by Lisa Fiedler
“I like to keep my costs down,” Keep muttered. “So sue me. Why waste money on first-class accommodations for vermin?”
Suddenly the angular face of the boa constrictor popped up against the bars, and the creature let out a sickening hiss. With a terrified yelp Hopper dove beneath the tattered paper scraps and aspen wood flakes, curling himself into a trembling ball of panic.
“Easy, Bo,” the boy said, chuckling. He ran a bony finger along the bars, causing the cage to shake. With an ear-splitting cackle the boy turned on the heel of his black sneaker and sauntered out of the shop.
The bell jangled itself to silence, and minutes later the place went dark.
Jingle. Slam. Clack. Quiet.
A parakeet whistled, almost as though it were bidding Keep good riddance.
Pinkie poked Hopper hard. “You can come out now,” she said with disgust. “They’re gone.”
Cautiously Hopper stuck his nose out from where he was huddled beneath the shavings and paper shreds.
“What a family I’ve got,” Pinkie spat. “A coward and a runt.”
Hopper opened his mouth to scold Pinkie but stopped himself. He felt his heart sink because he knew she was right. He was a coward.
And Pup was smaller than even the youngest mice in the cage. He was weaker, too. Still, Hopper loved him dearly. Pup was sweet and gentle and looked up to his big brother and sister with utter confidence and admiration.
Hopper had to admit, Pinkie deserved that admiration. She was brave and bold and tough. She and Hopper may have looked exactly alike—same gray-brown pelt, same white marking (although Pinkie’s ring circled her left eye), but inside they couldn’t be more different.
Hopper loved to pore over the paper scraps that lined their cage, trying to make sense of the print and symbols on them. He found the squiggles and colors fascinating, even though he didn’t quite understand their messages.
Pinkie, on the other hand, was all energy. She rarely sat still long enough to read or even think. She was spunky and courageous, and always ready for a challenge. Or a fight.
Hopper often wondered if Pinkie hadn’t been sleeping so soundly when his mother was taken . . . if she had been the one who was awake, would she have done something, like she said she would have? Would she have been able to save their mother from whatever fate awaited her outside their cage?
He couldn’t say for sure. But in his heart he knew that at the very least Pinkie would have tried.
He was exactly what his sister said he was. A coward.
Maybe it was time to change that.
If only he could.
chapter three
HOPPER DIDN’T KNOW WHEN he had dozed off, but he awoke with a start the next morning. Scraps of paper clung to his sweat-dampened fur, and his whole body shook with horror.
He nudged his sister. She snarled in her sleep. He nudged her again.
“What do you want?”
“That boy wants to feed us to his snake.”
Pinkie sat up, carefully moving Pup from under her arm where he was curled up asleep. “Say that again . . .”
“We’re feeders,” Hopper confirmed. “Not to be taken home as pets, but—”
“To be taken home for dinner,” Pinkie finished, horrified.
“Correction,” Hopper said with a sigh. “Breakfast.” He turned toward the big window, where the first smudges of morning light had begun to brighten the sky behind the tall buildings.
Pinkie wriggled away from Pup and began to pace. For a moment Hopper just watched her. When her narrow rear paw caught on a long, glossy paper scrap, she shook it off. It billowed into the air, then landed in front of Hopper. He glanced at it, noting a round marking—bright red with some kind of hieroglyph inside. And more symbols: S-U-B-W and 14.
He had no idea what to make of the markings, and now was not the time to dwell on them. He brushed the crinkled scrap aside.
“The boy will be back soon after Keep opens,” Hopper said, willing his voice to stay calm. “We have to be gone by then.”
Pinkie whirled to glare at him. “Oh, really?” She slapped her tail against the bars; the noise caused one of the mice in the corner to stir in his sleep. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“Keep has to feed us,” Hopper reasoned.
“When Keep puts the food in our bowl, we can climb up his arm and out of the cage. Then we can jump down and escape.”
Pinkie frowned. “And by ‘we’ you mean . . . ?”
Hopper motioned to the sleeping pile of mice in the corner. “All of us. We can’t leave them behind.”
