by Dean Koontz
“It’s child’s play,” Gibbons assured him. “After all, this is a child’s car, a toy car.”
“A big toy,” Amos protested.
“But still a toy. And if a child can handle it, so can you.”
Butterscotch was standing on the hood of the car, looking at a bunch of stuffed-toy animals stacked between displays of Bug Man action figures and Sergeant Salvo dolls. “Amos, do you see that these poor creatures can’t talk or move?” she asked.
Amos had seen the stuffed animals earlier and had recognized some of them from the funny pages of the newspapers he had read: Garfield the cat, Opus the penguin, Bill the cat, and others. To Butterscotch, he said, “Well, of course, they can’t talk or move. They’re only toys.”
“But we’re only toys,” Butterscotch said, “yet we can talk and move.”
“We’re magic toys,” Gibbons reminded her.
Butterscotch looked very sad. “Well, yes, I know that we’re special, that we have a destiny to help children who are in need of special guidance. But I’d always thought that ordinary toys could at least move and talk a little bit.”
“Not at all,” Gibbons said.
“It seems so unfair,” Butterscotch said, for she was a loving and compassionate dog who wanted everyone—and every stuffed thing—to share her pleasure in being alive.
Above the sports car, Patch and Burl were standing atop a pile of cartons. They were busily extracting a Galactic Hero Photon Burp Gun from the colorful cardboard box in which it was packed. The gun shot Ping-Pong balls, and according to the box it was the “terror of all aliens.”
Amos did not like guns, partly because hunters used guns to shoot real bears. Of course this gun could not really harm anyone, but it made Amos nervous anyway.
The weapon was too large for one Oddkin, but perhaps Patch and Burl could carry it together.
“You’ll hold the barrel steady,” Burl said, “while I hold the stock of the gun and pull the trigger.”
“No,” Patch said, “I’ll pull the trigger.”
“I’ll pull the trigger,” Burl insisted.
“I will,” Patch said.
“Let’s not argue about this,” Burl said, “because if we argue, you’re liable to get squished.”
“You shouldn’t threaten to squish me,” Patch said. “I’m your friend.”
“Sorry,” Burl said. “It would only be a friendly little squish.”
“Amos,” Gibbons said sternly, “pay attention to me, not to them. If we’re to save Skippy, you absolutely must learn to drive this car.”
“Do we really have a chance of saving him?” Amos asked, for he was weary and full of self-doubt. “An elderly scholar, a one-eared dog with a lame foot, a one-eared elephant, and a one-eyed cat—all led by a bear who likes poetry. Somehow, we don’t seem like a very threatening group.”
“A missing eye and a couple of missing ears don’t mean anything,” said Gibbons. “We’re still the same stout-hearted group we were when we set out from the toy factory.”
“Well …”
“We can do it,” Gibbons said.
“How can you be so sure we can?”
“How can you be sure we can’t?”
Amos sighed. “This won’t be easy.”
“Many things in life aren’t easy.”
“Yeah, I know. And a quest like this is always hard.”
“That’s right. But if a person has courage and determination, he or she can always do what’s necessary.”
“Why don’t you drive the car?”
“I’ll be driving the other one,” Gibbons reminded him.
Amos sighed again.
“Now will you pay attention to this instruction booklet?” old Gibbons asked.
“Okeydoke.”
13.
GEAR STOOD IN THE center of the aisle where the camping equipment was sold, directly under one of the all-night security lamps. His metal skin shone brightly. He held Skippy by the ears and waited patiently for something to happen.
Hidden inside a tent in a camping-equipment display, Lizzie waited to pull the trigger of a shotgun. The gun had been carefully propped on several boxes, lined up to cover part of the aisle to Skippy’s left, and wedged in place with more boxes and a tightly rolled sleeping bag. Only the muzzle of the gun was visible where it poked out between the canvas flaps of the tent.
