by Dean Koontz
As Amos eased himself through the opening after Skippy, he saw Jack Weasel roll into the far end of the alleyway. Certain that he had been spotted, Amos dropped into the cellar and let the window fall shut behind him.
8.
ONE OF THE WAITRESSES tried to pick up a bundle of hundred-dollar bills, but Jagg screamed at her and threatened her with such fury that she broke into tears and backed away.
“I was only trying to help,” she said.
“Stay away from me, all of you, or you’ll be sorry,” Jagg said angrily.
He threw the last of the spilled money back into the suitcase, slammed the lid, latched it, and carried the fortune out into the night, in search of Victor Bodkins.
9.
THEY WERE IN A department store. Amos led them out of the cellar onto the ground floor.
Security lights were aglow throughout the building. Those dim yellow bulbs illuminated some aisles and displays of merchandise but left other areas deep in shadow. Amos figured there would be a couple of security guards too. But it was a very large building, and there was little chance that they would accidentally stumble into the night watchmen. They scared themselves several times, however, by mistaking mannequins for real people.
The ground floor offered a thousand hiding places for six stuffed-toy animals. But Amos did not want to hide. He intended to climb to the third floor, then sneak out by way of the back stairs or a freight elevator, leaving the marionette and its vicious cronies to search through the place for the rest of the night.
They wandered around the ground level before going up stairs because, initially, their soggy feet left wet footprints on the marble floor. When they were no longer leaving a trail, they went to the stilled escalators and ascended with considerable effort.
By then, they had dried out a little. Except for Butterscotch’s injured foot and Patch’s missing eye, they did not look in too sad a state, for the rain and sleet had washed off the worst of the mud that they had slogged through in the early part of their journey.
Patch even dared to look at himself in a couple of the mirrored pillars that they passed. “Battered,” he said self-critically, “but with a certain style, a certain tattered charm.”
The vast third floor was divided among the sporting-goods, home-entertainment, and toy departments. To pause and discuss their next move, Amos and his companions gathered in an aisle between towering displays of television sets and video-cassette recorders.
Turning slowly around, staring up at all the blank TV screens, Skippy said, “Someday, wouldn’t it be nice to come in here while the store is open, look around at all these sets tuned to the same channel, and see my face on every tube? Skippy the Funny Bunny, superstar!” He sighed. “Oh, what a lovely dream.”
“Sounds like a nightmare to me,” Patch said.
“Nightmare,” Burl agreed.
Gibbons nodded. “Nightmare.”
“I didn’t ask for a vote,” Skippy said.
Looking back the way they had come, Butterscotch said, “Did I just hear something?”
They tensed and fell silent.
To Amos, the deserted department store seemed perfectly quiet. But spooky. Definitely spooky.
“Well … I guess I imagined it,” Butterscotch said. But now she whispered—and she did not relax.
“What do we do next?” Burl asked.
“We find a set of back stairs or some other way out of the building,” Amos said. “Then on to Mrs. Shannon’s place.”
“How far do we still have to go?” Patch asked.
“Not far,” Amos said. “Maybe six or eight blocks.”
“I’ll bet it’s miles,” Skippy said wearily. “Hundreds and hundreds of miles.”
“Only a few blocks,” Amos insisted.
“How do you know?” Skippy asked.
“I … just know. It’s a … hunch.”
“Do bears have hunches?” Burl asked doubtfully.
“Bears have nice round bellies,” Patch said.
“And bears have cute furry ears,” Gibbons said.
“And bears have shiny black noses,” said Butterscotch.
“And bears have four big paws,” Burl said.
“But bears don’t have hunches,” Skippy said.
“Well, this bear does,” Amos said. “And if you don’t want to believe me, then I’ll have to tell you what Rupert Toon said about bears and their hunches.”
“We believe you,” the other five Oddkins chorused.
“All right,” Amos said. “Now, from here we’ll go—”
Stepping out from between two console-model television sets and interrupting Amos, Rex said, “Hello, soft-bellied ones.”
