The Long Road

by Christopher Holt

  Rocky regaled the crowd with their adventures alongside Boss on the riverboat, in the zoo, and at the laboratory. He fudged a few details—in this version, he was the leader, he didn’t get lost on the monorail, and he carefully made no mention of Praxis—but their incredible story was more or less the same.

  The rats gasped at the revelation of the bad humans, laughed at the antics of the zoo animals, and recoiled in horror at Rocky’s vivid account of the wolves.

  But Gizmo fidgeted anxiously on her cushion, and Max knew what she was thinking.

  The rats had been gracious, but the four dogs were so close to Belle now. And Dolph was still after them. Unless they left soon, the wolves would catch up to them.

  “The boat went up in a blaze,” Rocky said, nearing the end of his story. “My courage saved the helpless riverboat dogs from certain death!”

  “Amazing,” Flicktail whispered.

  Rocky added, “Sadly, we did lose Boss that day. He will go down in history as second in bravery only to me. His last words to me were a request to find his lost love. A romantic to the end.”

  Max heard some of the rats sigh.

  Raising his head once more, Rocky wagged his spiky tail, nearly slapping Flicktail’s bucket throne. “And that, my dear rats, is the tale of how I saved the riverboat dogs and became one of the most fearless animals in the world. Almost”—he winked—“as fearless as all of you.”

  The crowd went wild. They leaped up and down, cheering and clapping. One rat was so excited that he tumbled off the trailer. He got up, shook his head, and then resumed cheering.

  “Amazing!” Flicktail repeated, leaping off his throne. “Oh, the songs we will sing; I can already hear the lyrics! Something-something-something Boss, something-something-something loss!” He clapped in glee. “Rocky, please tell us another!”

  “More!” shouted the crowd.

  Rocky shook his head. “I’d love to,” he said. “However, it would risk blowing your minds too much.”

  Flicktail rubbed his paw along Rocky’s back. “Oh, but I insist.” Gripping a clump of the Dachshund’s black fur, he added, “I really, really insist.”

  Gizmo jumped to her feet. “And I have to insist that we go. You have been wonderful, but we came all this way for Belle. We should go to her.”

  Letting go of Rocky, Flicktail peered down at the little terrier.

  “I already told you that Belle is not someone you want to meet,” he hissed. “And I find the idea that you don’t trust me quite rude. Terribly, terribly rude.”

  The cheering died down. In the sudden, eerie quiet, all Max could hear was the humming of the generator and the buzzing of insects around the tall lamps.

  Max swallowed and said, “We don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that the wolves Rocky told you about are still after us. And no matter how Belle may have changed since the people left, we promised Boss we’d find her. I hope you understand.”

  Flicktail leaned back. “Oh, I understand,” he said. “I understand that you are delirious in your exhaustion. Look, the big one can’t even keep his eyes open.”

  Georgie peered up between slitted eyelids. “What about me?” he asked. “I’m awake.”

  “Nonsense!” Flicktail said, his tail snapping once more. “You four must sleep here, and we can resume the stories once you’re well rested. If any wolves come by, they will be no match for my people. You will sleep here, won’t you?”

  Max could tell his words weren’t really a request.

  They were an order.

  The swarm of rats had grown even larger, and Max was suddenly very aware that they were surrounded. The rodents pressed up against the cushions and dangled from the statues. Their beady, glittering eyes seemed to pierce directly into Max.

  He shuddered.

  Rocky silently jumped down from the table and curled up on the cushion next to Gizmo. As he did, Flicktail settled into his throne once more.

  “You are our guests,” the king said. “The rules of hospitality around my kingdom of junk state that my guests cannot leave until I say the party is over. And trust me, my guests. We have much more to do before I say we are done.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THE SCRAP TUNNEL

  Though his body was flooded with adrenaline, Max had no choice but to shut his eyes and feign sleep as the hundreds—if not thousands—of rats watched.

  What felt like moments later, a wet nose nudged Max’s snout and he opened his eyes to darkness. The lights in the clearing were all out.