Half-concealed beside a pile of fishing gear, Jack Weasel manned another shotgun that the Charon toys had worked hard to put in place. That one had been propped in such a way that it covered part of the aisle to Skippy’s right.
Rex was behind a snowmobile, lying on top of a third shotgun that covered the intersection where the main aisle met another. Only one corner of the marionette’s top hat was visible.
Dangling by his ears from the robot’s hand, Skippy said, “It won’t work, you know. It won’t work, you big bucket of bolts.”
Gear said nothing.
“For one thing,” Skippy said, “I’ll bet none of you guys have used guns before. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Gear said nothing.
“For another thing,” Skippy said, “my friends are too clever for you. Oh, yes, very clever. They’ll run circles around your friends and won’t let anyone get a clear shot at them.”
Gear said nothing.
“Besides,” Skippy said, “the moment I see them coming, I’ll call out to them and warn them.”
Gear clamped his other hand over Skippy’s mouth.
“Mmmmphhh. Smmmphhh.”
Gear said, “Dumb bunny.”
14.
BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ.
Outside, Stinger swooped around and around the department store, scanning the streets and alleys on all sides, looking for Oddkins.
He saw none.
But he did see two men in the deserted, winter-swept city below him, the first of whom seemed bewildered. It was the man they had attacked in the woods earlier in the night. He was wandering through the sleet storm without a coat. His suit was soaked. He must have been half-frozen, but he ran this way and that, frantically looking behind mailboxes and trash cans, peering into shadowy doorways, searching for something.
The second man moved slower than the first but in a straight line. He was coming down the same avenue, and he was carrying a big suitcase.
The moment Stinger saw the man with the suitcase, the bee became excited. He soared high into the stormy night, did a couple of wild barrel rolls, and swooped in a figure eight.
The night itself seemed to speak to Stinger in a faint, eerie voice, and it said, “Here comes your new master, the new toymaker, here he comes, a man who hates children but who loves your kind and will make more of you.”
“We’re going to win,” Stinger said. “Yesssss, yesssss, we’re sssssurely going to win thisssss war.”
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
15.
REX HEARD A SOFT humming noise. Before he realized what was happening, the bear swept past him in a battery-powered sports car.
The one-eyed, cavalier cat was sitting beside the bear, in the second bucket seat, holding the stocks of a strange-looking gun. The elephant was perched precariously on the hood of the car, directly in front of the cat, and he was both holding and aiming the barrel of that same weapon.
Lying atop the well-braced shotgun, Rex reached down with both hands and pulled the trigger. But the sports car was too fast. The blast missed the back end of the car and tore apart a display of thermos bottles and ice chests on the other side of the aisle. The power of the shot knocked the gun off its props and also sent Rex tumbling backwards as if he were a just a scrap of gauze caught in a strong wind.
The first car was past Lizzie before she realized what was happening. The second car, driven by the old Oddkin, with the dog in the passenger’s seat, hummed along close behind the first, so she took a shot at that one.
The recoil threw both her and the gun through the back of the tent, which collapsed. Screeching angrily,
she struggled to claw her way out of the rumpled canvas.
Jack Weasel saw that some of the pellets from Lizzie’s shot did indeed hit the second car, but not enough of them to destroy either the dog or the old geezer. The car had holes in it, but it was still running.
The first car sped past Gear and the rabbit.
Jack was ready to pull the trigger the moment the Oddkins were in his line of fire. But suddenly they turned off the aisle and drove into the display of fishing gear where he was hidden. Unable to shoot them when they failed to drive through his sights, Weasel turned away from the gun and rolled forward to meet the car. He hoped to reach out and pull the elephant off the hood as they sped by.
But then he saw that the elephant and the cat were operating a strange gun of their own, and an instant later—
Ponk-ponk-ponk!
—Weasel was hit in the face by three white plastic balls.
He didn’t seem to be hurt, but he was badly startled. He dropped back into his box and slammed the lid over his head, deciding to hide in there for a moment until he could figure out whether the gun they were using was dangerous.