Jack Weasel wheeled into the aisle, grabbed Butterscotch’s right ear, and spun in a circle, dragging her around with him, as if trying to tear the ear off her head.
Amos took a step toward Butterscotch, intending to help her, as did Burl. But Rex slashed out with his stiletto-tipped cane, and the blade flashed in the dim light, and Burl’s right ear was lopped off.
“Oh, my!” the elephant said. “Look at that. My head’s going to tilt to one side from now on. No good. No good at all.”
“Let me even things up for you,” Rex said, grinning and advancing with his cane at the ready.
“Well, sir,” Burl said, backing away, “I suppose I can live with a bit of a tilt.”
Having drawn his own sword, Patch stepped forward and said, “You’ve met your match now, you wooden-headed varlet!”
With a whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of cutting air, Rex made several passes with his swordlike cane, slicing Patch’s rubber sword into five pieces and leaving the startled cat with only the rubber haft in his hand.
“You need more than play swords and good intentions to rid the world of my kind,” Rex told Patch. “You can’t just wish us away or count on your goodness to protect you.”
The female marionette appeared, waving the magically red-hot plastic cigarette, trying to burn someone with it. All of the Oddkins who were not fending off Rex and Jack Weasel were forced to leap and scurry out of her way.
Amos felt a hand on his shoulder. Whirling around, he found himself face to face with the yellow-eyed robot.
“Break, rip, tear,” the robot said.
“You seem to have a limited vocabulary,” Amos said.
He threw himself against the robot instead of trying to scramble away from it. At the same time he dropped to his knees and heaved the metal man into the air. The robot went over Amos’s shoulders and crashed to the floor behind him. Scrambling up, Amos saw that the robot was not injured and was clanking to its feet to continue the battle.
Only the bee had not appeared, and Amos looked worriedly up at the department-store ceiling, wondering from which direction the nasty insect would dive at them.
Laughing hysterically, Jack Weasel waved one of Butterscotch’s ears in the air. “Let’s dismantle the doggy. Let’s take the doggy apart piece by piece!”
Burl and Patch were still dodging Rex’s flashing blade.
Skippy was running in circles around the female marionette, shouting “booga-booga-booga,” waving his arms in what he seemed to think was a frightening manner, and making horrible faces in hopes of scaring her. And all the while he was trying to avoid being set afire by her cigarette.
Meanwhile, poor old Gibbons was trying to avoid Skippy, who twice collided with the elderly scholar and knocked him down.
This is bad, Amos thought. They’re going to destroy us in a few more minutes.
“You’re making me angry!” Burl shouted at Rex, as he dodged the marionette’s blade. “And the last thing anyone wants to do is make an elephant angry.”
Amos rushed up behind Jack Weasel, grabbed the bottom of the mad creature’s box, tilted it off its wheels, and gave it a shove. The jack-in-the-box slid along the aisle on his side, wheels spinning in the air, arms waving, screeching furiously. He crashed into the robot, and both of them crashed into Rex, leaving only
the other marionette on her feet.
“Run!” Amos cried to his friends. “Run, run!”
They ran, too, fast as their stumpy, stuffed legs would carry them, along the aisle between the television sets and the video-cassette recorders.
For a moment Amos thought that all of his friends had escaped. But at a turn in the aisle, he glanced back and saw that the fallen robot had reached out with one steel hand and had seized Skippy by the ankle. The rabbit was held fast, unable to tear himself free.
Rex was getting to his feet, and Jack Weasel was struggling to put himself onto his wheels again.
“Oh, no,” Butterscotch said. “They’ve got Skippy. They’ve got poor Skippy.”
“We have to save him,” Patch said.
“No,” Amos said firmly. “If we go back now, they’ll only destroy all of us. Then there will be no one to get through to Mrs. Shannon and tell her that she’s been chosen as the new toymaker.”
“But we can’t abandon Skippy,” Burl said. “I’ll admit that his jokes aren’t always funny, and sometimes he can be irritating, and he’s too much of a wiseguy for his own good, but we still can’t abandon him. He’s our friend.”
Patch started back the way they had come.
“No!” Amos said fiercely enough to stop the cat.
