by Avi
Ragweed shrugged. “Just tell it like it is.”
Blinker told his entire history, from the time the girl brought him home from the pet store to his escape.
“I thought you were trying to get on the train,” Ragweed said when Blinker was done.
The white mouse shook his head sadly. “All I want to do is get back to my cage. I don’t think I’ll ever leave it again.”
“Why?”
“The world is too big for me. It’s wonderful but . . . very frightening. But what about you?” Blinker asked. “If you don’t live in this town, why are you here?”
“Dude,” Ragweed replied, “my life couldn’t be more different from yours.” He told Blinker how he came to be in Amperville.
“But the way you talk,” Blinker said. “It’s . . . different.”
Ragweed, delighted Blinker had noticed, grinned. “That’s the way city mice talk, dude,” he said proudly.
Blinker sighed. “You and I have led such dissimilar lives,” he said. “For example, you have a family. I have no memory of my parents or brothers or sisters. The girl in my nest told me I was bred in a mouse factory. Your nest by that Brook sounds so beautiful, so serene.”
“It’s okay, but way dullsville, if you know what I’m saying. Nothing ever happens there. Compared to all this, anyway.”
“Oh,” Blinker cried from the heart, “if I had a home like that, I believe I should never leave it. And yet,” he added sadly, “though we have led such different lives, here we are, in the same predicament. Do you think we’ll have to spend the rest of our lives here?”
“Hey, no way, dude,” Ragweed assured him. “In fact, I’ll go check on Silversides. Like, maybe she’s gone.”
Once more Ragweed worked his way up through the pile. When he reached the top, he carefully edged aside some moldy newspaper and spied out. Silversides was in the same spot she had been before. But she was no longer alone. Next to her was Graybar.
CHAPTER 15
Trapped in the Garbage Pile
RAGWEED SLIPPED BACK to the middle of the pile where Blinker was waiting nervously. “Is she gone?” the white mouse asked.
“No way.”
“What is she doing?”
“Waiting for us, dude. Worse, she has her friend, Graybar, with her.”
“I never heard of a Graybar,” Blinker whispered.
“Like, I don’t think you want to, dude,” Ragweed warned. “Ragged ears, scars, limps like a fighter. Know what I’m saying? Bad to the bone.”
“I can imagine,” a dejected Blinker replied.
Ragweed, unsure of what to do, looked around. On the one paw, garbage surrounded them. The stench was awful. On the other paw, it was full of edible food, which meant they could—if they had to—stay. But only for a while. At some point they’d have to get out.
Ragweed knew where he wanted to go—Clutch’s car. It wasn’t far. If they managed to get there, they would be safe. The question was, how could they get from the garbage pile to the Ford without being caught? One cat was bad enough. Two made escape almost impossible.
Ragweed wished Clutch were with them. He was sure she had a lot more experience in these things than he did. It made him think about how much he admired her.
“I am terribly sorry to have put you into such a predicament,” Blinker offered. “And here you were about to go away.”
“Maybe,” Ragweed said, “but it was my choice to help you, dude, so we don’t have to talk about that anymore, okay? There’s always the chance we could outrun them. Like, how fast can you go?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Blinker said.
Ragweed pondered. Then he said, “Chill. I’m going to take another look out.”
Once more Ragweed climbed to the top of the garbage pile. This time when he came up it was by a large, mostly empty plastic bottle—curiously labeled “Dr. Pepper”—balanced precariously near the top. Careful not to nudge it lest he dislodge it and send it clattering down the pile, Ragweed surveyed the scene.
Silversides was where she’d been before, her eyes glued to the garbage pile. But she was alone again.
Ragweed was not ready to celebrate. Instead, he turned and confirmed his own worst fears. Not only was Graybar on the other side, he was sitting between the garbage pile and Clutch’s Ford. What’s more, he was waiting just as patiently as Silversides.
Ragweed returned to Blinker. “Silversides is still there,” he informed the white mouse. “And so is her friend Graybar. We’re surrounded.”
