by Rina Heisel
“Sludge.” Tobin dug his claws in deep as another slam rocked him harder.
Fish bait. He’d gone from hawk food to fish bait.
“Get low,” Wiley urged, a tinge of panic wavered in his voice. “It’s poking its head up.”
Impossible! Yet a fishy odor crossed Tobin’s nose. It couldn’t be . . .
Tobin slowly turned his head. The fur on his nose stood straight up as he stared directly into the unblinking, beady eye of a catfish. Its unfeeling gaze fell over him like a cold blanket; its mottled, brown head bobbed above the surface like a rotten melon. Tobin gagged as the reek of fish breath filled his nose. The catfish swayed its head away from the driftwood, then with a splash and lurch of its body, it thwacked its head against the board.
Tobin dug his claws deeper into the damp wood and snapped his gaze to Wiley. “It’s trying to knock me off!”
Wiley yelled back, but the catfish thrashed again, and the splashing water swallowed up Wiley’s words.
The fish slapped at the slab again, this time with its tail, then it lifted its head. Loosened lumps of fish slime rolled from its forehead, dropping into its gaping mouth. Tobin turned his head, gagging and gasping for a breath that didn’t reek of fish.
For a moment, all was still.
Tobin sucked in a quick breath, looked back, but the fish was gone. He looked up to Wiley, desperate for directions, what to do next.
Wiley shouted, “Jump now! It’s under you—you’re gonna get flipped!”
Tobin yanked his claws from the wood and darted to the edge of the slab. Just as he readied to jump, the catfish pummeled the board from beneath. Tobin’s body flattened as the wood sailed upward. Tobin saw a cattail tuft from the corner of his eye. He sprang, grabbing the caterpillar-shaped poof. Spongy seeds came loose between his claws, fluttering through his grasp, so he chomped at the inner stalk. His jaws clenched the tall reed and he circled his hind legs around the stem. He clung to the reed, hanging upside down over the fish. The catfish snapped its mouth over and over, its soggy whiskers flopping. Just for good measure, Tobin wrapped his dangling tail around the stalk. But the reed held, and the catfish couldn’t jump high enough to get him.
The catfish mouthed silent but angry protests below.
“Give it up,” Tobin shouted. “I am not coming back down!” The fish thrashed in the shallows a few more times, then flopped its way back into the deeper water of the creek.
“Tobin, over here.”
Despite hanging upside down, Tobin managed to turn his head to see Wiley perched on a cattail just a few reeds over.
“Let’s get to shore,” Wiley said.
“Yeah,” Tobin croaked. He looked at Talia. She sat curled in a ball, one leaf blade below Wiley. Or was she above Wiley? Hard to tell when he was upside down.
Wiley climbed onto Talia’s leaf. “C’mon, Tal, everything’s okay.”
Talia didn’t budge, so Wiley nudged her with his nose. “Let’s move, cotton ball.” She finally peeked up, big eyes peering over her tail.
“Hey, up here.” Tobin waved. “We’re all fine. Follow Wiley.”
She uncurled and glared at the water, eventually sliding down the stalk. Tobin turned himself around and shimmied down his own cattail, leaping off toward the shore. He landed in a mushy pile of decaying plants.
“We’re heading your way,” Wiley called.
Good. Tobin’s leg muscles were tired and his chin throbbed. He felt like a pine cone that hit every branch on the way down.
“Hey.” Wiley scurried over. “That was some serious claw work. I don’t know how you—wow.” Wiley clamped a paw over his nose. “Do you know you smell like dead fish?”
“You think?” Tobin answered. “You guys might want to back up.” He shimmied, but clumps of creek mud still stuck to his fur.
Talia cringed. “I think you need a puddle.”
“Sludge.” Tobin snatched his tail in his paws, yanking off stuck bits of dead grass. “Hopefully we can find one on the way. We need to get back to the spider trail.”
“Don’t you want to rest a minute?” Wiley asked.
“Well . . .” Tobin tugged at a sludgy clump of mud behind his ear. “Ugh. Maybe I could use a minute. Would you mind taking a quick look ahead?”
“No problem,” Wiley said, before looking Tobin up and down. “Hopefully I’ll see a puddle.”
