While Rocky and Gizmo shook themselves dry, Max studied their surroundings. Most of the lights were dark, but high above, a few fluorescent bulbs were lit a dim blue. Their glow barely cut through the gloom. Dust coated the fake trees, the tiled floor, and the benches in the center of the hall. The stores on either side of them were drenched in shadow, their entrances blocked off by metal gates.
“Let’s see if we can find a map of this place,” Max said as their steps echoed through the empty hall. They’d been in big, abandoned buildings before, but Max never quite got over the uneasy feeling of being somewhere dogs didn’t belong.
“Creepy,” Rocky whispered as they walked.
“Shh!” Gizmo said.
They had barely made it halfway down the corridor when something sputtered and crackled from the walls above.
Max stopped midstep, his ears alert and his tail raised. Beside him, Rocky and Gizmo went still.
“What was that?” Rocky whispered.
“Was it the doors opening?” Gizmo asked. “Did someone follow us in out of the storm?”
Max slowly craned his head back and forth, studying the dusky hall. High above, rain and stray branches slammed against the skylights. But that was not the source of the noise.
There it was again. A crackling of something electric. A sizzling pop and a distant squeal from somewhere up ahead.
Then a single voice boomed from above.
“Go away!”
Rocky went rigid and lowered his body flat against the tile. “What was that?” he yelped.
“Leave now,” the voice bellowed. “You do not belong here.”
A single word flashed through Max’s mind: Dolph.
Could the wolves have gotten here first? Was their unrelenting pack leader lying in wait, deep within the mall?
At that moment, logic overwhelmed instinct in Max’s Praxis-enhanced brain, like a bolt of lightning zapping his mind awake.
Of course it wasn’t Dolph. For one thing, the beast would never announce his presence. He’d just attack.
So the voice was something else.
Max stepped forward, sniffing. Behind him, Rocky and Gizmo huddled together.
“Listen at once!” the voice cried. “WE—I MEAN I —SAID TO GO AWAY! GO!”
“Do you know what’s happening?” Gizmo asked. “Is it some sort of alarm?”
“I don’t think so,” Max said as he sniffed at the air. The smell of wet dog fur overwhelmed his nostrils, mixed with musty clothing and the stench of rotting food.
But there was something else, too—something consistently foul—tingeing every scent: acrid animal droppings and musky fur.
The smell was familiar, almost like that of the rats they’d encountered in a junkyard outside Baton Rouge. But it wasn’t the same—not exactly. In fact, it reminded Max of smells on his farm.
Mice.
There were mice!
Max’s tail wagged excitedly as he spun to face his friends. “There aren’t any large animals here at all,” he said. “Smell!”
Rocky scrunched his snout. “I only smell you, big guy. And I guess some mice.”
As he said the word, the patter of the storm gave way to a rush of whispers in the darkened stores. The voices spoke over one another, a waterfall of unintelligible words.
“Oh!” Gizmo said. “It’s mice!”
“And lots of them,” Max said, narrowing his eyes to see if he could spot any of the tiny critters.
A loud squeal and a screech sounded from above.
“Make no attempt to come farther into the mall,” the voice said. “There are no mice here. Just a big, scary, superstrong monster who will devour you!”
“Oh, yeah?” Rocky howled, his snout raised high. “If you’re so eager to eat dogs, why do you want us to leave?”
“Umm… uh… I guess… I am not hungry at the moment. I ate a whole bunch of dogs right before you arrived. They were delicious!”
Gizmo looked at Rocky and Max as if to say, Let me handle this one. “Oh, that means we’re probably safe for now,” Gizmo said. “I’m always sluggish when I eat too much, so this monster probably wouldn’t be able to chase us.”
“No! I am full of energy! I could chase you. I just don’t want to.”
Gizmo pranced ahead. “Come on,” she called. “Let’s go see what’s up there.”
Max and Rocky trotted after her. Max expected the speaker to shout at them again, but after a final electronic crackle, it fell silent.
