you go to her.”
“Hey,” Rocky said. “You forget, I’m the Silver-Tongued Rocky. What’s a lone Collie gonna do to me?”
Flicktail looked at Rocky, his tail snapping back and forth. Finally, the rat king laughed. “You know, Rocky, we’ve sung the same songs of you for so long that I’m eager for something new. Tell us a story about your journey since you last saw Longtooth.”
“Well…” Rocky said. “I’m not sure we have time, your kingliness.”
“Of course you do!” Flicktail cried.
Encouraging shouts rang out from the crowd.
“Please, tell us a tale!”
“More of your heroics!”
“Marry me, Rocky! Never mind that yappy dog!”
“Hey,” Gizmo said.
Rising from the cushion, Rocky said, “All right, I suppose I can tell you a story, since it means so much to everyone.”
The Dachshund marched importantly to the nearest chair, leaped atop it, then hopped onto the plastic table, which trembled from the force of his landing. Flicktail had to cling to his throne, but the rat king laughed in delight once more.
“Listen all, and listen well,” Rocky barked. The assembled rats leaned forward, watching the Dachshund in rapt silence. “I come to you with a tale of danger and intrigue,” Rocky continued. “One that starts on the dark waters of a raging river, where we discovered a giant boat full of ghosts and dogs like us…”
The Long Road Page 18
