Boy Versus Rat Dog

by Justin D'Ath

‘What word is that?’ Colt asked.

  Five-year-old Hamish Hinton just stared at the book.

  ‘Sound the letters out,’ Colt suggested.

  ‘Cccc . . . aaaa . . . tttt.’

  ‘Good. Now say it fast.’

  ‘Cat?’ Hamish said doubtfully.

  ‘Yes. It says cat. You can read, Hamish!’

  The younger boy studied the picture. ‘What’s a cat?’

  ‘It’s like a panther or a lion,’ Colt said, ‘only much smaller.’

  ‘Did they eat people?’

  ‘No way. They were nice. People used to keep them for pets back in the Animal Days.’

  A dreamy look spread across Hamish’s face. ‘I wish I had a pet.’

  ‘Me too,’ Colt said. But really he did have a pet – Lucy the elephant. He turned the page. ‘Now read this one.’

  ‘Dddd . . . oooo . . . gggg.’

  ‘Do it fast.’

  ‘Dog?’

  ‘Excellent!’

  ‘What’s a dog?’ asked Hamish.

  ★★★

  At recess, Colt and his friend Birdy Flynn slipped away and sat against the straw bales behind the peacock trailer. The peacocks had been moved from The Menagerie because their shrieking upset the other animals.

  ‘Did you see the VN?’ Birdy asked.

  Birdy was only 10 – and a girl – but she and Colt had become best friends since his mother got her job as the circus vet. Birdy knew about his superpowers.

  ‘Mum told me about it,’ he said. ‘Are there photos?’

  ‘Not of us,’ said Birdy. ‘But an artist did drawings.’

  ‘Are they good?’

  ‘Not really.’ Birdy rolled her eyes. ‘That lady we rescued reckoned I only looked six years old!’

  ‘What about me?’ Colt asked.

  ‘She said how strong you were.’

  ‘At least she got something right!’

  Birdy lightly punched his arm. ‘Are you okay today, Superclown?’

  He gave her a pretend punch in return. ‘Not too bad, Clowngirl. But Mum’s worried about me. She reckons there’s something weird in my blood.’

  ‘Huh?’ Birdy sounded worried.

  Colt began explaining about the blood tests.

  ‘There you are!’ someone interrupted.

  ‘Hi, Hamish,’ Colt and Birdy said, their voices blending together.

  The smaller boy came over and squeezed in between them. ‘I can read,’ he told Birdy.

  ‘Aren’t you clever!’

  ‘Colt teached me.’

  ‘He’s pretty clever, too,’ Birdy said.

  Hamish slipped his arm through Colt’s. ‘Me and him are buddies.’

  Colt grinned at Birdy over the top of Hamish’s head. They were like a little family. For as long as Colt could remember, it had just been him and his mother. Sometimes Colt felt jealous of other kids who not only had both parents, but brothers and sisters, too.

  ‘Rrrr . . . aaaa . . . tttt makes rat,’ said Hamish.

  Birdy pretended to be impressed. ‘You are a good reader!’

  ‘I’m not reading.’ Hamish pointed. ‘There’s one near your leg.’

  Birdy was part of a family trapeze act called the Flying Flynns. Her reflexes were lightning fast and she was as agile as a Lost World squirrel. In a blink, she was gone.

  Had Colt looked around (and up), he would have seen her perched on top of the peacocks’ trailer. But his attention was elsewhere. He hadn’t seen the rat until Birdy moved out of the way. By then it was too late.

  When Birdy moved, the rat moved, too. It took cover in the tiny space beneath Hamish’s partly raised knees.

  This wasn’t just any rat, it was big and white, with nearly-white eyes and tiny black pupils. It was a ghost rat!

  ‘Don’t move a muscle, Hamish,’ Colt whispered.

  Ghost rats were deadly. If they bit you, you died.

  Unless your mother was a quick-thinking vet who gave you a monster dose of RatVax the moment you’d been bitten. That’s what had happened to Colt when he was a baby. He was the only person ever to have survived the bite of a ghost rat.

  Where was his mother now? he thought. How long would it take her to rush to the supply truck, unlock the special fridge where the RatVax was kept and come running back with the vaccine to save Hamish if he got bitten?