The first car sped out of the display of fishing equipment and braked close to Gear, fishtailing slightly.
The elephant lined up the space-age weapon, and the cat pulled the trigger, and Gear was hit in the face—Ponk-ponk-ponk-ponk!—by four plastic balls.
The forceful impact of the balls made him totter on his clumsy metal feet, but he was unhurt. Ponk-ponk-ponk! The elephant shouted, “Take that, tin-can head!” Unhurt but angered by these pesky, soft-bellied creatures, Gear dropped the rabbit and lunged toward the car, both metal hands outstretched. He intended to grab the car and rock it until he rocked them out; then he would pound on them with his metal fists until he had flattened every one of them into shapeless wads of cloth and cotton stuffing.
The moment the robot let go of Skippy, Gibbons drove the second car past Amos’s vehicle and braked beside the rabbit.
“Climb on!” Butterscotch shouted from the passenger’s seat.
For once the rabbit did not pause to make a joke. He hopped right onto the back of the car, holding tight to the rollbar with both forepaws. “Let’s get out of here!”
Ponk! Patch and Burl fired their last Ping-Pong ball.
The robot put one hand on the car.
Amos took his foot off the brake and tramped on the accelerator, but the robot’s one-handed grip was strong enough to hold them. The tires spun on the tile floor, but the car would not move.
Patch said, “Hey, big fella, wouldn’t you like to own the most destructive weapon in the known universe? Wouldn’t you like to wipe out whole cities and blow apart mountains?”
The robot had been reaching for Patch’s head with its free hand. Now it hesitated, and its yellow eyes flashed bright. “Sure.”
“Wouldn’t you like to have everyone fear you, even Rex, and wouldn’t you like to be able to crush anyone who got in your way?”
“Crush, tear, rip, break,” said the robot.
“Crush, tear, rip, break,” Patch said encouragingly.
“Squish too,” said Burl.
“Squish, crush, tear, rip, break,” the robot said.
“Then this is exactly what you need,” Patch said, handing the Galactic Hero Photon Burp Gun—“terror of all aliens”—to the robot.
Confused, the evil creature let go of the car and accepted the empty gun.
“Go, Amos!” Burl and Patch shouted.
Amos jammed his paw on the accelerator, and they got out of there before the robot could drop the gun and grab the car again.
With Skippy hanging on to the top of the car, Gibbons wheeled toward the escape route they had planned to use. But to his surprise, the female marionette stumbled out of the wreckage of a display of camping equipment and stepped in front of them. He had no time to brake or avoid her. She looked up, surprised, and Gibbons hit her.
The marionette disintegrated. Her wooden head popped off. Her left leg broke free of her body and flew to the right, and her right leg flew to the left. One arm spun high into the air, and the other arm fell into the car with Gibbons and Butterscotch.
It was the arm with the cigarette holder, and it was still full of evil life. It clawed its way up from the seat and poked the red-hot cigarette at Gibbons’s head, setting his white hair on fire.
Snarling, Butterscotch grabbed hold of the arm with her mouth. She stood on the seat, put two paws on the door, leaned with her head outside the car, and dropped the evil limb into the aisle even as it tried to turn the glowing cigarette on her.
Gibbons let go of the wheel to beat at his blazing hair with both hands. The car careened back and forth.
Just as he put out the fire, he saw a familiar bright red box rolling toward them. He did not fully recognize it until the lid opened and Jack Weasel popped out to see where he was going.
“Awk!” Weasel shouted when he saw the car bearing down on him.
Gibbons tramped on the brake.
They collided.
Weasel did not disintegrate as the marionette had done, but he was knocked on his side.
The instant the car stopped, Skippy hopped off and ran to a pile of camping equipment.
“Skippy, get back here!” Butterscotch cried.