“Hopefully.” Tobin winced as he pulled the sludge clump from behind his ear, probably taking some fur with it. “How did you and Wiley get to shore so fast?”
“I think we hopped into the right current.” Talia stretched and flexed her front legs. “And thank goodness for paddling lessons.”
“Hey, come look at this,” Wiley called, pointing his paw toward a patch of quivering swamp fronds. Out scuttled a mottled blue crayfish. About half their size and looking for bits of dead fish or bugs to eats, it twitched its antennae, shuffling its legs and moving onto the narrow strip of beach. It wasn’t a threat to them. But it was worth paying attention to.
Rule #6: If you find yourself in a strange place, take your cues from the locals.
Tobin watched the crayfish. It scuttled from the cover of the fronds, zigzagging across the beach. It picked up tiny particles with its pincers, inspecting each one, hoping for something edible.
Most important, it seemed at ease.
“If that crayfish feels safe enough to move around, maybe we are, too,” Tobin said.
Talia added, “Nothing’s jumping out of the rocks to catch it.”
Wiley whipped his tail. “I’d sure like to get my tail end back in the woods.”
“Me too.” Tobin craned his neck, looking at the climb in front of them. “We just need to get up these rocks. Ready?”
“First”—Wiley held up a paw—“we need to make one stop.”
Tobin followed Wiley’s gaze to a small indent in a rock on the creek bed. A puddle.
“Please?” said Wiley.
“My pleasure,” Tobin agreed. He deftly skimmed one rock over, then rolled in the shallow pool, scraping his coat against the coarse rock. After three quick rolls, he shimmied and jumped back. “Better?”
“Much,” Wiley answered.
“Then let’s go.” Tobin stretched his hind legs and did a quick skyward scan. Seeing nothing, he bolted. The crayfish’s claws jerked high in surprise when he streaked past. Tobin scrambled atop a boulder, hopped up to the next, and finally darted behind a broken pine branch stuck between two rocks.
He waited just a breath for Talia and Wiley to fall in line behind him. Right as they did, Tobin readied himself to jump again. A shrill chip! caught his attention, and he froze.
He saw Talia and Wiley freeze beneath the branch, as well. Talia tilted her head, her left ear pivoting as she listened. She whispered, her voice as soft as paw pads on grass, “I know that sound.”
It came again, echoing down the rocks.
Chip-chip-trill. Chip-chip-trill.
As the call finished, Tobin looked to Talia.
“It’s a chipmunk,” she said. “We’re in its territory, but I don’t think it’s aggressive.”
Tobin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think? Can you be sure?”
She looked up as she considered. “No, but remember Rodent Studies class? I’m pretty sure there’d be foot-thumping if it was mad.”
Wiley shrugged. “I think she’s right. Let’s have a look. After all, we can’t stay here out in the open.”
“True,” said Tobin, and the three peeked out from beneath the pine-needle-covered branch.
Perched above them was a chipmunk; a very sleek, especially long-bodied chipmunk. Its dark eyes bore into Tobin. Did that stare mean curiosity—or aggression?
“Hello,” called Talia.
Tobin nearly jumped out his hide. “Tal!”
“What?” She raised a paw, gesturing to the striped rodent. “It obviously wants to talk.”
“How do you—” Tobin started but then stopped. The chipmunk di
pped its head, then beat its tail wildly against the rock. Rays of late-day sun caught its chestnut fur, contrasted starkly by the black-and-white streaks running down its back. The chipmunk seemed leaner, maybe even tougher, than the few he’d met on their side of the creek.
It jerked its head back and chirped, beckoning them forward.
Tobin took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re right. It’s calling us up.”
“Told you.” A smile crept onto Talia’s face and delight filled her eyes. “We’re meeting a chipmunk!”
Seven
“I’VE NEVER BEEN IN a chipmunk den.” Talia rubbed her paws together with anticipation as she crept forward. “Do you think it saw the spiders?”
“Maybe. But, stop a second. Let’s be careful. That chipmunk is three times our size.” Tobin’s many thoughts swirled through his mind like tadpoles trapped in a puddle. Too much was happening. Never mind the spiders and the agitated chipmunk; he was also seeing a whole new side of his sister. “You really think it’s okay to follow this chipmunk, Tal?”