  Too long, Colt knew. The deadly rat flu virus would spread through Hamish’s body in a matter of two or three minutes, and the vaccine would be no use. Hamish would be dead by sundown.

  ‘D-don’t let it b-bite me, Colt!’

  ‘I won’t,’ he promised.

  Slowly unlinking his arm from Hamish’s, Colt flexed his biceps. And was rewarded by a wave of goosebumps all the way down to his fingertips. Then came a tingling sensation, like electricity, just beneath his skin. And his T-shirt suddenly seemed too tight, as if the fabric was shrinking.

  But it wasn’t a case of a shrinking T-shirt, it was a case of expanding muscles.

  Colt’s superpower was kicking in.

  Reaching slowly sideways, he gripped the smaller boy under both arms. ‘On the count of three,’ he said softly, ‘lift your legs up against your chest and wrap your arms around your knees. Can you do that, Hamish?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  ‘Here we go, then: one, two . . .’

  Four things happened when Colt finished counting:

  1. Hamish pulled both knees up against his chest, leaving the ghost rat without a hiding place;

  2. Colt sprang to his feet, lifting Hamish high off the ground;

  3. Something brown and furry appeared out of nowhere, caught the unsuspecting rat in its jaws and whipped it from side to side, killing it instantly;

  4. And all the peacocks started screeching.

  Colt took half a step backwards in shock, nearly tripping over one of the straw bales and nearly dropping Hamish.

  ‘Is that a dog?’ Hamish asked.

  Colt set him safely on the straw bales. ‘I think so.’

  He’d only seen three other dogs in his life. They cost mega-bucks now and only very rich people could afford them. But this scruffy little creature didn’t look like some rich person’s pampered pet. It looked slightly crazy! And it was wearing a funny little orange coat.

  Satisfied that the rat was dead, the dog tossed its limp body aside. Then it looked at Colt.

  ‘Hey, fella,’ he said uncertainly.

  Colt was good with animals – even better than his mother, whose job as a vet meant she worked with them every day. Animals just seemed to like him.

  But not this one.

  Without warning – and without Colt doing anything to provoke it! – the dog shot forward and latched onto his left ankle. Colt was wearing jeans with socks underneath, but the dog’s jaws were incredibly strong. And its teeth were sharp. They sank all the way in to the bone.

  Shashlik! It hurt!

  Colt reacted without thinking. Anyway, the pain was so bad – and the peacocks were so loud – that it was impossible to think.

  He kicked the dog.

  The peacocks’ racket must have been heard all over Stockyards Park. It was a shocking noise. Colt turned towards their cage.

  ‘SHUT UP!’ he yelled.

  Surprisingly, they did.

  But lots of people had heard them. They came running from all directions. Three of Colt’s classmates arrived first. They skidded to a halt when they saw the big white rat lying dead at Colt’s feet. Mrs Greene, their teacher, arrived next, carrying her six-week-old baby. She ordered everyone to step back.

  All but Colt and Hamish obeyed her – and Birdy, who was still frozen on top of the trailer.

  The next person to arrive was a woman who had no connection with the circus. But she was no stranger to Colt. Her name was Officer Katt and she was wearing the distinctive bright-orange uniform of the Rat Extermination Division of DoRFE (the Department of Rat Flu Eradication), commonly known as rat cops. She didn’t back away, either.


  ‘Well, if it isn’t my old friend Snowy!’ she sneered.

  They weren’t friends. ‘What are you doing here?’ Colt sneered back.

  ‘My job,’ she said, looking down at the dead rat. ‘Making the world a safer place.’

  Officer Katt’s idea of a safe world didn’t just have no rats, it had no Lost World animals, either. A few months ago, she’d tried to kill Lucy. More recently, she’d released the circus rhino and some other animals, hoping Colt would get the blame. She was bad news.

  Colt watched her pull on a pair of latex gloves and drop the dead rat into an orange plastic bag. She still hadn’t noticed the dog.

  A second rat cop arrived – a muscly man with a row of shiny studs in each ear. He smiled when Officer Katt showed him what was in the bag, then fished a small pink biscuit from his pocket.

  ‘Zoltan! Here boy!’ he called, and gave a shrill whistle.

