CHAPTER
8
A Deer in Headlights
“Ow!” I yell. Pigeons peck at my fur and nip at my paws. “Stop that! Let me go!”
The large pigeon laughs. He’s standing back, watching. “Who don’t love a good rat show?” he snorts.
“Doesn’t!” I explode. I gnash my incisors at one pigeon and duck under another’s wing. “I think you mean who doesn’t love a good rat show!” I dart away from the pigeons and scurry into the large green box. It’s filled with forages. Familiar smells hit me—crumpled paper and moldy bread and sour tomato. I close my eyes and for a split second I feel like I’m home, foraging in the treasure chest with Oggie.
“Did you not hear me before?”
The scratchy voice makes my eyes pop open.
I’m not home, and I’m not with Oggie. The large pigeon is perched on the edge of the green box. “I said, this is our dumpster.”
Wings flap sharply behind him. I look up. A dozen pigeons circle this thing they call a dumpster. One snaps his beak. Another flashes his talons.
“Please,” I gasp. I scramble backward over a bottle and land on a paper plate. “Just let me go.”
The large pigeon spreads his wings. He glides silently through the air and lands next to me. “You’re not going nowhere,” he says. He beats his wings. One hits me in the snout.
I’m thrown backward. I land inside a cracked vat. It’s filled with sour tomato sauce. I sink straight to the bottom. Sauce clogs my eyes and goes up my nose. I cough as I paddle my way to the top. I’m coated head to paw in tomato sauce. I smell scrumptious, but I’m too angry to care. “Let me out of here!” I yell. I paw the sauce off my eyes. “I have to get to Central Park West! I have to find my brother!”
The pigeons ignore me. They swarm, flying at me from every side. Talons scratch my snout and wings pound my back. I sink lower into the dumpster, underneath napkins and forks and a whole pile of straws. I swear I catch a whiff of pizza, but then someone shoves me down again. I slip under a can and into some kind of fabric. It smothers my snout and tangles my paws and suddenly I can’t move and I can’t breathe.
I hear distant laughter. I kick furiously, but it only tangles me up more. I try to breathe, but I just inhale fabric. My chest aches, begging for air. I’m drowning in forages.
“Hey, you hear that?” Another pigeon voice rises above the fray. “Code ER! I hear the garbagemen coming! We gotta go. Now.”
“I don’t hear—”
“They’re coming! Code ER! Code ER!”
There’s a flurry of wings. Voices collide above me.
“Outta my way—”
“Move it—”
“I’m not ending up in a trash compactor—”
Their voices fade. Their wings flap into the distance.
Silence.
They’re gone. My paws relax. My head clears. I need to get out of here. I have no idea what garbagemen are, but I’m in no mood to find out.
I bare my incisors and start to gnaw. The fabric tears away in my mouth. I claw my way out and burrow under a stack of cups. I swim through a pool of soda and tunnel through a deliciously moldy vat of mushrooms. Finally I emerge at the top of the dumpster. I climb onto an empty can and suck down big gulps of sweetly rotten air.
If this were one of my stories, I would have beaten the pigeons back single-pawed. But it’s not a story. And in real life, I’m not unstoppable at all. I’m completely, utterly stoppable.
A sob escapes me as I scramble out of the dumpster. I scurry into a shadow and look around. Darkness is chasing the last bit of light out of the sky. Soon, it will be so dark I’ll have to use my whiskers to guide me, and still I’m not any closer to finding Oggie. Another sob racks my body. What was I thinking, going after Oggie all by myself? I have no idea what to do next. I don’t even know which direction to turn.
My eyes land on a nearby sewer cover. I choke back another sob as I scurry over to it. There are a few round holes in its cover. I poke my snout through one of them. The stench hits me immediately. Rotten … festering … rancid … Normally, those are some of my favorite smells, but here they’re off, all twisted and darkened. They smell of one thing and one thing only. The end.
I stumble backward, coughing. There’s only one place that could smell like that. The Roadway. I scurry away as fast as I can and slip back into the shadows. The Roadway is not the way to get to my brother. Not if I want to survive the trip.