“Oh, my,” Blinker sighed, wiping away a tear. “It was an awful mistake to leave the safety of my room. I should have been satisfied with what I had. What have I achieved?”
“Listen, dude, you did the best you could. Know what I’m saying? Check it out. You can either sit here and moan or figure out how to get to the next step.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Blinker said, cringing. “It’s just that I don’t know what to do. I’m all bottled up.”
Ragweed sat up. “Hey! Maybe that’s the way to get out of this mess. It’s like, risky. But hey, dude, I don’t know what else to do.”
“I’ll . . . do . . . whatever you think is best,” Blinker stammered.
“Okay, then,” Ragweed said. “Keep behind me. And, like, no talking.”
Followed by Blinker, Ragweed worked his way to the top of the junk pile, coming up by the plastic bottle’s open neck.
“Now stay way cool,” Ragweed whispered. “First, you’ve got to squeeze into the bottle. But don’t make any extra movement. Once you’re in, stay on the uphill side. That’ll keep the bottle from tipping over till we’re ready. You get it?”
“I . . . I think so. What about you?”
“I’ll follow you in. Okay,” Ragweed urged. “Go for it.”
Whiskers trembling, Blinker poked his head into the bottle’s neck, then slipped the rest of the way in. His slimness served him well. Within moments he was wading in brown liquid. The bottle teetered, but Blinker kept to the uphill side of the junk heap and the bottle stayed put.
It was Ragweed’s turn. Bracing himself, making sure not to move too quickly, he squeezed into the bottle’s neck, inserting his front paws first so as to take up less room and at the same time pull himself forward.
Ragweed was plumper than Blinker, so it was a tight squeeze. He had to push and kick. Even then he became momentarily stuck. It took all his strength to squeeze and pull through the last inch of the neck. His movement caused the bottle to teeter.
Blinker, not daring to move, watched anxiously.
Finally together inside the bottle, the two mice scrambled to find the right balance.
“Like, we did it,” Ragweed whispered.
“I’m very glad,” Blinker said, though he did not sound it. His eyes were very wide and his teeth were chattering. It was humid inside the bottle, and the air was heavy with a cloying, sweet smell. “I think we’re in what’s called soda.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Ragweed said. He took a lick. “Killer sweet.”
“What . . . what do we do now?” the white mouse asked. His voice echoed, as if he were calling into an empty well.
Ragweed tried to look through the sides of the bottle, but its curves distorted the view.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the way we’ll do it. When I give the word, we’re going to throw ourselves at the far side of the bottle, paws up, like this.” He held his paws flat out.
“If we bop the bottle right, it should, like, roll off the pile. Won’t matter if the cats see us. No way they can get at us. If the bottle goes the way I think it will, we’ll be real close to my friend Clutch’s car. Get inside that and we’re safe, dude. Keep trusting me,” he added when he saw Blinker’s look of anxiety.
“I’m trying,” the white mouse replied faintly.
“You ready?” Ragweed asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Like, when I say go, dude, jump to the other side. We need to do it together.”
“I understand,” Blinker said.
“Here we go.” Taking a deep breath, Ragweed began to count, “One . . . two . . . three! Like, jump!”
At the word the two mice leaped. With a lurch, the bottle began to roll down the side of the junk pile. Unable to stay on his feet, a suddenly helpless Ragweed tumbled head over heels. Blinker, who was used to the exercise wheel in his cage, ran with the bottle’s spin. Even so, both mice received a complete soaking.
The bottle came down on the side where Graybar was waiting. Startled, he scampered away.
Inside the rolling bottle, Ragweed continued to turn somersaults, while a panicky Blinker kept running in place. When the bottle finally reached level ground, it continued to roll—thanks to Blinker’s efforts—but now it began to spin, too. Unable to keep to his feet, the white mouse slipped. Blinker and Ragweed were hurled about at random, drenched in the sticky soda, until gradually the bottle came to a stop.
“Where are we?” a groggy Blinker asked.
After allowing his head to settle, Ragweed bent to peer through the neck of the bottle. “Cool!” he announced. “Like, I can see the hole in Clutch’s car. We’re pointing right at it. It’s no more than a few feet away. And no cats in sight. Killer easy. Mouse, you did awesome.”