  Colt pointed. ‘If you’re looking for the dog, it’s over there.’

  The dog lay about four metres away, a dusty brown-and-orange bundle lying half hidden behind the wheel of a caravan. It wasn’t moving. Ear-stud Man walked quickly over to it.

  Officer Katt glared at Colt. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It attacked me.’

  ‘Zoltan doesn’t attack humans,’ growled Ear-stud Man, crouching over the dog. ‘He only attacks rats.’

  ‘How is he?’ asked Officer Katt.

  The other rat cop slowly stood up. His face looked as if it was carved from stone. His voice sounded stony, too. ‘Dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Colt. He felt awful. Worse than awful. He loved animals. He’d even tried to save a rat once – a ghost rat like the one in Officer Katt’s bag. ‘It was an accident,’ he stammered. ‘He bit me and I kicked him away.’

  Ear-stud Man marched towards him. His eyes blazed in anger, his big hands were bunched into fists.

  Officer Katt put her arm out to stop him. ‘Don’t do anything silly, Owen,’ she warned. She lowered her voice, one eye on Mrs Greene. ‘There are witnesses.’

  ‘He killed Zoltan!’

  ‘I know,’ said Officer Katt. Her voice was grim. ‘And he’s going to pay for it, believe me.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  Another person had arrived. It was Captain Noah, who owned the Lost World Circus. Officer Katt told him what had happened – her version, anyway. She made it sound as if Colt was a cold-hearted murderer.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Birdy said from high up on the peacocks’ trailer. ‘The dog bit Colt’s ankle and wouldn’t let go. He had to kick it.’

  Everyone looked up at Birdy, then down at Colt’s ankle. They couldn’t see the wound but there was a small rip in the hem of his jeans and a dark spot that might have been blood.

  ‘He didn’t need to kick it to death!’ growled Officer Owen.

  ‘I only kicked it once,’ Colt said.

  But it was a superhero kick. Zoltan hadn’t stood a chance.

  All at once, Colt felt as if he was going to be sick. He had to sit on one of the straw bales and put his head between his knees. His ankle was hot and throbbing.

  ‘Let’s have a look at your leg,’ said yet another voice.

  Colt hadn’t seen his mother arrive. She gently lifted the denim clear of his ankle. The top of his sock and left sneaker looked like they’d been dipped in red paint.

  ‘Okay, mister,’ Kristin said, ignoring everyone else, ‘I’m taking you to hospital.’

  Colt was always going to hospital lately. This was his third time that summer. But today, thanks mostly to Birdy, it was only a short visit to Emergency.

  Birdy could be very persuasive. She had talked Colt’s mother into letting her go with them. Someone had to sit in the back seat with him to keep his leg elevated on the way, she said.

  As well as doing that, Birdy secretly fed Colt six Power Bars from the emergency supply he kept in his school backpack. (Nobody had noticed when she’d raced away to get it while Kristin went to fetch her car.) By the time they arrived at Emergency, Colt was feeling better. And his bite wounds – which had seemed much worse when Captain Noah and Mr Busby, the circus foreman, had loaded him into his mother’s car – had stopped bleeding.

  Five stitches and two needles later, they were back in the car on their way home to the circus.

  ‘So what did happen, mister?’

  This time Colt had the front seat, next to his mother. He told her the whole story, from the moment Hamish had first seen the ghost rat until Zoltan lay dead under the caravan.

  ‘How did he get all the way over there?’ Kristin asked.

  ‘He kind of rolled.’

  ‘You must have kicked him quite hard.’

  Colt looked out the side window. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘It all happened really fast, Mrs Lawless,’ Birdy said from the back seat. ‘I think the dog kind of jumped when Colt kicked it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Kristin, sounding doubtful.

  ‘Will I get in trouble?’ Colt asked.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she said.

  ‘I feel really bad about what happened.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, darling. The dog shouldn’t have bitten you.’

  Birdy spoke again. ‘Officer Katt and that other rat cop were pretty mad.’

  ‘Not nearly as mad as me,’ Colt’s mother said. ‘They should have had that animal under control.’

  Colt gingerly flexed his ankle. It felt okay. ‘I didn’t know the rat cops had dogs.’