“Hey, vermin, you dumb enough to still be out here? ’Cause I’m in the mood to kick some rat tail if you are.”
I jump at the sound of the voice. I look up and spot a single pigeon in the sky. He has a small black head, a glossy green neck, and white wings striped with black. There’s something strange about the way he’s flying. I look more closely. One wing slices cleanly through the air, wide and majestic. The other one wobbles and jerks, short and stumpy. I blink in surprise. He’s missing half a wing.
The pigeon flaps his one full wing. He wobbles his one half wing. He soars through the air, lopsided but fast.
I freeze.
He’s flying straight toward me.
CHAPTER
9
Don’t Get Your Feathers in a Bunch
I collapse on my side and let my tongue loll out of my snout. It’s a trick my dad taught me during sidewalk survival lessons. If all else fails, play dead.
The pigeon makes a noisy landing next to me. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. “Hey, you gonna talk to me or what?” the pigeon says. “I can see you breathing. I know you’re alive. C’mon, don’t get your feathers in a knot.”
“The saying is ‘don’t get your feathers in a bunch,’” I grumble.
“I knew you were alive!” says the pigeon.
Oops.
I lift my head reluctantly. I tense, ready to flee. But now that the pigeon is perched right in front of me, I see that he’s much smaller than the leader of the flock. I can’t help but stare at his jagged half wing. It looks like it was torn right off. “What do you want from me?” I ask.
The pigeon looks around shiftily. “Why’re you still here?” he says loudly. “You better get goin’ before I … uh … before I bust you up for real!”
“Fine.” I drag myself to my paws. I’m still smudged with tomato sauce, but I can’t even muster up the energy to lick myself clean. “I’m going. I don’t want to run into any garbagemen anyway.” My head droops as I scamper away from the pigeon. I have no idea where to go. Is Central Park West to the right? The left? Straight ahead? How am I supposed to know?
“Hold up,” the pigeon whispers.
I look over. The pigeon stretches out his glossy green neck and looks around. “No one else came back, right?”
“Just let me be,” I grumble. “I’m leaving, all right?”
“Wait!” the pigeon cries. “Just look behind me,” he whispers. “Are there any other pigeons?”
I blow out an angry breath. “No. You’re the only one still bothering me.”
“Phew.” The pigeon shakes out his feathers. His head bobs as he walks toward me. A tremble runs through me, but he doesn’t make a move to strike me with his talons. “I’m Kaz,” he says. “Well, Kazington, really. But who wants to go by a name that fancy? Nah, I’m just plain ol’ Kaz.”
I blink at him. His head bobs in a surprisingly friendly way. “You going to tell me your name or what?” he asks.
“I’m Raffie,” I say suspiciously. I take a step back. “And I told you, I’m leaving. I know the garbagemen are coming, okay?”
“Nah, we’re cool,” Kaz says. “I just made that up to save you.”
“Save me?” I repeat. “But you were the one hurting me!”
“Not me. My flock.” A ruffle runs through Kaz’s feathers. “They’re some nasty birds, am I right? I don’t do that violent stuff. But what choice do I have? You got to fly with a flock if you want to survive.” Kaz glances around. “They’ll be back soon too. We’re gonna want to get out
of here.”
I stare at Kaz. His beady round eyes look nervous. “It’s ‘going to want to,’” I say with a sniffle.
“What?” Kaz gives me a weird look.
“Gonna isn’t a word,” I explain. “It’s ‘going to want to get out of here.’”
Before Kaz can respond, I hear it. Wings. Beating through the air.
“Not good,” Kaz says. “Really not good.” He waddles in a circle. “We’ve got to move before they find you.”
“Hey, Stumpy!” The voice drifts down from the sky. “Where you at? Get back here or I’m gonna give you another half wing!”
It’s the leader of the flock. And he sounds close.
My eyes dart to Kaz’s half wing. “Are you…?”
“Yeah,” Kaz grumbles. “They call me Stumpy. Because of this.” He holds up his half wing and looks around. “Over here.” He squeezes under the dumpster, out of sight. I scurry under after him. There’s a building next to the dumpster. A human pushes open a door in the back of it, and suddenly amazing smells pour out.