“I did?” Blinker said.
“Staying on your feet and running. Gave us some extra energy. Tight. Where’d you learn that trick?”
“I run a wheel a lot.”
“A wheel?”
Blinker explained how the wheel in his cage worked.
“Weird. Anyway, the rest should be sweet. Let’s get out of here. You first. Then I’ll come.”
“What if the cats see me?”
“If it gets too bad, like, forget me. Take care of yourself. Go for Clutch’s nest.”
“I wish I had never left my room,” Blinker murmured.
“We’ve got to keep going, dude.”
“I’ll try,” Blinker said dubiously.
“Hang in there,” Ragweed said by way of encouragement.
“Okay,” Blinker whispered. He squeezed through the bottle’s neck. Once out he turned back and called softly, “Everything is all right. They’re here, but they’re still watching the garbage pile.”
“Cool,” Ragweed returned from inside the bottle. Shaking his rear legs free of the brown liquid, he slipped into the neck of the bottle and wiggled forward. The moment he did, he knew he’d made a bad mistake: He’d forgotten to stretch his front paws before him. Now they were pinned uselessly to his sides. Fortunately, his wet, slippery fur made his passage possible. By wiggling, twisting, and squirming, he managed to move forward until he finally poked his head out of the bottle top.
Blinker was waiting nervously. “Hurry,” he whispered.
“I’m trying, dude, I’m trying,” Ragweed replied, keeping his voice low. The next moment he stopped moving.
“What’s the matter?” the white mouse whispered.
“Blinker,” Ragweed said, panic edging into his voice for the first time, “I’m stuck. I can’t move. You’ve got to help me. Pull me out.”
Blinker started to reach for Ragweed’s paws, which were not there. “But . . . what shall I hold on to?” he cried. Jittery, he spoke loudly.
“My ears!” Ragweed cried. “Grab my ears!”
“But I’ll hurt you,” Blinker stammered.
Behind them, Silversides and Graybar meowed.
“The cats have seen us!” Ragweed yelled at Blinker. “Get me out of here! They’ll bite my head off!”
“I’ll hurt you,” Blinker squealed.
“Don’t worry about hurting me!” Ragweed screamed. “It’s my life I’m worried about.”
The cats were drawing closer.
Blinker grasped Ragweed’s ears and began to pull. Heels dug in, he leaned back and pulled and pulled again. Slowly, painfully, Ragweed began to slip out. “More!” he shouted, though his ears hurt awfully.
With a sudden pop Ragweed burst out of the bottle. He came out so suddenly, Blinker tumbled backwards. As for Ragweed, he flew over Blinker, landing hard but not far from Clutch’s door.
By this time the cats were sprinting toward them.
Ragweed leaped to his feet. “Run!” he shouted and hurled himself against Clutch’s entryway. It would not budge. Though he banged and banged on the wood it remained stuck. Then he remembered what Clutch had told him, and he pounded the upper right section. The wood fell in. Ragweed followed. The second he landed, he jumped up and turned around.
With the two cats right behind him, Blinker was scrambling to get to the hole.
Ragweed dashed out, grabbed the white mouse by a paw, and dragged him inside, then flung the wood over the entryway—right in the cats’ faces.
“Hey, dude, you do make an excellent entrance,” said a voice behind them.
CHAPTER 16
Some Ideas
“WHAT’S UP?” CLUTCH ASKED LAZILY, not bothering to suppress a yawn. “I just got back, saw you weren’t here, and went back to sleep.”
“Silversides,” Ragweed managed to say while gasping for breath. “And Graybar.”
“Hey, what else is new?” Clutch replied casually. She gestured toward Blinker. “Who’s the pale dude?”
“Oh, right,” Ragweed said, rubbing his ears to take away the pain he still felt. “This is Blinker. Blinker, like, this is Clutch.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Blinker murmured.
“Likewise,” Clutch returned. “Hey, dude,” she said to Blinker, “like, you’ve got killer fur.”