Pinkie sighed heavily. “I suppose not.” Her whiskers twitched once, twice. “I say we bite him.”
Hopper shook his head. “Absolutely not. We run up and we run out. No need for more trouble.”
“The man is planning to feed us to a boa constrictor, Hopper. I don’t think this is any time to concern ourselves with manners. Now, if we all just get in one quick chomp—” She gnashed her sharp teeth in demonstration.
“What good will that do?” Hopper asked. “If we bite his hand, he’ll pull his arm out of the cage and we’ll have nothing to climb!”
Pinkie didn’t say so, but Hopper could tell she saw the logic in that.
“Satisfaction,” she said at last. “We’d have the satisfaction of making him scream in pain.”
Hopper’s stomach turned over. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he and Pinkie were related.
“No,” he said as firmly as he could. “We’re going to do this my way.”
Pinkie blinked at him. “Since when are you so bossy?”
Since I don’t want to find myself on the inside of that slithering beast, Hopper thought with a gulp. But what he said was, “Wake the others. And tell them our plan.”
Pinkie paused; for a moment Hopper thought she was going to argue. Instead she rolled her eyes and skulked across the shavings to awaken their cagemates.
Pinkie listening to Hopper—the thought exhilarated him. Maybe he’d be able to pull off leading this escape after all.
Across the cage he could hear Pinkie murmuring and the others protesting, then finally agreeing to the plan.
Hopper looked at Pup, a small lump still asleep in a pile of curled wood shavings, and a surge of big-brotherly responsibility flooded his veins. He decided there and then that he would see to Pup’s safety himself. No harm would come to that tiny ball of fluff, not if he could help it.
Feeling bolstered and determined, he turned to watch the morning sun brighten the Brooklyn sky. Keep would be arriving soon, pushing open the door, bringing the cold in with him.
And then they would make their escape—to where, Hopper did not know.
But he did know this:
Bo, the hideous snake creature, would go hungry this morning. With any luck the beast might even starve to death.
Pushing the memory of those bladelike fangs from his mind’s eye, Hopper fixed his gaze on the big glass to await the daylight and to watch for Keep’s imminent arrival.
His heart frantically drummed against his ribs.
Just once, he wished his mouse heart could beat with the thrill of bravery, of courage—and not fear.
But for now all he could do was press his nose against the bars.
And wait.
chapter four
HOPPER DID NOT FLINCH. He didn’t even blink when, finally, he heard the sound of Keep’s key in the lock. Sometime during Hopper’s watch the pale sun had disappeared and it had begun to rain, turning the outdoor world a dull gray.
The bell rattled and Keep bustled in, shaking water from his coat. Hopper knew that on wet days patrons were few and far between, and this always made Keep cross. On rainy days he would grumble that the shop smelled of mildew and damp fur, and this kept the patrons away.
A prickle of hope tingled in Hopper—perhaps the wet would prevent boy and boa from venturing out. Still, he did not take his eyes off the door.
Pup was sleeping,
snuggled beside the water bowl in the corner. After a moment Hopper felt Pinkie sidle up. Her whole body was tensed, like a coil of fury, ready to pounce. She flicked her pinkish tail in the direction of their cagemates. “They want to know where to go . . . you know . . . after we get out.”
Hopper gulped. It was a good question. His plan only got as far as up Keep’s arm and out of the cage. Following that . . . there was nothing but mystery.
Suddenly the shop door slammed open; it hit the wall so hard that the bell loosened from its chain and fell to the floor with a hollow clunk. Silhouetted in the doorway with the rain pouring down behind them loomed the skinny boy and his wicked reptile, curled around his shoulders.
“He’s here earlier than I thought,” Hopper said to Pinkie.
“Is that thing a pet or a scarf?” Pinkie huffed, but beneath her wisecrack Hopper heard concern.
“Go wake Pup,” he whispered. “Tell him it’s time.”
“I still think we should fight,” Pinkie complained. “Don’t you think our lives are worth a little scuffle?”
“Go wake Pup,” Hopper repeated.
