Ananda lay on her bed. She didn’t feel like drawing. The house was silent, except for the buzz of the TV in the next room. Her bedroom was like an oven—the relentless sun streamed through the window.
A fly bashed itself, again and again, into the window, scudding down the side of the glass, before starting the whole thing over again.
It was sticky and so muggy Ananda felt like she was suffocating.
Outside was no better. It was the hottest fall on record. The experts kept promising that the coming cold weather would slow the plague’s spread. Winter couldn’t come soon enough. Her mom had done the whole “Let’s talk” thing, and her dad had suggested they play board games in the evening. Yeah, that was the answer. While the world died, while Tommy was hunted down and savagely killed, they would chat and play board games.
It was too much. Everything was too much. The walls felt like they were closing in. There was no relief from sickness, from death, from worry. She’d even dreamed last night that her driveway was lined with stacks of corpses, with Tommy’s small body curled on top. If she didn’t get away, she’d explode into a million pieces.
She opened her door a crack. Her mom was in her office.
Ananda crept down the hall and snuck out the back door. On the porch, she hesitated.
The air was still, like the world was holding its breath. The neighbourhood was silent. Before there would have been people walking dogs, people jogging, moms with strollers. Not now. Now there was silence.
George’s house was still closed up tight, curtains drawn. Ananda looked away.
George had been taken for psychological testing, was “under the care of a physician.” Guilt stabbed at Ananda, but she brushed it away. George had left her no choice.
The sky was a clear pale blue. A wisp of air brushed her hair back from her face, cooling it.
Ananda stretched out her arms and filled her lungs, but as she did so, she had the strangest feeling she was being watched. She lowered her arms and gazed around. She glanced at George’s window again. No, the curtains hadn’t moved.
Yellow leaves ruffled across the lawn. The huge oak stood leafless and naked in their front yard. There was nothing there. No one was watching her. No pile of bodies in the driveway. And no little rat lying dead on the top.
She unlocked the shed and hauled out her bike. Just a quick ride. She’d be back before her mom knew she was gone.
A small streak of movement flashed in her peripheral vision. Tommy? Her heart began to thud. Ananda peered closely, leaning over to look under the shrub by the door. It wasn’t Tommy. Its fur was dark, but she couldn’t see what kind of creature it was. It was either a squirrel…or a rat. She hesitated.
Stop being paranoid. It’s a squirrel.
Before she changed her mind, Ananda pulled her bike onto the driveway and hopped on.
It was heaven to feel the wind on her face. She pedalled along to the end of the street where it sloped downhill. Ananda threw out her arms like she was flying, balancing on her bike, and soared down the hill.
***
Scrubbs waited under the bushes, her squad nearby. It had taken a lot of sniffing and grunt work to find this target again. Blast Fin! Leaving her to clean up his mess! Only for the Beloved Chairman would Scrubbs do this.
The captain had gone into the target’s nest to chew a point of entry for the squad. Simple, and yet he’d still failed to do it. He never came out, leaving Scrubbs to explain to the Councillors why their mission had failed. To the Chairman. Her whiskers trembled thinking about him.
There was no movement at all from the two-legs’ tall nest. It was hard to keep focused on the mission.
Her thoughts drifted back to the Chairman.
She didn’t blame the Beloved Chairman for being angry. “Go back and finish the job!” he’d ordered. Magnificent. Terrifying. Scrubbs had only seen the Chairman from far away. To be so close to him…
The back door opened.
Scrubbs leaned forward, whiskers twitching. A small two-leg came out. The thatch on its head was hideously long, sprouting only from the top (as with all ugly two-legs) and swinging down like dead grass in the wind. The rest of its body was pale and hairless.
It raised up its thin, stick-like arms, then dropped them suddenly, looking around. It drew its gaze to where Scrubbs lay hidden. She held her breath.
The moment passed. The ugly two-leg walked down the stairs and onto the grass.