“Thank you,” Blinker said, blushing through his whiteness.
“Is it real?” Clutch asked.
“Real?”
“Or is it, you know, like, dyed?”
“I’m afraid it’s the way I am,” Blinker replied apologetically. “I . . . like the green fur on your head. And your earring.”
“The head is dyed. The earring’s totally plastic.”
“They are very nice,” Blinker said.
“Clutch,” Ragweed said, “Blinker lives in Silversides’s nest.”
Clutch’s eyes grew wide. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m afraid so,” Blinker admitted.
“What’s the deal?”
“Tell her your story,” Ragweed prompted.
Clutch listened with great interest, occasionally murmuring “Cool” or “Awesome.” When Blinker was done, she turned to Ragweed. “How did you two dudes meet?”
“Just over by the railway tracks,” Ragweed said. “Like, I was leaving town.”
“Leaving town!” Clutch exclaimed. “How come?”
“Clutch,” Ragweed said, “like, I’ve been here, what, two days, and how many times have I been chased by those cats?”
Clutch grinned.
“What’s so funny?”
“The way you’re talking, dude. Sweet. You got it down right. I mean, this golden guy is one fast learner,” she said to Blinker.
Though pleased, Ragweed said only, “I mean it, Clutch. What’s the point of staying? Like, sooner or later, I’m going to get totally wasted.”
Clutch gave a thoughtful pull to her earring. “Hey, mouse, no one’s saying anybody has to be a hero. But you don’t want your tail leading the way, do you? I mean, lots of mice find city life too biggums. There are other places in the world. Except I bet you anything there’s, like, danger everywhere. Being new here, you just notice it more. I mean, no one wants dudes telling them how to live, except you have to plant your head somewhere, right? Put it this way, dude: Being a mouse ain’t easy anywhere. But hey, dude, if you want to nuzzle off, like, that’s tight with me. Or whatever.”
Ragweed, stung by Clutch’s words, stared at her but said nothing.
Blinker, however, clapped his paws. “Why, that’s . . . that’s a wonderful philosophy!” he enthused. “Defend yourself or nuzzle off. I need to keep that in mind. You see, most of what I know is from books. But you—both of you—have
truly lived. I’m so impressed. Thank you for saving me with your inspirational words.”
Grinning, Clutch held out her paw. “Hit it, dude!” she cried.
Laughing, Blinker complied. Ragweed had not thought the white mouse capable of such emotion.
Clutch took Blinker off to one side, where they ate some crumbs. There she talked a great deal, telling stories about her life and the lives of her friends. Blinker listened with wide-eyed fascination, occasionally breaking in to say things like “Truly remarkable! Extraordinary! I am so impressed! It’s a wonderful privilege to have met you.” His praise made Clutch beam and talk even more.
In quite another mood, Ragweed kept to himself across the room. The more he reflected on Clutch’s words, the more he had to admit she was right. Being a mouse meant you did always have to work extra hard to exist. It was the price of being small. That wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he had left his family to see the world, but it was true.
The young mouse sighed. The truth was, though he had not done much so far, he’d gained a few things. There was his new friend Clutch. She was special. For sure, he would never have met such a mouse if he’d hung around the Brook, although it now made him uncomfortable that she was so taken with Blinker.
There were all the things he had seen, too, both from the train and in Amperville. Yes, he had experienced some amazing things.
And yet, what troubled him about Amperville was that all the mice thought nothing could be done about F.E.A.R. Life might be dangerous everywhere, but country mouse or city mouse, that wasn’t his style.
“If there were only some way . . .” he mused, staring up through the windows of the car at the sky.
Suddenly he heard Clutch say, “Hey, dude, what’s up? You’ve got, like, a weird look on your face.”
“Clutch,” Ragweed announced, “I’ve made up my mind.”
“Yeah? Cool. About what?”
“I’m going to crib here a while. But you know what I’m going to do?”
“What?”
“I’m going to deal with F.E.A.R.”
Clutch started. “Take on F.E.A.R?” she cried. “Are you, like, totally out of your mind?”
