by Chris Hill
“Well, how I am supposed to know then?” asked Lucky.
It was a fair question, but Mazie just twitched her tail in annoyance and scurried up the tree trunk. Lucky followed as quickly as he could, but she was very fast and he had to stop and catch his breath.
Out on the sea of green that was the Park, he could see lots of humans being taken for walks by their dogs. Some of the humans had two wheels instead of legs and glided over the ground. How strange! Fascinated, Lucky moved out along the overhanging branches to get a better view. A group of humans were running frantically along the path. Something terrible must be chasing them, he thought. He tiptoed out to the thin end of the branch, straining to see what sort of creature was hunting humans.
Mazie had gone a long way up the birch tree before she realized that Lucky wasn’t following her. Tooth and claw! she thought. Where has the useless male gone? I’ll have no chance of promotion if I lose him. She spiraled down the trunk calling his name. Please, please don’t be lost, she thought as she darted backward and forward among the leaves. Finally she ran out onto an overhang to get a clearer view. Yes! There he was, below.
“Lucky, come back to the trunk!”
He waved up at her. “Why are the humans running?”
“I don’t know!” yelled Mazie. She was furious. “Stop asking stupid questions and get back to the trunk now!”
“Why?”
“It’s not safe out there, you dumb—” A shadow flickered over the sun and her fur instinctively rose. Oh, no! “Incoming!” she screamed, pointing to the sky.
Lucky looked up and froze. A huge black bird, all beak and snapping wing, was swooping down toward the tree.
“Get down!” she shrieked wildly. “Move! Move!”
The bird let out a caw! of delight as he spotted Lucky. This would be easy game—the squirrel wasn’t even running! His sharp talons stretched out for the kill as Lucky threw himself off the branch in terror. The bird’s claws closed around his tail—a second too late.
Lucky tumbled toward the ground with wind pounding in his ears, crashed through the bushes below, and lay stunned on the ground. The bird circled above, cawing in anger—where was the meat now?
Mazie leapt frantically down the tree. She couldn’t see him—where was he? The sounds had alerted a group of young humans who were running toward the trees. The bird swooped again, but the human young were closing in. Caw! He rose back into the sky, disappointed. No squirrel for lunch today.
Mazie found Lucky under the bushes, limp and barely conscious. She crouched by his side as the human young circled the undergrowth, searching for the fallen squirrel. Lucky started to whimper.
Keep quiet! Please, please keep quiet, Mazie thought. Then the young humans were called away, and ran off laughing and screaming. Mazie let out a sigh of relief. “Get up!” She shook Lucky roughly.
He staggered to his feet groggily; he was trembling and badly bruised. There had been falling, and a bird—but no Darkness …
“Up the tree,” ordered Mazie. “Now!” He followed her clumsily to the first branches, where she stopped and glared at him furiously. “Why are you called Lucky?” she demanded.
“Er … I don’t know.” He hadn’t expected this question.
“Well, I do! Because for the most stupid male I’ve ever met, you’re lucky to be alive!”
Mazie stomped back to First Daughter’s drey with Lucky trailing behind. I’ve failed already, he thought. Check for incoming—I didn’t even think—what will First Daughter say?
Mazie bobbed a greeting and shoved Lucky in front of her. “All present and correct, ma’am,” she said stiffly.
“Thank you, Miss Trimble—and what have you to report?” asked First Daughter.
Lucky held his breath.
“We conducted basic tree recognition, ma’am.”
“Good—then we shall see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Mazie glared at Lucky as she left.
The next day Lucky tried to thank her.
“Don’t be stupid again,” she said crossly. “D’you know how much trouble I’d be in if First Daughter found out? Don’t think I even like you!”
“Oh, I know you don’t like me,” said Lucky.
Mazie was taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“You’re only helping me so you can get out of the Foraging ranks. First Daughter told me.”
Mazie couldn’t help herself; she had to ask. “Did she say anything else?”
“Oh, yes—she said that you’re too clever for your own good!”