The squad looked at Scrubbs. She shook her head.
It entered a small building in the yard. Scrubbs nodded, and the Plague Rats began to advance, but it swung open the door, and the rats retreated to their hiding places.
The two-leg hauled out a big-wheeled machine that it then mounted. And before Scrubbs could give the command, it rolled off, riding the machine.
Scrubbs stared after it. She had been sloppy, and now the mission was in jeopardy. Again. This time, because of her.
Failing twice was not an option.
Keeping a safe distance, Scrubbs arranged the death squad around the yard. If the two-leg came back, it might return the big-wheeled machine to the same place.
She positioned the largest rat by the building. Others were placed in a half-circle around the door, so the ugly two-leg’s escape would be cut off.
Scrubbs found a good vantage point behind a garbage can. All she could do now was watch and wait. And pray to the Old Ones the two-leg would return.
The sun touched the tops of the tall nests.
Where was the two-leg? The squad was peaking, close to death.
She knew the squad members would perform, if they could survive long enough. Each dying rat knew that their families would be exterminated if they rebelled. But now disaster loomed: Scrubbs’s mission might fail.
Where was the two-leg?
It came back as the sun dipped out of sight. The two-leg’s cheeks were pink from riding its two-wheeled machine.
Breathing prayers of thanks to the Old Ones, Scrubbs nodded to the large rat stationed near the shed. The rat crouched, ready, but foam dribbled from his mouth. He was fading.
Scrubbs watched. Come on…come on…!
The two-leg wheeled its machine back to the building. It reached out its hook to open the door.
Now!
The Plague Rat leaped, burying his claws into its knobby knee and sinking his teeth in deep. The two-leg shrieked. Flinging its machine to the ground, it swatted at the Plague Rat, hooks slapping wildly at its naked legs. The other Plague Rats moved in, leaping onto the two-leg until it fell under a carpet of rats.
The nest door smacked opened. A large two-leg jumped down the stairs, screaming, waving a board in its hooks. Scrubbs was stunned. Another two-leg?
Without waiting for the Plague Rats to refocus their attack, Scrubbs hurtled toward the big two-leg, teeth bared. This one was hers.
For the Beloved Chairman.
Scrubbs leaped for its face as the big two-leg swung the wooden board.
FORTY-ONE
“I bid you weep, for the time of mercy is over.”
Gabriele de’ Mussis, 1348
Papa paced in his nest. A movement by the entrance caught his attention.
Sergo had come. “Come in, come in, dear friend!” said Papa. “Why do you stand at the door like a stranger?”
Sergo stepped into the chamber. Papa had never invited him to his nest before. The large rat’s eyes darted eagerly around the room, then back to Papa.
The Chairman began pacing again.
“Perhaps you are wondering, dear friend,” said Papa, “why I have asked you here. Here to my nest.”
Sergo cleared his throat. “Yes, Beloved Chairman. It is a great honour for this humble Tunnel Rat.”
Papa lowered his eyes. “Nonsense, dear fellow! Every rat is equal! Every nest for all!”
“Now,” said Papa, sighing deeply, “as Chairman I must do what is best for the Tunnels. Even if it means terrible sacrifice. Do you agree, Councillor?”
Sergo bobbed his head. “Of course, Beloved Chairman.”
“And I know you will sacrifice; you will do what is best, as well,” continued Papa, “but others are not so loyal. There are Wreckers, Sergo. Wreckers within Council. Within the ranks of Councillor.”
The big rat’s eyes grew wide. He glanced around the nest, nervously this time, as if the Wreckers might be lurking in the shadows. Clearing his throat again, he said, “Oh?”
“Perhaps you know of whom I speak?” asked Papa softly.
Sergo shook his head, his eyes still darting from side to side. “No, Beloved Chairman. I am sorry, I do not.”