Sweet tomatoes …
Doughy crust …
Melty cheese …
“What’s in there?” I breathe.
“That would be a pizza restaurant,” Kaz says. “A pretty famous one, if you believe the tourists. Hey, maybe that’s where we should go! The flock will never think to look for us in there.” He spreads his wings and takes off for the door.
“A restaurant?” I sputter. “You want me to go in a restaurant?” It doesn’t matter that it’s pizza. It doesn’t matter that I’m starving. I heard what my dad said after Grandpa Pax went missing. He should never have gone in that restaurant. Once he set paw through those doors, he never stood a chance. “I—I can’t,” I stammer.
Kaz pauses in the doorway. “I don’t like it either, believe me,” he says. “But it’s this … or them.”
I look up. The flock of pigeons flies into view. Their wings slice through the air. Their voices melt together: a single, menacing call.
“Don’t worry,” Kaz says. “I’ve got a plan.” He disappears through the restaurant’s door. I swallow hard and scurry after him.
CHAPTER
10
A Little Monkey Business
The smells hit me like a collision. Sauce! Cheese! Crust! They slam into me from every side. The pizza restaurant is the most delicious place I’ve ever been.
I slip under an empty chair. There are lots of humans here. My heart pounds and my paws shake, but no one is looking at me. They’re all looking at Kaz.
He makes a horrible hooting noise as he flies in wild, crooked circles above. The restaurant explodes with voices.
“Look out!”
“Poor guy has a broken wing.”
“¡Cuidado con tu cabeza!”
“Now thees ees the true New York experience!”
Kaz swoops from table to table, knocking over cups and trampling pizza. I watch enviously as his talons sink into thick, gooey cheese.
“I’ve got to catch this for my blog.” A man jumps up and points his phone at Kaz.
Kaz lands on one of the blades that are spinning on the ceiling, blowing air about. His feathers flap as he spins round and round.
“Is that a pigeon on the fan?” A man in a white hat stomps over with a broom. “Uh-uh, not in my restaurant.” He grabs the chair I’m hiding beneath and yanks it toward him.
I freeze.
I’m standing in the middle of a restaurant. And I’m completely, totally exposed.
I quiver in place. My dad’s voice booms in my head. Once he set paw through those doors, he never stood a chance.
The man climbs up on the chair. He swings his broom at Kaz. “Go! Get out of here, you filthy bird!” Kaz swoops out of the path of the broom and lands on a woman’s head. She leaps up with a shriek.
“Hide, Raffie,” Kaz calls over her screams. “I can’t keep this distraction up much longer!”
I snap out of my stupor. There’s a tall counter in the middle of the restaurant. I race over to it. Behind me, someone shouts, “The bird ees drinking my soda!” I scramble up onto the counter to hide.
My snout drops open. The counter is covered in food. There are huge tubs of sauce and mushrooms and pepperoni. There are thick, fragrant squares of cheese. There’s a mound of dough so thick I could tunnel through it. And there’s pizza. More pizza than I’ve ever seen in my life. Full, uneaten pies, all lined up in a row.
Voices swirl around me, but I barely hear them. I only hear the sound of hot, gooey cheese, bubbling on the pizza.
The smell draws me closer. My stomach growls ferociously. I’m so hungry I can’t think straight. I need a bite. I creep closer. I open my snout.
“I’m calling the exterminator about that bird,” someone says. My head snaps up at the sound of that awful word. A man in a black shirt is moving toward the counter, a phone pressed to his ear. I dive under a pizza pie, out of sight. The crust is warm on top of my back, but I’m shaking too hard to take a nibble. What was Kaz thinking bringing us in here? I’ve got to find a safe way out—before the E word finds me.
I peek out from under the pie. Kaz is flying past the counter. The man in the white hat is running after him. “Get. Out!” the man growls. He slashes his broom at Kaz. Kaz rises out of reach just in time. He circles through the air before landing on the counter. He hops from pie to pie until he’s perched next to my hiding spot.
“Great, now all the pies are ruined!” the man with the broom groans. “Is the exterminator coming, Giovanni?”