Hopper turned to signal the others. They were ready. Frightened. Panicked. Petrified. But ready. He gave them a quick nod.
One of the cagemates let out a determined squeak.
“Look, Bo,” said the boy in his screechy voice. “Breakfast.” He came toward the cage, his wet sneakers slapping the floor. “So how would you like your mice this morning, pal? Over easy? Scrambled?” He gave a snort of laughter. “Or maybe just raw?”
The snake hissed, weaving from side to side, his tongue darting madly in anticipation of his meal.
The boy’s scrawny fingers reached for the lock on the cage lid.
But Keep hustled over to brush the boy’s hand away. “This ain’t no self-serve establishment, kid. Now, how many do you want?”
“Well, Bo here’s a growing boy, ain’tcha, buddy?” The boy stroked the snake’s neck. “So how about the whole bunch?”
“Fine by me,” said Keep. “There’s more where these came from.” He slid open the lock.
“Ready . . .” Hopper whispered.
Keep opened the lid.
“Set . . .”
Keep reached into the cage, his hand ready to scoop them out.
“Go!”
Pinkie let out a piercing squeal, a crazed war whoop. The cagemates moved as one, scrambling into Keep’s cupped palm, then surprising him by leaping to his wrist and scampering up his arm.
“Run!” cried Hopper, boosting Pup out of the wood curls and onto Keep’s plump forearm.
“Hopper,” Pup cried, “I’m scared!”
“I know, Pup . . . just run!”
Pinkie was already as far as Keep’s elbow. She stopped, midscurry, to look back toward Pup, who was struggling to get a foothold. His paws clawed at the pudgy flesh, desperate to grasp the springy hairs to keep from falling off.
“Come on!” Pinkie cried, unfurling her tail. “Grab hold!”
Hopper watched, heart racing, as Pup reached a paw for Pinkie’s wiry tail. He missed.
Pinkie whipped it toward him a second time.
He caught it.
“Hopper!” Pup’s voice was a faint cry as Pinkie jerked him upward along Keep’s chubby arm. “Hurry!”
Hopper made a great leap, which landed him halfway up Keep’s forearm. Most of the cagemates had reached the top and were bravely jumping off, diving from Keep’s stooped shoulders to the relative safety of the shelf below. One mouse bit into the edge of the pocket on Keep’s shirt, and as Keep squirmed, the seam split, tearing the pocket away and taking the cagemate with it.
Keep’s shock had given way to anger now; he was shaking his arm wildly in an effort to dislodge the swarm of mice.
The boy was laughing, and Bo’s head darted back and forth in a frenzy, a blur of flickering tongue and gnashing teeth, watching frantically as his morning meal escaped before his beady eyes.
Pinkie and Pup were nearing Keep’s shoulder now, and Hopper was bringing up the rear. He couldn’t believe their luck—they were this close to freedom. Keep was so flustered and confused by the commotion that they might just make it.
But Pinkie had suddenly stopped short. Hopper gasped as Pup, still clinging to her tail, whipped sideways. Now he was dangling over the side of Keep’s arm, several feet above the hard cement floor.
Pinkie’s eyes flashed like fire. She couldn’t help herself. . . .
Hopper’s own eyes went wide when he realized what she was going to do.
“Pinkie!” he shrieked. “Nooooo!”
But it was too late. Her pointy little teeth were bared, and she was sinking them into the pale, spotty flesh of Keep’s limb.
Hopper felt the world lurch as Keep, howling in pain, gave his arm a powerful shake. Hopper scrambled to grab hold of a large brown mole on Keep’s inner arm and held on for dear life. Pinkie was still attached by her teeth; she’d clamped down and was not letting go for anything.
But Pup . . .
Pup swung like a pendulum from Pinkie’s long tail. One of his paws had lost its grip; he was clutching desperately with the other, but Hopper could see that his grasp was slipping.
“Hold on, Pup!” But even as Hopper screamed the words, he watched in horror as Pup’s tiny paw gave way.
He was falling . . .
Toppling in midair . . .