“Ah, my friend.” Papa smiled wistfully. “You are simple—an honest soldier for the Common Good. A refreshing innocent in these dark times.” He laughed, but his laugh was joyless, like a dry leaf skittering in the wind.
Leaning forward, Papa said, “Shall I tell you who it is?” He gazed into the other rat’s eyes. “I warn you, friend, the truth is ugly. Can you bear it?”
Sergo’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “Tell me! Tell Sergo!” He leaned close, ears cocked forward, whiskers quivering.
“Ah…good!” sighed Papa. “I knew I could trust you, dear, loyal Sergo. Here, sit, sit! Have a biscuit…here you are. And now, let us talk….”
FORTY-TWO
“Even as we speak we are drifting away…becoming shadows.”
Petrarch, 1350
Zumi,” said Fin. He stood blinking at her. She had grown thinner, but her eyes hadn’t changed. Still something shining inside. “How did you—I mean, where—?” They were in the middle of the alley. At that moment the seagull’s shadow flitted overhead. It was coming back.
“Quick!” said Zumi. She dived down the alley. Dodging in and out of shadows, she led Fin through a tangle of alleys toward the warehouses along the wharf and disappeared into a drainpipe.
Fin followed. On the other end, he found himself in a small burrow.
It was close enough to the road that the growl of two-leg machines could be heard—what few there were—but the burrow itself was safe and dry. A pile of rags, leaves, and feathers were arranged into a tidy mound of nesting.
Fin limped further into the burrow, suddenly aware that it was just the two of them. The last time he’d seen her, Fin had been collecting rats—and their pups. His mouth felt dry.
Zumi seemed to feel awkward too; her ears were a deep pink.
Fin broke the silence. “I want you to know that I’m not…I’m not collecting Wreck—I mean, I’m not…” His voice trailed off. More silence.
Zumi grabbed her tail and began to groom, her eyes lowered. “You ordered Scratch to warn me. You saved my life. Why?”
Fin shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Scratch was going to let them do it,” she murmured.
“He thought Council would protect you if you were innocent,” said Fin.
“And if I wasn’t?” Zumi looked up and stared at him defiantly.
“I…I don’t know,” said Fin.
A lone two-leg machine buzzed by outside, its sound forlorn. Zumi listened, her ear cocked. “The war is getting worse. Hardly any machines go by now. The two-legs are dying. But maybe you think that’s a good thing.”
Memories of his little two-leg came to him. Fin didn’t answer.
“You hungry?” she asked, and pushed a hunk of bread crust to him. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They gnawed on the crust, sitting across from each other.
Feeling better with something in his belly, Fin sat back on his haunches and watched as Zumi licked her paws and wiped her whiskers clean.
“So how did you find me?” he asked.
“It was pure luck—or maybe the Old Ones led me to you, I don’t know. I was late getting back from foraging when I heard you with your new ‘friend.’ What did he call himself?” Zumi paused. “Gully?”
Fin chuckled. “Yep, good old Gully. Only tried to murder me!”
They both laughed and then fell silent.
He looked at her. “Thanks, Zumi.”
Her ears blushed a rosy pink. “I just wanted to pay back the favour.”
***
At moonrise they went out foraging. With the two-legs disappearing, food scraps were getting harder and harder to find. The two-legs who were left had made things tougher for rats: litter was cleared, dumpsters covered, garbage bins emptied.
Traps baited with tempting tidbits were everywhere—but the only rats who ate from those were dead rats. Still, in the rougher areas, food could be found.
Zumi led Fin behind a tall building filled with two-leg nests where the sound of shouts and loud thumping music made the ground vibrate under their paws. The garbage had a foul reek to it, not like the tasty finds from the market. Overhead a streetlight buzzed and cast everything in a garish light.
Zumi must have found something good. She was tugging at it to try to get it loose. Fin waded over to her. The tip of a steak bone poked through a plastic bag. Bracing himself, Fin gripped it too, and together they hauled it out. A few bites of gristle still clung to it.