“Amos is right,” Gibbons said. “If we go back now, we’ll be caught. But we don’t have to abandon Skippy. We just have to retreat, regroup, find things we can use as weapons, then return to rescue him. But we can’t go back until we’re armed.”
Rex was standing again. The robot was on its knees and rising. In seconds, Jack Weasel would be back on his wheels.
“Let’s get out of here,” Amos said urgently.
The bear ran. His friends followed him out of the displays of home-entertainment equipment and into the enormous toy department at the south end of the third floor.
10.
STINGER BUZZED THROUGH THE sleet and wind, periodically shaking off the ice that formed on his wings. He circled the department store, keeping a watch on all sides. If he saw the Oddkins slipping out of the building, he would extend his stinger to three times its normal length, dive-bomb them, and tear the stuffing out of their soft cloth bodies.
He loved the night.
He loved the storm.
He loved his stinger.
11.
“BRING THE COTTON-TAILED WIMP,” Rex said. He stalked to the north end of the third floor, to the sporting-goods department.
“Wimp?” Skippy said in a voice touched by both fear and anger.
“Soft-bellied wimp,” Jack Weasel said, rolling at Rex’s side and favoring Skippy with an insane grin.
Gear clanked along at Rex’s other side, holding Skippy tightly by the ears, half carrying and half dragging his captive.
Skippy said, “I’ll have you know that I faced down a mongrel dog tonight. And stood bravely in the very shadow of a real elephant. And chased off some tough alley cats.”
“I’m so impressed,” Rex said with a mean laugh. “Oh, I’m so impressed, rabbit.”
“So impressed,” Jack Weasel echoed, then giggled.
“Do you think you could stand bravely, unflinchingly while I burned some holes in you with my cigarette?” Lizzie asked, waving the red-hot cylinder in the rabbit’s face.
“Eeep! Get that away from me!” Skippy said. “If you burn me, I’ll … I’ll …”
“You’ll what?” Lizzie asked. “Cry?”
“No!” Skippy said. “I’ll just … go berserk! Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go berserk, and I won’t be responsible for what’ll happen then.”
“Look at me,” Rex said, pretending fear. “Oh, I’m scared so bad, I’m shaking. A berserk rabbit. Oh, how terrible. Oh, how very fearsome you must be when you’re in a rage.”
Dangling by his ears from Gear’s hand, trying to keep his feet on the floor but frequently being pulled into the air, Skippy said, “You bet. When I go berserk, I’m dangerous. Why, I might tear you all limb from limb—or wheel from wheel. When I’m through with you, you’ll all be nothing but splinters and bits of twisted metal. Oh, it’ll be just horrible. It makes me sick to think about it. But I can’t help myself. When I go berserk, I have no control, none, I’m just a wild, dangerous maniac. Please don’t anger me and make me harm you. Please don’t.”
The cruel laughter of the Charon toys echoed along the aisle.
“Well,” Skippy said, “it was worth a try.”
They stopped at last in front of a polished oak display case filled with rifles and shotguns.
Gear lifted Skippy off the floor again, and Rex put the sharp blade of his cane against the rabbit’s throat. As Jack Weasel and Lizzie gathered around to watch, Rex said, “You know what happens next, you silly rabbit?”
Skippy swallowed hard. “Maybe you have a change of heart, take pity on me, let me go, and that’s the end of it.”
“No,” Rex said. “That’s not what happens next.”
Skippy said, “Wait, give me another chance! Let’s see … maybe what will happen next is that I’ll think of a good joke, and you’ll realize what a great Funny Bunny I am, and you’ll spare me because I amuse you.”
“I don’t like jokes,” Rex said.
“Juggling? I can juggle.”
“I hate jugglers.”
“Bird calls? I can whistle bird calls.”
“I hate the pleasant, musical voices of birds. I prefer the harsh, ugly cry of a vulture.”
“Oh, well, then maybe a herd of talking turnips will suddenly walk through the store, and you’ll be so amazed by talking turnips that you’ll forget all about me.”