But Skippy had seen something useful and had formed a plan to get rid of Jack Weasel once and for all. The rabbit returned in seconds with a pair of bungee cords that had been part of the ruined camping display. As Weasel pulled himself back onto his wheels, Skippy slammed the lid on the red box and belly-flopped on top of it, holding it shut. From within, Weasel tried to force the lid up, but Skippy held fast and began trying to wrap one of the bungee cords around the box.
Gibbons climbed out of the car and hurried to Skippy’s aid. Together, they hooked one cord from front to back around the box and wrapped the other around from the opposing direction.
Inside, Jack Weasel screamed and pounded furiously on the walls of his portable home—which had abruptly become his prison.
“Follow me in the car,” Skippy said.
“Where are you going?” Gibbons asked.
“To the escalators,” Skippy said.
“Excellent idea. Oh, what happened to your tail?”
“Evolution,” Skippy said.
Confused by that answer, Gibbons hobbled to the car, got behind the wheel and followed Skippy as the rabbit raced down one aisle and then another, pushing the jack-in-the-box ahead of him. At the top of the down escalator, where a security light glowed particularly bright, Skippy gave the red box one last shove.
Jack Weasel went tumbling down that long flight of grooved, metal stairs.
Amos pulled up in the other car with Burl and Patch. Everyone gathered at the head of the escalator to look down on the splintered debris that had once been Jack Weasel.
“He should have taken the elevator,” Skippy said.
Everyone laughed, and Amos said, “Skippy, that was a good joke!”
Skippy beamed happily.
At that very moment alarms began to ring throughout the huge department store.
“The night watchmen,” Gibbons said. “They must’ve heard the shotguns. The police will be here soon.”
“I like adventure as much as the next cat,” Patch said, “but I’m beginning to think this is too much adventure.”
In the aisle down which Amos and Gibbons had driven, Rex and the robot were hurrying toward the Oddkins.
“Quickly,” Amos said. “Let’s climb the next escalator to the fourth floor.”
16.
HALF-FROZEN AND BECOMING DEPRESSED again, Victor was passing by the front entrance of the department store when the alarms began to ring inside.
Somehow he knew at once that the commotion had nothing to do with ordinary burglars but was related to the toys he’d been pursuing all night. Slipping on the sleet-filmed sidewalk, he hurried as best he could to the main doors. They were locked, of course. He put his f
ace to the glass and peered into the store, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary.
Sleet crunched and crackled beneath his feet as he made his way along the side of the building, seeking a way inside. He had gone only ten or twelve steps when he heard a peculiar buzzing noise mixed with the keening of the wind. When he looked up, he saw something small and fast sail through the night twenty feet overhead.
Even if he’d not had a brief glimpse of its yellow-and-black-striped body, even if he had not seen its two hateful red eyes turned down at him as it passed, he would have known it was the toy bee. He squinted into the slashing sleet and saw the creature swoop around the north corner of the building, out of sight.
It’s patrolling the perimeter, he thought. So something is going on inside.
As Victor hurried toward the north corner of the building, he heard Nick Jagg shouting behind him:
“Bodkins! Wait! The money, Bodkins! It’s a lot of money!”
17.
AT THE HEAD OF the escalator on the fourth floor, the Oddkins found the housewares department to the left and the gourmet food department to the right.
Below, Rex was nowhere to be seen, but Gear was a third of the way up the stilled metal steps.
Raising his voice to be heard above the noisy alarms, Amos said, “Find things to throw down at him.”
Gibbons and Patch hurried to the gourmet department and returned with two cans of imported hazelnut purée and two of tender white asparagus spears. They threw those missiles at Gear.
The robot dodged the cans and continued upward.
Amos plucked a four-slice toaster from a display, lugged it to the escalator, and sent it crashing down toward the robot. It bounced noisily off several risers but stopped one step short of Gear, leaving him unharmed.
“Where’s Rex?” Skippy asked worriedly.
“I don’t know,” Amos said. “I wish I did.”
“And the bee?”