“Of course,” she answered, then tapped a hind paw, apparently eager to move on. “We learned about them in our Rodent Studies class last season. Its ears were tilted forward, not pressed back to its head. So all the tail beating and head jerking was to attract us.” She then rose on her hind legs and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that? You can just make out the chipmunk’s scent. It’s a male. So if he were unhappy with us, we’d have been charged by now.”
“Wow.” Tobin nodded his appreciation. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you passed Rodent Studies.”
“I did pretty good, I guess,” Talia answered.
“Pretty good?” Wiley chuckled. “My little brother Smudge’s in your brood group. He said being partners with you in RS class is great. It’s like being paired with a teacher who’s also fun.”
Talia dipped her head, the tips of her ears turning a shade of pink. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
Wiley looked up the hill. “Well, either way, you’re right on this. That chipmunk could’ve dropped a surprise attack on us if he wanted a fight.”
“True,” said Tobin. “And we are heading in his direction anyway. Might as well stop by.”
Tobin pulled himself up one boulder, then another, only taking his eyes off the perched chipmunk to look for footholds. The striped stranger watched, too, poised perfectly still. Tobin lost sight of the chipmunk when he scaled the very rock it was perched on, and when he crested the top, the chipmunk was gone.
Wiley climbed up beside him. “What? Where did that toad-turd of a rodent run off to?”
“Look,” said Talia, “in that crevice.”
Tobin stared at a cragged space between rocks. Squinting, he could just make out onyx eyes staring back.
The chipmunk finally spoke. “You’re not from this side of the creek. Why did you cross to our side?”
For a moment Tobin was intrigued to hear rodent-tongue from the chipmunk. The nuances between species always amazed him. Like chipmunks having surprisingly low voices.
Tobin decided to just be honest. “We crossed for a good reason. We’re following something.”
The chipmunk nodded slowly. “Perhaps spiders? Carrying a webbed bundle?”
“You saw them?” Talia stepped forward.
“I did,” the chipmunk answered. “You’ve never had Arakni on your side of the creek, have you?”
Tobin cocked an ear. “Have what?”
“A-rak-ni,” The rodent annunciated, his tail flicked with each syllable.
“Never heard of ’em,” Wiley said.
The chipmunk wriggled his nose. “I thought not. My name is Camrik. Please, come in. I should tell you about these spiders you’re tracking and know nothing about.”
Tobin drew a sharp breath, not sure what to say.
“Look at it this way, young mouse,” said Camrik, his eyes narrowing when Tobin hesitated to follow him. “Not knowing a flea’s flick about the spiders you’re chasing is far, far more dangerous than a short conversation with me.”
Well, that was probably true. “All right,” Tobin said, and the onyx eyes disappeared into the crevice.
“C’mon,” Wiley urged. “We’ve been in the open too long anyway; it’s probably best we keep moving.”
“Yeah,” Tobin agreed, stepping inside the entryway. A long tunnel, just tall enough for a chipmunk, ran deep into the earth of the hillside. They walked until the passageway opened into a chamber. There, Camrik waited for them in the center of a sparse den. A pile of cattail fluff rested against one wall for sleeping, and a mound of seeds lay stacked opposite to that. That was it.
“Hope you find my dwelling comfortable enough,” Camrik said.
Talia gazed across the domed ceiling. “It’s a lot different than a mouse burrow.”
The rocky soil gave the den a clammy feel. And there was only one tunnel in and out. Mice preferred tunnels—lots and lots of tunnels.
Their host smiled, looking amused. “I imagine it is different. We chipmunks are more of a solitary bunch.”
“Camrik,” Tobin started, anxious for answers, “my name’s Tobin. This is my sister, Talia, and our friend Wiley.”
Camrik nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you spider-chasing mice. I had no idea mice were so daring.”
“We’re usually not,” Tobin said flatly.
Wiley shot Tobin a glance. “Speak for yourself.”
“Anyway,” Tobin continued, “you were going to tell us about the spiders.”