Mazie shut up—First Daughter was probably right.
The days started to shorten, the leaves turned brown, and the berries ripened. Mazie took Lucky down to Ground-level and showed him the best places to dig under the trees and how to spot the fallen nuts. They worked well together, stuffing their cheeks with the bounty, then taking it back to bury below the roots of the home-trees.
Lucky took extra food back to First Daughter and she was delighted. He had also grown a little more and was quicker in the branches now. But he would have to leave soon—too soon, she thought.
Lucky had learned not to ask why too often—but one thing was starting to puzzle him. So he waited until Mazie was in a fairly good mood and asked, “Mazie, why are all the foragers females?”
He’d expected her to call him stupid straight away—but instead she gestured with her tail for him to follow. They scampered along the safe Mid-level branches until they came to the last six magnificent chestnut trees at the end of the Avenue.
They got to the final chestnut overlooking a big metal gate and the entrance to the Park. “Over there”—Mazie pointed to the trees beyond—“is the Northend!”
He was obviously supposed to be impressed, but all Lucky could see was another avenue of trees that didn’t look as tall or as leafy as the Cloudfoots’ trees.
“Many years ago the Northenders attacked our Avenue. They raided our stores and stole our food, and many squirrels died.” Mazie shook her head sadly. “We weren’t prepared. But since then every male trains in Cadet Troop before joining the Watch and Patrol, to guard and defend our Clan. Come on, I’ll show you higher up.”
They corkscrewed up the chestnut tree and got close to the Canopy. The high, windswept branches had lost most of their leaves; the squirrels were an easy target for the hunting birds. “It’s dangerous up here,” Mazie reminded him.
Lucky didn’t need reminding. He checked for incoming, then looked out over the Northend. No wonder they had wanted to invade! The Northend trees were stunted and thin, bordered by concrete tower blocks. There were no berry-laden bushes at Ground-level and little cover to forage safely. It was a poor habitat compared to the lush Cloudfoot Avenue.
“Do the Northenders still come?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, small raiding parties—our Watch is always looking out and the Patrols deal with any attack.”
“But what does that have to do with foraging?” asked Lucky, still puzzled.
“We forage so the males can defend against the Northend threat,” explained Mazie. “The Daughter Generals are in charge—well, the Ma’s in charge really. We all follow the Word of Ma, it’s the law.” She looked out toward the trees, a gleam in her beady little eyes. “One day I will be a great Daughter General and plan an attack back!”
“Why can’t we be friends with them?”
“You can’t be friends with Northenders,” snapped Mazie. “They’re the enemy.”
Lucky felt very foolish; he was never going to understand these Cloudfoots.
“Come on,” said Mazie, seeing his unhappy face. “I’ll show you the Albion while we’re here.”
The squirrels scurried to the other side of the tree and Lucky looked down into the Albion restaurant patio below. “Mazie, look at all that food!”
There, among the wooden benches and tables scattered around the patio, was a feast. Bags of potato chips and scatterings of peanuts lay under the tables. There wer
e metal trash cans dotted around, overflowing with tasty things.
“We’re not supposed to forage there.”
“Why?” asked Lucky, before he could stop himself.
“Because the humans use it.”
“But it’s empty,” said Lucky. “There’s no one there at all!”
Mazie scanned the area carefully. He was right—there was no sign of danger and there was a lot of food. “No harm in a little foraging then,” she said, “but we must be very careful.”
Lucky didn’t need to be told twice. He leapt down the chestnut tree and hopped across the patio at breakneck speed. First Daughter will be so pleased when I bring this back to the drey, he thought. He started to scamper from table to table, happily stuffing his cheeks with peanuts. This was wonderful! He moved farther and farther away from the trees with no thought of danger …
He was close to the restaurant doors when Mazie’s cry of warning reached his ears. He twirled around but couldn’t see her. He scanned the garden in alarm—where was she?