  A shadowy figure loomed above Max, and he thought it might be Georgie, until he realized the cushions next to him still contained three sleeping dogs.

  “Who’s there?” Max whispered, still half asleep.

  The figure stepped forward, and Max saw it was a weary-eyed dog, its coat made up of tangled ringlets of dingy white fur.

  “Hello,” the dog replied. “You’re the leader, right?”

  “If you mean of the dogs here, then yes,” Max said. “Who are you?”

  The dog climbed onto the cushion and put his snout very close to Max’s ear. “Sorry to cramp your space,” he said in a hushed voice. “But I don’t want to wake the rats. The name is Whitey.”

  “I’m Max.” Tilting his head, Max asked, “Do you live in the junkyard?”

  Whitey nodded. “If living is what you can call it. The rats keep me penned in the consignment shop up front, thinking they run the place. Which I guess they do. They came and took a bunch of my food earlier today, so I followed them, and that’s how I found you.”

  Max gasped. “The rats keep you locked up? Did they do that to your fur, too?”

  Whitey shook his head. “Naw, I always looked like this. My pa was a Labrador, but my ma was a Poodle. The people called my brothers and sisters and me Labradoodles.”

  Max almost laughed. “Labradoodle, huh? That’s an interesting name.”

  “Well, I like it fine,” Whitey said. “But, Max, there’s no time to talk about that. I’ve been thinking how to get out of here for ages, and once I heard the other dogs barking and howling directions earlier tonight, I figured it was a sign to make my move. I can take you with me, if you want.”

  Max peered around him in the darkness. The rats were out of sight. But that didn’t mean they were gone.

  Turning back to Whitey, Max asked, “Aren’t the rats going to try to stop us?”

  Whitey shook his head. “Their hootenannies go till late at night and start right up again in the morning. But for a few hours they shut off the lights and go to sleep.” Climbing off the cushion, Whitey added, “Trust me, Flicktail may act nice to you now, but when it comes down to it, he’s going to look out for himself.”

  Glancing up at the empty table, Max said, “Yeah, I got that idea.” He rose to his feet, then leaned down and licked Rocky’s and Gizmo’s heads. Yawning, they opened their eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Rocky asked. “Is it story time already?”

  “No,” Max said, “we’re getting out of here.”

  “Oh, good,” Gizmo whispered. “No offense, Rocky, but I don’t really want to be trapped by a bunch of rats, no matter how much they worship you.”

  “Nah, me, neither,” Rocky said. “It was fun at first, but being famous is kind of exhausting.”

  Max shook the Saint Bernard. The giant dog opened his eyes and said loudly, “Is it time to eat again?”

  All four of the other dogs shushed him at once. “We’re making a break for it, Georgie,” Max whispered. “This dog is Whitey. He lives here in the junkyard, but the rats keep him penned up. He’s going to show us a way out.”

  The Labradoodle sniffed Georgie. “You’re the howler!” he said. “I think I heard a friend of yours barking nearby.”

  Georgie’s eyes went wide. “Near here? Let’s go! I’m so ready to see my friends again.”

  Gizmo raised a paw. “Nice to meet you, Whitey.”

  “Same,” Rocky said. “Lead the way!”

  The curl
y white dog trotted through the clearing, keeping to the shadows. “The rats have guards posted at the real exits, but there’s a passage through the junk, though it’ll be a tight fit for Max and Georgie.”

  “We’re right behind you,” Max whispered. “Let’s talk only if necessary. The last thing we want is to alert King Flicktail!”

  Silently the dogs walked single file to the northernmost stack of vehicles, where Whitey went to a car at the base of one of the towers. He sniffed the trunk, then raised a paw and smacked the little metal circle where a key might fit.

  With a creak of rusty hinges, the trunk opened. “This way,” Whitey whispered, then jumped inside.

  Max followed just in time to see Whitey crawling belly-first through a hole in the trunk that led into the backseat. Max wiggled through the hole, the metal rough and cool against his stomach, the smell of mildew washing over him. The fabric on the cushions inside was torn free to reveal stained yellow padding and splotches of black mold.