Camrik’s brow furrowed. “Yes. I’m a bit of an expert. As I said, we call them Arakni, on this side of the creek. I’m afraid that fallen tree has given them passage to your side.”
Talia cocked her head. “What does the tree have to do with anything?”
“This storm.” Camrik looked upward as though he could still see the sky even in his cave. “It knocked over that tree, and it must have landed right beside your burrow. There were hunter spiders in that treetop. When it crashed by your home, the spiders simply went back to work. Gathering prey.”
“I’ve never seen a spider even half their size before,” Wiley said.
“The Arakni come in many sizes, but they’re more like monsters than spiders.” Camrik’s ears flattened to his head, betraying a fierceness that raised the fur on Tobin’s neck. Camrik shook his head when he saw Tobin’s fright. “Forgive me. It’s been a while since I’ve had any visitors.”
“It’s all right.” Tobin spoke fast, trying to keep the jitters from creeping into his voice. “Please continue.”
Camrik took a deep breath, seeming to steady his nerves. He continued. “My mother told us that long ago, generations before she was even born, Arakni were rare. Almost a legend, except that every now and then, someone would stumble upon the shell-like remains of a dead Arakni. Elders would warn young pups, ‘Don’t roam too far, or the Arakni will get you.’”
Talia shivered. “That’s awful.”
Camrik nodded. “Something changed years ago, when my mother was only a pup. The Arakni grew in numbers. The small, quick-moving scouts and the larger, dreaded hunters would comb the forest looking for prey.”
“So that’s what we saw?” asked Tobin.
“Yes,” Talia agreed. “And we saw their horrible bouncing and stomping as they talked to each other.”
“Yes.” Camrik nodded. “You see how they have evolved. What was once only dozens grew into hundreds of spiders. Now, each spring they come out, hunting together in a giant swarm.”
Wiley’s ears flattened. “That’s plain horrific.”
“They come out once a year?” Tobin asked, shivering at the thought of such a hunting party.
“Yes.” Camrik looked up, as if a vision of the night sky replaced his dirt ceiling. “For one cycle of the moon, the Arakni plunder our woods. They capture prey and then scuttle it back to whatever infernal chasm they crawled out of.”
Wiley looked at Tobin. “It’s a swarm of spiders. A swarm.”
“Yes.” Camrik raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, how much do the three of you know about bees?”
The three mice looked at each other.
“Um,” Tobin started, “I guess we know not to bother them or they’ll sting?”
“True,” Camrik said. “But they’re so much more complex than that. In a colony, different bees have different jobs. There are gatherers, builders, a queen. Working together, the hive will succeed. Ants, by the way, also have a similar structure.”
“Okay,” Tobin said, “what does this have to do with the spiders?”
Camrik took a deep breath. “Ants and bees are successful, resourceful, and typically don’t bother us because they’re not hunting us. But the Arakni . . .” Camrik shook his head. “As near as I can tell, they are the only spiders who’ve adopted this structure, to live as a society. And it’s been successful. Too successful.”
Tobin gleaned at least one silver lining in Camrik’s dismal load of information. “They’re gathering victims to eat later,” said Tobin. “We need to find where they’re stashing all these websacks, and that’s where we’ll find our pinkling.”
“I respect your bravery, each of you.” The chipmunk began to pace along the wall between the bedding and seed pile. Tobin noticed the groove in the floor. Obviously Camrik paced a lot. “My paws have been in your path. I’ve lost—we’ve all, on this side of the creek, lost someone to the Arakni.”
Talia shuddered. “I can’t imagine having to see those monsters every spring.”
Camrik stopped. His ears drooped and he spoke softly. “Unless something’s done about the tree bridge, the Arakni will be an even bigger problem for your burrow next spring.”
The pink drained from Talia’s nose. “Oh no. They could come back!”
“And next time, they’ll bring more Arakni with them,” Camrik finished.
Could the Eldermice hold off an entire pack of Arakni? The burrow was in more danger than anyone back home even knew. Tobin should run home, tell the Eldermice all he’d learned, gather more mice to help rescue the pinkling—except, time. Time was something a newborn pinkling doesn’t have a lot of.