He glanced at Zumi, who was gnawing at the bone, her usually tidy brown coat thick with mats from wading through garbage, spikes of oily fur sticking straight up on her head. She caught him looking and grinned. “Welcome to my neighbourhood, Mister Fin. It’s a long way from your precious market!”
“Oh yeah?” he said. Biting the piece of gristle, he pulled it from her paws and ran.
“Hey, you thief!” Zumi raced after him and tackled him.
They somersaulted over each other, landing in a tangle of tails, paws, and ears. Zumi lunged for the gristle, but Fin dodged back and forth, keeping it out of her reach. Finally she nipped him on the ear.
He yelped and dropped the gristle.
She wolfed it down and smacked her lips. “Delicious!”
Fin bowled her over. Zumi tumbled backwards through the garbage where she lay flat on her back, panting.
She laughed. Her fur was greasy, and her tail was covered with filth, but her eyes smiled at him. Without thinking, Fin nuzzled her ear.
Zumi gasped. Then she sprang up, first darting one way, and then another, before scurrying off to different part of the garbage.
Fin was frozen with horror. He burned with embarrassment from tip to tail. Of course Zumi didn’t like him. She was being nice to him because he’d ordered Scratch to warn her.
Wishing the Old Ones would suck him into the ground, he waded over to her.
“Sorry,” he said. He tried to sound casual. “I was just playing around. I mean, we don’t even really like each other, right?”
Zumi looked at him. “Right,” she said. “You were just playing. That’s what I figured. Let’s just forget about it.”
For the rest of moonrise they foraged in silence. When the sun began to glimmer on the horizon and the streetlights winked off, Zumi led the way back to her nest.
Inside the burrow, not sure what to do with himself, Fin stood in the entrance. It was sunrise. Time to sleep. He felt awkward being alone with Zumi, especially after what he’d done.
Dragging over some rags to the other side of the burrow, Zumi said, “You can sleep here.” She climbed onto her nest and disappeared from sight.
Settling into the rags, Fin said, “You know it meant nothing, right? I’m always playing around. It’s just because of Scratch that we’re here together.”
“Right.”
There was a long silence. She must have fallen asleep.
Fin was wide awake. He hadn’t just been playing. He’d felt something for her, something he’d never felt for anyone before, and if he
was honest, he’d felt it for a very long time. Zumi was argumentative, bossy, and most likely a Wrecker. She was also intelligent, loyal, and incredibly brave.
And Fin loved her.
FORTY-THREE
“We should follow Jeremiah the prophet’s writings and not do evil, but do good, and humbly beg forgiveness for our sins.”
Bengt Knutsson, fifteenth-century bishop, on prevention of plague
They were foraging behind the tall two-leg building again. Frost hung in the air. Zumi was silent, picking through the garbage. All moonrise, she had only communicated to Fin with curt nods.
Swinging around to him suddenly, she said, “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that? You show up, you sleep in my burrow, eat from my forage, and then you say, ‘It’s just because of Scratch! We don’t even like each other!’ Well, thank you very much!”
“What? But I didn’t mean—”
“Go back to the Tunnels and to your Beloved Chairman if you don’t like it here! Don’t torture yourself being with Scratch’s ‘ugly sister’ from the Lowers.”
Far off, a two-leg voice warbled a slurred melody.
Fin’s ears burned. “I…I don’t want to go back. And I think you’re beautiful.”
Zumi’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
Fin swallowed hard. “I said, I think you’re beautiful.”
Zumi’s eyes went as round as moons. Even in the pale lamplight Fin saw her small perfect ears—like dainty seashells—deepen to crimson. “You…I…but…oh!” She stepped toward him. “Fin!”
Pulling her close, he whispered, “Zumi.”
The next moonrises and sunrises passed blissfully. The troubles of the Tunnels, of the Plague War, and even of missing Papa and the little two-leg, seemed far away.
The Great & the Small Page 15