Instead, the mall echoed with what sounded like thousands of tiny feet scrabbling over carpet and tile. At first, Max thought it was just the din of the storm. But through the metal gates, he could see black and gray and white bodies undulating as mice swarmed over one another, following the dogs.
The mice whispered and hissed. They watched the dogs with eyes that glowed in the dim light. Max couldn’t make out what they were saying—all he heard was a constant psst psst psst, like a trickling waterfall.
Gizmo led Max and Rocky past kiosks stocked with sunglasses and calendars, steering clear of trash cans that obviously hadn’t been emptied since before the humans left.
The hall opened into a grand plaza, illuminated in hazy, misty light from a massive glass dome high above. In the center of the plaza was a big, open booth next to a map and a sign that read INFORMATION.
A line of mice snaked its way from a storefront filled with gleaming gold necklaces and jeweled rings. The mice raised their tiny paws and whispered, as though passing along messages.
Gizmo slowed to a stop, and Max took the lead once more as they approached the information booth. Mice swarmed the counter, surrounding a silver microphone with a big black button set into its base. A white mouse with red-rimmed eyes, the largest of the creatures, stood next to the microphone.
As Max watched, amused, the white mouse pressed both paws down on the button. Hidden speakers crackled to life.
The mouse spoke into the microphone, in a frightening voice: “Pay no attention to the mice inside the booth!”
“That’s what made that big sound?” Gizmo said. “But he’s so… so… small.”
“Pay no attention?” Rocky said. “Then why is he talking so loudly?”
The mouse stared directly at them. He opened his mouth, exposing a set of miniature, razor-sharp teeth, and hissed. “You don’t want to find out.”
CHAPTER 4
THE INFESTED MALL
Wagging his tail, Max padded softly toward the booth. As he drew near, several of the mice on the desk squealed, scattering in every direction.
The big white mouse didn’t run. Instead, he pressed the microphone’s button one more time. “Don’t come any closer!” he said, his amplified voice now a terrified squeak. “The mice are—are—they’re my snacks for later! I’m big! Once I’m hungry again I’ll—”
Max jumped up onto his hind legs and set his front paws on the counter so he could look at the mouse snout-to-snout.
“Eeeeek!” the mouse squealed as he fell backward off the microphone.
“Don’t be afraid,” Max said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
The mouse sat up on his hind legs and flailed with his front paws. “You lie! You want to trick us into feeling safe so you can eat us, just like all the other strays that pass through this mall.”
“Is that why you’re trying to scare us?” Gizmo asked. “You’re afraid we’ll eat you?”
“Who’s that?” the mouse asked. Skittering to the edge of the counter, he peered down at Gizmo and Rocky.
“Are you cats?” he asked.
Gizmo wagged her stubby tail. “No, silly. We’re just small dogs.”
“We are hungry,” Rocky said from next to her. “But I’d never eat a mouse. I bet you’d just taste… gooey.”
Warily, the mouse scooted backward.
Inside the booth, Max could see tiny heads slowly emerge from the dark shelves. He glanced to the right and spotted more mice outside the shops. Several were in the
jewelry store’s display cases, resting on red velvet amid the glittering gems.
The big mouse sniffed at Max’s nose. “You smell wet,” he said.
Max gestured at the big dome overhead. “It’s storming outside. We barely managed to make it in here.”
The mouse looked up at the leaves plastering the glass and the waves of water rolling down the dome. Though slightly muffled, the wind could still be heard high above.
“Huh,” the mouse said. “I hadn’t noticed.” Looking back at Max, he added, “I’m Samson.”
“Nice to meet you, Samson,” Max said. “These are Rocky and Gizmo, and I’m Max.”
Samson flicked his long, skinny tail. “And you’re sure none of you wants to eat us? Like, positive?”
Rocky groaned, and Max glanced down to see the Dachshund flop onto his side. “We’re starving,” Rocky said. “But we’re not wild. If you could just show us to the kibble, that would be great.”
“Samson!” one of the mice hissed from inside the booth.
Max peered into the shadows and saw a slender brown mouse crawl off a shelf and onto the floor. Whiskers twitching, she sat on her hind legs and looked up at the fat white mouse.