“He’ll be here in five minutes, boss,” the man in the black shirt says.
“This bird will be gone by then,” the boss growls. “I can promise you that.” He stomps toward Kaz, still gripping the broom in his hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” Kaz says. “My flock should be gone by now.”
“Yes, please,” I whisper. I peek out farther from under the pizza pie. I’m about to ask how exactly we should do this when my fur starts to prickle. I look up sharply. The boss is staring right at me.
“Is that—Giovanni—holy—RAT!” He swings his broom. It comes smashing down, over my head.
“Run, Raffie!” Kaz yells.
I scurry out from under the pizza pie, but cheese drips off it, clinging to my fur. I go skidding along the counter, dragging the pizza with me. “Watch out, Raffie!” Kaz gasps. But it’s too late.
The pizza and I both slide off the counter and plummet to the floor.
I land with a thud. My scream is muffled by something soft. I drag myself to my paws. I’m inside a cardboard box, on a bed of napkins. The pizza pie is crumpled next to me. Above me, the broom makes a deafening crack as it connects with the counter.
“Don’t worry, boss,” I hear Giovanni say. “I’ll take care of the rat for you.” Angry footsteps stomp closer. I dig my claws into the cardboard and climb faster than I ever have in my life. I’m almost out of the box when a huge shadow darkens the air above me. Giovanni.
He’s holding something. It looks like a plastic knife I’d find in the treasure chest back home, except it’s silver and much, much bigger. He lifts it up. Its long, sharp edge glitters above me. I squeak in terror and lose my grip on the cardboard. I tumble down, back into the box.
“Trapped,” I hear Giovanni say gleefully. I right myself just in time to see him throw the knife. Right at me.
I’m walled in by the box. There’s nowhere to scurry. Nowhere to escape. The knife whizzes closer.
“Ahhh!” I grab the pizza pie in my paws and hold it in front of me like a shield. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is it. I’ll never get to Oggie. I’ll never see my family again. I hear a thunk as the knife pierces the pie and then … Nothing.
I open one eye, then the other. The sharp edge of the knife is less than an inch from my snout. The whole thing is stuck, its handle wedged into a slice of pepperoni. My breath comes out in a long, shaky rush.
“Raffie! Are you okay?” Kaz swoops d
own and perches on the edge of the box. He yanks the knife out of the pizza with his beak.
“Saved by the pizza,” I pant.
“Let’s go,” Kaz says. “Now.”
“This pie is coming with us.” I sink my teeth into the pizza crust. “In case there are any more knives.”
Kaz grabs the other half of the pie in his beak. We move together toward the restaurant’s front door, carrying the pizza in our mouths. Battle cries ring through the restaurant.
“Exterminator—”
“—kill—”
“—cool!—”
We move faster. Giovanni shouts something, but I don’t look back. Together, we launch ourselves through the restaurant’s front door, still carrying the pizza between us.
CHAPTER
11
Not a Clay Pigeon
We stumble down the stairs and across the sidewalk. I duck into a shadow and collapse on my belly, letting the pizza fall to the ground. Kaz stops next to me, panting loudly. The sky stretches above us, black and endless. The last bit of sun is gone, replaced by street lamps. The building next to us winks with lights. A furry figure stands in one of its windows. Two glowing yellow eyes meet mine.
My heart pounds so loudly, I’m sure Kaz can hear it. “Run!” I choke out.
“Again?” Kaz pants. “Is it the exterminator? Where?”
“No, it’s…” My voice trails off as I watch the cat’s sharp claws scratch furiously against the glass. “It’s a—a—CAT!”
A laugh mixes in with Kaz’s pants. “So what?” he says.
“So what?” I sputter. I cower behind Kaz, but I can still see the cat. He’s pacing behind the window, drool rolling off his fangs. “To a cat, I’m as delicious as this pizza, Kaz. Maybe even more.”
“Then let’s get you out of here,” Kaz says.
“I couldn’t agree more.” I grab the pizza in my teeth. Kaz helps me drag it down the block until we find a parked truck to hide under. It’s nice and spacious underneath—out of sight of cats and humans and flocks of pigeons.
Raffie on the Run Page 4