A sudden volley of yapping brought him up short and he instinctively jumped onto a table. He was just in time to see Mazie leaping up the nearest tree—with a furious little white dog snapping at her heels. The angry dog ran wildly around the tree trunk, barking manically, his prey safely out of reach. Then he spotted Lucky.
Jock the Westie had spent all his life chasing squirrels. He’d never caught one, but that didn’t stop him. He chased anything that moved: birds, cats, and dogs twice his size. He chased them all, yapping and snapping.
“He’s only trying to be friendly,” said his human. “He just wants to play.” But she was kidding herself. Jock didn’t want to play—he wanted to bite. He was a bad-tempered and thoroughly nasty little West Highland terrier.
“Gotcha, ya wee tree-rat!” yapped Jock in vicious delight as he bounded toward the table.
Lucky spun around desperately, searching for an escape route. The trees were too far away and he was surrounded by an island of tables. Could the little terrier get up onto the table? You bet he could!
Jock jumped nimbly onto the bench and launched himself at Lucky, claws scrabbling and teeth bared. The squirrel dropped to the ground and ran for his life. The Westie leapt after him, still yapping hysterically.
Mazie watched, horrified and helpless, as Lucky skidded around the garden and the dog got closer and closer to his tail. Around and around they raced, dodging in and out of table legs, over and under benches. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he running toward the trees?
“Run for the trees!”
But Lucky had no plan; he’d completely lost his head. The trees? What trees? Rank dog smell stung his nostrils, the Westie’s hot breath on his heels, his snapping teeth and mad yapping filling his ears. Run! Yes, run! He ran in blind terror and then—
An explosion of terrible pain—a smack between the eyes—stopped him short and Lucky reeled backward and thudded to the ground. He’d run headlong into a metal trash can.
The chase was over. The Westie stood over him, triumphant and sneering.
“Gotcha!” he panted.
“Gotcha!” yapped the delighted little dog again.
“Leave it, Jock,” growled a deep voice.
The Westie looked up to see a huge shaggy old German shepherd dog walk slowly into the beer garden.
“No way, Finlay! Ya interfering greet cur!” swore Jock nastily. “It’s mine, fair and square—I’ve waited years ta git ma teeth into a squirrel!”
“Leave it, Jock—or I won’t be responsible for the consequences,” growled Finlay.
“Oh yeah?” The Westie’s hackles rose. “Ya want ta make something of it?”
Finlay sighed and moved to one side. An evil-looking black Staffordshire bull terrier stood behind him, grinning manically and baring his fangs.
“Oh, that’s nay fair!” whined Jock peevishly. “Fight me dog ta dog!”
Why, thought Finlay, are little dogs always so foolishly aggressive? “I don’t want to fight you, Jock,” he said. “I keep the peace around here. Just leave the squirrel and go home.”
The Westie moved grudgingly away from the limp body of Lucky. “Ya greet coward,” he growled, looking up at Finlay, who was four times his size. “I’ll have ya—when you’ve nay got a friend ta back you up!”
“Blimey, Fin, he can’t talk to you like that!” spluttered the Staffy. “Let me bite him! Can I bite him? Go on, Fin—just a little nip?”
Finlay shook his head, then turned back to the Westie. “Jock, one of these days some dog’s going to call your bluff—and don’t expect me to help you out.”
“Pah!” yapped the terrier and trotted off, furiously muttering curses under his breath.
Finlay gazed down at Lucky, who stared back, rigid with fear. “It’s all right, son, we’re not going to hurt you. Why aren’t you up in the safety of the trees like a sensible young squirrel?”
At that moment Mazie came rushing hysterically up to the dogs. “Eat me!” she cried. “Eat me! I’m much bigger and he’ll taste horrible! Look what a funny color he is!” Mazie stood trembling from whisker to tail, tears streaming down her face.
“Don’t be dumb,” said the Staffy. “We aren’t going to eat you; you’re all skin and bone.”
“Eric, this is no time for jokes,” said Finlay sternly.
“I’m not joking, Fin,” protested Eric. “I tried it once and—”
“Eric, that’s enough!”