“Samson!” the brown mouse repeated more loudly. “Are you sure we should trust them? You vowed to protect us and our children, and our children’s children, and our children’s children’s children, and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Samson said with a dismissive wave of his paw. “I get it, Lilah. But I think we can trust these dogs. Anyway, if we feed them, they’re less likely to eat any of us.”
“Are you the leader here?” Gizmo asked.
Samson twitched his nose. “I’m sort of a big deal.” Then, turning back to Max, he said, “When the people stopped coming, a whole mess of dogs and cats raided the pet store down the hall. We let them have at it until the cats turned mean and tried to hunt us. That’s when I scared them off with the speakers.” He whipped his slender tail. “Funny how they believed me so easily, but you three figured it out.”
“We’re smarter than the average dog,” Rocky said from below. “And definitely smarter than any cat.”
“I guess so. Anyway, they left behind some bags of those pebbles you dogs eat. I can show you where to go.”
In a flash, the big mouse leaped onto Max’s snout, then scampered up his forehead to rest between his floppy ears. Max felt the small creature grasp two tufts of fur in his tiny paws.
“Down, boy!” Samson squeaked.
Trying not to yelp, Max dropped to the floor. Samson tugged with his left fist, so Max turned to head down the hallway leading left.
Rocky tore ahead, skidding slightly over the tile. His spiky tail was a blur as he yipped, “Kibble time! It’s time for kibble!” Closing his eyes, he raised his snout toward the high ceiling and half howled, half sang, “I won’t take just a nibble! My jaws ain’t gonna dribble! I’ve gotta gobble up that delicious, scrumptious, supermeaty kibble!”
Gizmo chased after him, the two small dogs racing around each other. Max let out a happy bark, and from atop his head Samson squeaked.
“You dogs sure are weird, you know that?” the mouse asked.
“I do,” Max said, glancing at Rocky and Gizmo. It was true—the three of them were far from normal. “But that’s why we’re a family.”
Samson cleared his throat and said, “So, what brings you through these parts? Other than the storm.”
“We’re on our way to find our families,” Max replied.
“Ah,” Samson said. “I respect that. I’m a family man myself. I have a hundred and sixty-seven children, each more precious than the last.”
Max was so shocked he almost stopped walking. “That’s a lot of babies!”
“I’ll say!” Gizmo chimed in.
“Go big or go home—that’s my motto,” Samson said.
Squeaking laughter rose behind him, and Max turned to discover that they hadn’t been traveling down the hall alone. The floor behind them was covered storefront to storefront with mice. There had to be thousands of the creatures.
“These aren’t all mine,” Samson said. “A lot of mice from around the town and countryside decided to band together here. It’s our cozy little place of safety in this new, wild world, especially once we figured out the microphone can scare off predators. Plus the humans left behind lots of rotting food for us to eat.”
“It sounds like the mall is the perfect place for you,” Max said. He nodded cordially at the army of mice and offered a friendly wag of his tail.
“Hey, what’s the holdup?” Rocky barked, looking back. “We’re wasting away up here!”
Samson yanked on Max’s fur, and Max turned away from the other mice and continued down the hall. Max thought the mice didn’t need to use microphone tricks to scare away intruders. As many as there were, they could swarm almost any beast that might come through.
Not that he was going to tell Samson that.
Trailed by the legion of rodents, Max let Samson lead him past a foul-smelling food court. It was clear from the stench that any real food had long since rotted into moldy mush. The tables and booths were littered with trash, and clouds of flies buzzed around the overflowing garbage cans.
“Almost there,” Samson said.
Quiet voices echoed from behind a glass wall, and Max saw a TV on display in a store filled with electronics. He hadn’t seen any human broadcasts since he first left his home to start this journey, and he wanted to take a look—but then a new smell met his nose.
Kibble.
Beefy, crumbly kibble. The scent wafted from the store across from the electronics shop, and Max saw that its gate was wide open. Inside were rows of glowing blue aquariums, shelves with litter boxes, and walls hung with leashes on hooks. Most of the toys and other pet treats were gone. Littering the aisles were scraps of torn paper bags that had once contained pet food. Crumbs were all that remained.