  Holding his breath, Max followed Whitey into the front seat. Rocky and Gizmo quickly followed, though Georgie needed some help fitting through the opening.

  Whitey continued on and Max bounded after him, through the shattered windshield and then into a car that faced the opposite direction. Luckily, there were no more trunks to navigate. Instead, Whitey led them through a makeshift tunnel made of cars—in one window, over old seats, and then out another window.

  They were just getting their rhythm when Max hefted himself out of a truck window and found himself facing a wall.

  “Over here,” Whitey whispered.

  Looking up, Max saw that the wall was actually the front of a big, square van. Max leaped into a cabin with two seats on either side of a small aisle. The aisle led to a beaded curtain that separated the rest of the van from the driver’s seat.

  The strands of the beaded curtain clacked against one another as Whitey darted through. Max started to follow when he heard Gizmo gasp.

  “Oh!” she cried. “An RV.”

  “A what?” Max whispered.

  The little Yorkie didn’t answer. Instead, she brushed past the curtain, and Max ran after her.

  It was dark in the RV, but Max could make out the shadows of what looked like a small, cramped house. There was a counter and sink and tiny refrigerator on one side, a table on the other, and a couch opposite a TV with a smashed screen.

  Gizmo stood in the center of the aisle, frozen.

  Max carefully stepped over fallen, rusted skillets and a shattered coffeepot, then gently nudged Gizmo’s side.

  “We have to go,” he said.

  Gizmo shook her head, eyes watering.

  “Oh! Sorry.” Sniffling, she looked away. “It’s just that this is a lot like the RV my pack leaders had. The same one they took me in when I saw that squirrel and jumped out the window and got left behind.”

  “Did you think…?” Max started to ask.

  “No,” Gizmo said. “For a second I thought I smelled them. But it was just my imagination.”

  “I understand,” Max said.

  Sniffing one last time, Gizmo offered Max a doggy smile. “I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going!”

  Reaching the back of the RV, they nosed through another beaded curtain, then leaped onto a lumpy mattress. While Gizmo jumped out the back window after Whitey, Max checked that Rocky and Georgie were keeping pace, then climbed out of the RV after Gizmo.

  But instead of another vehicle, he found himself landing on concrete, and realized they were inside a large pipe, like a smaller version of the tunnel they’d come through earlier. Several of the pipes had been laid end to end through the junkyard. Once more walking in single file, the dogs raced through the pipes. Whitey stopped at the edge of the final one, panting for breath, with Gizmo right behind him. Max slowed his gait as he approached.

  “Something wrong?” he whispered.

  Whitey looked back over his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. Yet. But we need to climb, and it’s going to make noise. The good news is this is the last hurdle. Once we’re at the top, we’re home free. You ready?”

  “Yes!” Rocky and Gizmo said.

  “I think so,” Georgie mumbled.

  Max nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Whitey nodded back. Beyond the Labradoodle, Max saw what looked like metal rods rising up into a hill with weird plastic shapes on either side. He realized the poles were the inner supports of giant, plastic signs, the type that hung above restaurants and gas stations, and that the signs had all been stacked into one big mound.

  Whitey stepped forward, and immediately the metal groaned. Something cracked, and the structure shifted. Taking a deep breath, Whitey said, “No going back now.” And he was off.

  Max watched in awe as Whitey carefully stepped from pole to pole, climbing up toward the night sky.

  “Be careful when you follow,” Max whispered to Gizmo. “If you think you can’t make it, I’ll help.”

  “Got it,” she whispered back. “I’ll tell Rocky.”

  Max stepped onto the first metal support, then pressed down, hoping it would hold him. It seemed solid enough, so he stepped forward with his other paw. The poles and signs wobbled beneath Max’s feet, and the junk seemed to whine and moan, complaining with each step. Behind him he heard Gizmo and Rocky moving carefully from pole to pole, and then a loud groan as Georgie started to follow.