Falling!
chapter five
HOPPER’S STOMACH TURNED OVER at the sound of the small, dull thump. All he could see was a tiny puff of beige-brown fur lying perfectly still on the concrete floor.
Anger exploded. Anger, and grief. Without thinking, he opened his jaws and sunk his teeth ferociously into Keep’s skin.
Another jolt of Keep’s arm! Pinkie, who had released her bite hold and was watching Hopper, was caught unawares. She lost her balance and tumbled, head-over-hind-haunches until she, too, was falling through space, dropping toward the hard, deadly surface of the floor.
Hopper released his hold on the stubby birthmark and reached out . . . out . . . stretching . . . grasping . . .
Just as Pinkie came spiraling within reach, Hopper made a mad grab. The tips of his claws connected with her tail and he grabbed hold, clutching for all he was worth, gripping her tail against the force of gravity.
Now Pinkie dangled in space, teeth bared, whiskers quivering, arms flailing.
But safe.
Well, sort of.
Keep’s fleshy hand closed around the two of them and squeezed.
In the darkness of the fist Hopper could barely breathe. He was sure they were done for when . . .
Light!
Keep’s hand unfolded. Hopper felt himself dropping but not far. He and Pinkie went skidding across a smooth, papery surface, colliding with a shallow wall of the same material.
Cardboard?
Box!
Hopper had seen these contraptions a thousand times. The cardboard box was the vehicle in which hamsters and gerbils and guinea pigs went home.
And, apparently, how feeder mice traveled to their snakes.
Gasping for breath, Hopper disentangled himself from Pinkie just as the box closed. Streams of pale light sliced into this new darkness through several tiny holes in the lid.
“I don’t think this is an improvement,” Pinkie said with a sneer.
Hopper ignored her. He had to think!
His mind was muddy, and his thoughts came in hazy waves. His memory called up that familiar, dark recollection—his mother ascending from the wood shavings, disappearing upward into the unknown as if by some evil magic. The recollection blurred, splintered, blending itself with the more recent horror of watching Pup, not rising but falling—in his memory it was as if they passed each other in slow motion—his mother rising . . . rising; his brother falling . . . falling . . . and then there was Pup sprawled on the pet-shop floor, silent, still.
Hopper tamped down the despair. Perhaps it had looked worse than it w
as; perhaps the impact had merely stunned Pup. And in that case, maybe the cagemates had rallied and rushed to his aid. Maybe they’d roused him from his stupor or carried him to shelter, out of the path of Keep’s enormous tromping feet.
Maybe.
But in his heart Hopper knew the chances of that were slim.
“This is your fault,” came Pinkie’s voice from the shadows of the box. “You’re weak. And stupid! Pup is gone and here we are, trapped, awaiting our own death sentence.”
The words were worse than any gnashing she could have given him.
Hopper shook off the heartache and forced himself to think.
In the corner of the box was a slim gap where the cardboard came together. Hopper scurried over and peered out.
The skinny boy was hobbling about to avoid stepping on the cagemates who, with nowhere else to go, were dashing back and forth across the floor in a crazed rush. The boy wasn’t laughing anymore. Now he looked mad.
“You can keep your stinkin’ cage mice,” he barked at Keep. “I can catch better ones in the subway anyway!” Bo, jabbing his head in Keep’s direction and hissing angrily, seemed to be in agreement. With one last menacing hiss, boy and snake stormed out of the shop.
Keep muttered something nasty-sounding about “kids today” and clomped off toward the back room, closing the door behind him.
Then things became very, very quiet.
Hopper peeked through the slit in the corner and listened. There was a faint noise, a sound he thought he’d heard before—a spattering sound, a splashing sound.
The rain.
Not the dull, muffled sound of the drops hitting the roof or the windows of the shop. This sound was clear and close, louder and more immediate. Hopper had heard it before but only in quick little spurts when the shop door opened on a stormy day; in the few seconds it would take for the door to swing closed, he would hear the rain clearly, its noisy patter as it hit the sidewalk. Then the door would close and the sound would soften again.
But this time the sound wasn’t softening.
The door was open! The angry boy had left the door open when he left.