But Max could smell that, somewhere nearby, more kibble awaited.
Rocky and Gizmo were already running full speed toward a back storeroom. “Whoa!” Samson squealed from atop Max’s head as he hung on for his life.
Max ignored the tiny mouse. The store was dark save for the glow of the empty aquariums, but he didn’t need to see—his nose told him where he needed to go.
Joining Rocky and Gizmo in the storeroom, Max saw they’d already ripped a hole in one of the few remaining bags and had dived headfirst into the resulting avalanche of kibble.
“Ohhh,” Rocky moaned as he came up briefly for air. “So good. So, so good.”
Gizmo, her jaws full, mumbled to Max, “Come getsh shome.”
Max didn’t have to be told twice. He snatched up a mouthful of the meaty pebbles and was ducking his head for more before he’d fully swallowed the first bite.
Still clinging to Max’s fur, Samson hummed absentmindedly while the dogs crunched and munched. “You dogs seem like you haven’t eaten for days… no, weeks!” he cried, but the dogs ignored him and focused on filling their bellies.
“You’d think I’d be bored with kibble by now,” Rocky said later as they made their way back through the ransacked pet store. “But I’ll always love a good, old-fashioned, classic meal.”
Max barked in agreement. “You’re going to get so pudgy when we find the humans again. I can see it now.”
“You bet!” Rocky said. “Once we’re back home, I’m never, ever running away. I’m just gonna eat and sleep and get petted.” Nudging Gizmo with his snout, he asked, “How about you? You going to let your pack leaders pamper you until you’re fat and happy?”
Gizmo’s pointed ears drooped, and she lowered her tail. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I try not to think about that too much.”
It was a strangely sad thing for Gizmo to say, and Max was going to ask her if anything was wrong, but Samson interrupted.
“Wait a second,” the mouse asked, still perched between Max’s ears. “You telling me you’re actually g
oing to look for humans?”
“Of course,” Max said as they stepped out of the pet store. “Like I said, we’re searching for our families.”
Max stiffened in surprise as Samson leaped to the tiled floor. “I thought you were talking about your dog families!” the mouse squeaked, thrusting his paw in the direction of the army of mice. “Like my family. Of mice. Who are just like me.”
“I have a family of dogs, too,” Max said. “You’re looking at them.”
“Aw,” Gizmo said, wagging her stubby tail. “Thanks, Max.”
Max wagged back at her, then continued. “But we’ve come all the way from the far north to find our people. Our humans. We intend to help them all come back.”
Gasps and murmurs rose from the shadows. The mice huddled together, glaring at Max.
“I don’t know why you’d wanna do a thing like that,” Samson said. “We’ve got a good setup here. A whole mall to ourselves, no one shooing us out into the wild, where all those owls and hawks are waiting to swoop down and steal our babies.”
“Actually, now that you mention it, all the birds are gone,” Max said.
Samson didn’t seem to hear him. He paced back and forth, still ranting. “Or worse, humans who set out traps and lace our food with poison. Humans are awful! I hope they stay away forever! Besides, they look happy enough to me.”
Rocky came forward to stand next to Max. “What do you mean? How do you know how the humans look?”
Samson pointed his tiny snout at the TV on display behind the glass window of the electronics store. “See for yourself. I can’t understand any of the words, but I know a happy face when I see one.”
Max looked up at the screen, Gizmo and Rocky flanking him. In the mad dash to find kibble, he’d forgotten about the television, but now he was captivated by the flickering images.
A woman holding a microphone appeared on the screen, walking past dozens and dozens of tents. Sad-looking humans—children and parents, young and old—sat on plastic coolers and lawn chairs around smoking grills. Their faces were worn and weary… and certainly not happy.
The woman spoke gravely into the microphone: “The mood here in East Texas Tent City remains grim, even with rumors coming in of a possible cure. Former Alabama resident Guy Jackson told me why.”
Journey's End Page 3