  ‘There are just eight of them in the world,’ said Kristin. ‘Well, seven now, I guess. I saw it on the news. DoRFE imported a pair of them all the way from Hungary. Rat dogs, they’re called. They’ve been bred and trained just to hunt down and kill ghost rats.’

  ‘And me,’ Colt tried to joke.

  Nobody laughed.

  ‘Well, at least you didn’t get killed,’ said Birdy.

  ‘Did either of you do anything to provoke it?’ Kristin asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Colt said. ‘I was just standing there holding Hamish up so the ghost rat couldn’t get him. Everything happened really quickly.’

  ‘I thought dogs were nice,’ Birdy said.

  ‘They are,’ said Kristin. Then she sighed, and corrected herself: ‘Were.’

  Colt looked down at his un-bandaged foot – the one that had kicked the dog. ‘Why didn’t it like me?’

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ his mother said. ‘On the news report, it said how well-trained rat dogs are. From the age of six weeks, they’re taught to track down and kill ghost rats. That’s why DoRFE paid one-hundred thousand dollars each for them.’

  Birdy gasped. ‘Did you say one-hundred thousand dollars, Mrs Lawless?’

  ‘You heard correctly, Birdy.’

  ‘No wonder the rat cops were mad.’

  The circus performed to a packed tent that night. It was a sell-out crowd. Colt knew why. The townspeople had come along hoping to see the two ‘superclown heroes’ who had saved a local woman and her little daughter from yesterday’s fire. But they were in for a massive disappointment. Both ‘heroes’ were indeed performing in tonight’s show, but as neither was dressed as a clown, nobody recognised them.

  One took part in a dizzying trapeze act high above everyone’s heads; the other one rode the world’s only elephant six times around the ring.

  Both Kristin and Captain Noah had wanted Colt to take the night off. They thought his ankle needed time to recover.

  But little did they know: it was nearly better already.

  As well as having the strength to push over water towers, Colt’s body had an amazing ability to heal itself. But, like his super strength and amazing speed, he had to keep it secret. Otherwise everyone would treat him like a freak. He wouldn’t be able to lead a normal life.

  So Colt left the bandage on and faked a limp.

  But he didn’t have to fake a smile as he rode Lucy around the ring while 1200 people oohed, aahed and took hol
opics with their wrist-phones. Working in the Lost World Circus was the best job ever!

  And it wasn’t exactly ‘working’ when people treated you like a rockstar. Or when the elephant you were riding was the most famous animal on the planet. Or when you and she had a secret that nobody – not even Birdy – knew about.

  Twice in the past week, when Colt had spoken to Lucy, she had seemed to understand him.

  ‘Do a spin for the holocams, Luce,’ he whispered into one of her big, leathery ears.

  And something amazing happened. Not only did Lucy turn in a slow, swaying circle, but she paused at each of the four compass points, raised her trunk, and bowed.

  Shashlik! Colt thought, more surprised than anyone. (He’d nearly fallen off the first time she bowed.) ‘Who taught you to do that?’

  Lucy couldn’t tell him, of course. She was an animal. Animals didn’t talk.

  What about Caruso? asked a little voice in Colt’s head. Caruso was a Lost World gibbon that Colt had set free shortly after he joined the circus. Caruso had made noises that sounded like words. But only to Colt’s ears – it was probably just his imagination. Everyone else had only heard grunts.

  ‘Animals don’t talk,’ he said softly.

  But not softly enough. Lucy’s hearing was good. She shook her head like a grumpy teacher trying to explain something to a student who wasn’t paying attention, then she raised her trunk and trumpeted. If she really was trying to say something, Colt didn’t understand her, but nearly 1200 audience members aimed their wrist-phones and started recording.

  It wasn’t only the audience taking holopics. There were a lot of press photographers, too. Many more than usual. Colt could always spot them. They had serious faces and seriously big holocams. The Lost World Circus, with all its rare and last-of-their-kind creatures, attracted media attention wherever it went, but tonight the news-gatherers were out in force. There were even a couple of HV crews. Colt guessed all the journalists were there for the same reason as the bumper audience – to follow up on the Superclown story.

  So he was shocked when he heard one of the real clowns (Hamish’s mum) say to a woman reporter standing just outside the circus ring: ‘That’s him on the elephant.’