Finlay looked more closely at Lucky. “I know you! You’re the youngster that we found in the Park. We took you to the Ma.”
“You know the Ma?” Mazie was horrified—this was getting worse! “Oh, please, please don’t tell her we were here! It’s all my fault—First Daughter will never forgive me!”
“Now, now, miss,” said Finlay. “I’ve always been a friend to the Cloudfoots. I’m not going to get you into trouble.” The dog looked down at Lucky, who was shaking with fear and delayed shock.
More memories were starting to surface. Lucky remembered a soft, warm drey, remembered being torn from it. A terrible noise, blinding light, and falling … his mother calling for him … crackling feathers and sharp talons … being carried up into the sky …
And then … the Darkness. His teeth started to chatter.
“Let’s get him back to the trees, miss; he’s had a nasty shock. He’s a very lucky squirrel.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mazie. “I know that!”
They got to the safety of the chestnut tree trunk and Lucky started to calm down. “D-do you know me?” he stuttered, looking up at the huge dog.
“Aye, we’ve met before,” said Finlay, “but you won’t remember—”
“ ’Cause you were ’alf dead!” interrupted Eric.
“You were unconscious—”
“Being as you’d been dropped from the sky by an ’awk!”
An ’awk?
“He means a large hunting bird,” said Finlay. “It came down to finish you off—”
“And I bit him!” added the Staffy proudly.
“Eric!”
“Well, I saved him, didn’t I? The ’awk flew off!”
“B-but where did I come from?” said Lucky.
“Not from these parts of the woods. You’re a long way from home.”
“How do you know that, Mr. Finlay?” asked Mazie.
“He’s a red squirrel, miss. They’re very rare, so he must have been taken from a sanctuary out in the countryside.”
Lucky had no idea what a “sanctuary” was, but suddenly he was trembling with excitement rather than shock. Of course! He’d been taken from the drey! His mother, his brothers and sisters … everything he half remembered from before the Darkness was real!
“So I don’t belong here,” he declared. “I’m not like the Cloudfoots at all!” He had known this, of course—but he had thought he was on his own. Now he could try and find his own clan!
“Well, you’re still a squirrel, son,” said Finlay kindly. �
�If the Cloudfoots dropped in on your home-trees they’d look pretty odd too, but gray or red, you’re all squirrels.”
“But this isn’t my real home!”
“Of course it’s your real home!” snapped Mazie. “Where else is there?”
“Well, I could go back to the ‘sanctuary’ trees,” declared Lucky. “I’d be an ordinary squirrel there; I’d be like everyone else!” And I could see my real mum and family, he thought, but he didn’t like to say it in front of Mazie.
“Son,” said Finlay, as gently as he could, “I’m really sorry. You can’t ever go home. It’s too far. You’re just going to have to make the best of it here.”
When they returned to the home-tree, First Daughter could tell that there was something wrong, but neither squirrel would admit to a problem.
“Thanks for not telling,” said Mazie.
“Oh, that’s okay,” said Lucky dully. “We’d both have been in trouble.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t be allowed to forage with you anymore and …” She hesitated and smiled.
Lucky had never seen her smile before.
“And I’d miss that, Lucky squirrel.”
Raised voices could be heard from the Fleet Family drey. It wasn’t a grand home, but it was in one of the few good Northend trees. Inside, the Honorable Mistress Tarragon Fleet was determined to get her own way.
“But you promised!”
Major Fleet struggled to keep his temper. This argument had been going on for some time, and he didn’t have time to waste. “Tarragon—”
“But, Uncle, you promised! And you’re always going on about duty and Family—and you said I could come out with you today!”
“I have told you, this is not a good day—”
“I don’t care!” she wailed. “I’m bored! You promised me an outing!”
“Oh, very well,” snapped the Major, finally giving in, “but you mustn’t—”
“Get-in-the-way! I know!”
“And you must—”
“Obey-your-commands-at-all-times,” chanted Tarragon, skipping around the drey in triumph. “Ooh-ooh, I’m so excited now!”