  They climbed slowly, steadily, and silently. The pads of Max’s paws hurt terribly, but he refused to give up. They were almost free.

  And then, when Max was only a few feet away from the top where Whitey waited, the plastic sign next to him cracked and broke loose from its supports. It tumbled down through the darkness, smacking against the junk pile and clanging against metal. Finally it landed on an asphalt lot far below, shattering into pieces.

  A second later, a squeaking rat voice rang out. “What was that noise?”

  Another called, “Something is moving in the signs!”

  Someone shouted, “Rocky is gone! The dogs are trying to leave!”

  All around them, the lamps on the tall wooden poles snapped on, illuminating the junkyard in hazy orange light. The air was filled with the hisses and squeals of angry rats.

  “Come on!” Whitey barked from above.

  Max didn’t need to be told twice. He leaped up, frantic to reach the top of this man-made mountain. At last he climbed onto a stack of tires, then spun to watch his friends.

  Gizmo had been right on Max’s tail, and she scrambled up next to him a moment later. Rocky had a tougher go of it, but the squat dog made a wild jump and landed belly-first atop the tires.

  That left Georgie. Howling in fear, the Saint Bernard bounded up the makeshift steps. As he leaped out from between a sign showing a yellow shell and one emblazoned with two gold arches, his hind legs shoved the shell sign off balance.

  And with a shriek of metal and plastic, the pile of signs began to collapse.

  “Come on, Georgie!” Gizmo barked.

  “Almost there, big guy!” Rocky called out.

  Georgie did not stop, barreling up the signs as they shifted and trembled beneath him. The stack began to give way, and a great flurry of noise rose up as signs tumbled down the pile in an avalanche of junk and broke apart on the ground. “Out of the way!” Georgie bellowed.

  Max leaped to the side as Georgie jumped out of the wreckage. He soared through the air, flying over Gizmo’s and Rocky’s heads before landing in a heap on the tires. Not a second later, the entire pile of signs gave way, thudding to the ground and throwing up a cloud of grime and dust. The rats below squealed and darted out of the way.

  “Come on!” Whitey cried.

  Max turned and found that the stacks of tires ran all the way up against the barbed-wire fence, high enough for the dogs to leap safely over the razor wire. Though the stacks trembled and quaked, they were too tightly packed together to give way. The dogs were almost to the fence when the first rats reached the top of the tires.
/>   “Please don’t leave us, Rocky!”

  “You’re our guests, and our guests can’t leave until we say!”

  “We need you here!”

  Max didn’t stop to think. He could see the horizon clearly now, and the tall, shadowy buildings of Baton Rouge were closer than ever. Galloping to the edge of the mountain of tires, he leaped over the razor wire.

  He soared through the air, and for a moment he thought they’d been led astray, that beyond the fence was some cliff, and he was falling to his doom. Then his paws met hard earth, and he rolled over and over through a field of grass until he came to a stop.

  Aching and gasping for breath, Max forced himself to his feet. Nearby he heard oofs and thuds as his friends made the terrifying leap.

  “Everyone okay?” Max barked.

  “Yes!” Gizmo yipped.

  “I think so,” Rocky answered.

  “We’re fine, too!” Georgie answered for himself and Whitey.

  And though he hurt all over, Max shouted, “Let’s go!” and barreled forward into the field, his friends beside him.

  As they neared the main road, Max dared one look back.

  Standing atop the pile of tires, surrounded by rats, stood King Flicktail. And though the rat wasn’t giving chase, he did not take his red eyes off Max as the dogs ran to find Belle as fast as their legs could carry them.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE DECAYING MANSION

  It was dawn. As they tore past lot after lot, Max half expected King Flicktail and his rats to burst up from the sewers and overtake them, joined by Dolph and his pack. But thankfully there were no signs of rats or wolves.

  So far.

  “Where,” Rocky said between pants, “are we running?”

  None of the others answered him. Whitey and Georgie had taken the lead, with Max following closely behind. Now the dirty Labradoodle looked up at the big Saint Bernard.