Rex blinked. “Are you crazy, rabbit? Do you really think that a herd of talking turnips might walk through here?”
Rolling his eyes to try to see the sharp blade at his throat, swallowing hard again, Skippy said, “I’ve got to have something to hope for, you know. I can’t just give up.”
“But talking turnips?”
“Well, maybe it’ll be tap-dancing grapefruits,” Skippy said.
Rex snarled as if he were a dog. “You’re a totally crazy rabbit. Bah! I’ll tell you what’s going to happen next, you lop-eared fool.” He pressed the blade harder against Skippy’s throat. “We’re going to lure and trap your soft-bellied friends. I’m not going to cut you up right away because, unhurt, you’re good bait.”
“Bait,” Gear repeated in his icy voice.
“Bait,” Jack Weasel said, and laughed shrilly.
“Bait?” Skippy said.
“Bait for your friends,” Rex said. “No need for me and my crew to go running after them. I know their kind. Good-hearted fools, well-meaning simpletons. They can’t abandon you. They’re full of such nonsensical ideas as honor, duty, responsibility, and friendship. Oh, they’ll be back to rescue you, sure enough, and we’ll be ready for them. Do you see these guns behind us?”
Skippy rolled his eyes toward the display case full of deadly looking weapons.
Rex said, “They also sell ammunition here. We’ll take down a couple of the guns, load them, and hide with them. When your friends come back to save you, we won’t risk letting them slip through our fingers again. We’ll wait until they walk right in front of the guns, then pull the triggers. We’ll blow all the stuffing out of them.”
“That’s really nasty,” Skippy said.
Rex grinned. “I love to be nasty.”
“Me too!” Jack Weasel said.
“Nasty is so nice,” said Lizzie.
“Guns are bad,” Skippy said urgently.
“I like bad things,” Rex said. “Gear, turn the rabbit around.”
Still holding Skippy by the ears, Gear turned the rabbit.
Rex’s blade went snick.
“Hey!” Skippy cried.
Rex had cut off the perfect powder-puff tail that had once graced Skippy’s bottom.
“That,” said the marionette, “is how quickly I will lop off your head when the
time comes.”
“How can I be a superstar without a cute tail to wiggle?” Skippy moaned. “Bugs Bunny has a cute tail. The white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland has a cute tail. All famous rabbits have cute tails.”
“Yours wasn’t that cute anyway,” Rex said, tossing the tail aside.
“Listen, you sick puppet,” Skippy said, “if you don’t let me go, if you don’t let my friends alone, I’ll …”
“You’ll what?” Rex asked, leaning close, his wooden nose almost touching Skippy’s nose.
Gear shook Skippy by the ears.
Rex said, “Hmmmmm? What will you do, rabbit?”
“I hate to threaten something like this,” Skippy said. “It’s awfully cruel, I know. But if you don’t behave, I’ll just have to recite some Rupert Toon poetry. What do you think of that? Bet that has you shaking in your boots!”
“Who is Rupert Toon?” Rex asked.
“Just the worst poet who ever wrote a line, so bad he’ll make you fall to your knees and beg for mercy.”
Rex smiled wickedly. “Try me.”
Skippy hesitated.
“What’s wrong, rabbit?”
“I can’t remember any of Toon’s verse. I’ve forced myself to forget every line of it. But if I could remember, you’d be whimpering and begging for mercy.”
“Bah!” Rex said. To Lizzie he said, “Come on. Help me get two of the shotguns out of this case.”
12.
IN THE TOY DEPARTMENT, Amos was sitting in a battery-powered car designed for children more than twice his size. The car was sleek and snazzy: bright blue with red and yellow flames painted over the hood and along the sides; chrome wheels; an open top with a wide rollbar. Amos felt very sporty (for a bear), but he was also frightened and worried.
“It’s easy,” Gibbons said, using his cane to point to an illustration in the instruction booklet, which he had spread out on the black-and-white-tile floor.
With one paw on the steering wheel, Amos leaned far enough out of the car to peer down at the booklet. “Doesn’t look easy to me. Looks like I could get into big trouble trying to steer this buggy around a department store.”