Forest Page 5

  UPPER FOREST

  AT A SHADOW PAST midday, after hours of tail-twitching debate, the Elders came to one of the most important decisions of their long administration. Immediately they dispatched three messenger squirrels across Forest to summon the town residents to an urgent assembly.

  By that hour the day had become unbearably hot. Most mink-tails had retreated to the privacy of their nests, where they loosened leaves to let in the air, or sprawled along nearby branches. This forced the messengers to visit all corners of the wood, not just the usual seed and berry centers, and made for twice as much work.

  “Everyone must be notified personally. Everyone!” the Elders had decreed. “The matter is extremely serious.”

  So nest to nest the steaming messengers went, sweating from their feet as, by nature, squirrels do. They told of Brown Nut’s kidnapping, though most mink-tails had heard about it already. They reported the slaughter of guards and bystanders on the western edge of town that morning. (Five known dead; several missing.) Finally, they ordered all Forest residents to go immediately—immediately!—to Great Stump, where the meeting was to be held.

  “What have the Elders foreseen?” many mink-tails asked them fearfully. “Will the aliens return and drive us from our homes? How can we defend ourselves? Would it be safer to leave?”

  “Go!” bellowed the messengers in irritable voices. Despite repeated foot-moppings, they were in constant danger of slipping off the branchways. “Go now to Big Stump! The answers lie there with the wise ones of our wood.”

  Not for many years had such a huge assembly been called. Within a short while, squirrels for miles in every direction were swarming toward Great Stump and climbing into the mighty trees surrounding the place. Their numbers went far beyond the ability of an eye to count. Woodbine and Laurel, who straggled in later than most, were astounded. They had never imagined the town to be so populous. Head upon head, haunch upon haunch, tail upon tail stretched before their dazzled eyes. Woodbine suddenly found it necessary to lean against a trunk.

  “Are you all right?” Laurel asked. “That ear looks painful. I feared the worst when I saw how you were hit. You lay so still for so long on the ground.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Woodbine answered. “After this meeting, I think I’ll go rest for a while in a place I know near the pond…. Thank you for waiting for me back there.”

  “Not at all. I noticed you were breathing, so I hung around. The big alien came out after his attack and threw our dead off his ground. I was afraid he would find you and finish you off.”

  “He is an evil alien. But the invader, well, she is a mystery.” Laurel bent her ears in agreement.

  “She kidnapped Brown Nut to her den, but not to kill her, I think,” Woodbine went on. “Did you see how gently she carried her through the forest? And how she and her comrade picked me up just now from the ground, when they could have stamped me if they’d wanted? I had no protection.”

  “Who can say what goes on in this alien’s mind?” Laurel replied. “While you lay in the grass, I saw other things. After the big alien had thrown our dead away, he left. Then the invader and the small alien came. They went to the field and found the bodies there. They carried them to certain bushes and laid them down out of sight—just as we would have done. Thanks to them, our dead did not lie for long in the field. Their bones are safe from scavengers and will not be disturbed.”

  “How amazing!” exclaimed Woodbine. “Aliens are so confusing. It is impossible to tell what they will do next.” He staggered a little and gasped for air. “Whew! My head is beginning to spin. Can we find a place to sit away from these crowds?”

  “Follow me,” Laurel said. She led him to a perch high up in a beech tree, where he could breathe more freely. Only when he was settled did she speed off to find her own family, to assure them that she was not hurt. She was certainly a loyal friend. Woodbine closed his eyes and rested his chin on a paw.

  “So!” a voice yipped behind him. “I see you have lost an ear.”

  “Oh, hello, Barker. I’m sure it’s not as bad as that.”

  “But my dear fellow, I’m afraid it is. Tsk-tsk, what a mess. This looks like the work of the treacherous invader and her band of thugs.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s no concern of yours,” Woodbine retorted. He did not like Barker staring at his wound. “I see there is not one scratch on you. And come to think of it, I didn’t notice you among the troops following after Brown Nut. Weren’t you one of the guards? I suppose you must have dropped off along the way before the explosions started.”

  “Certainly not!” Barker barked back. “I was there on the spot during the entire assault. The Elders, in fact, called me in to consult as a witness.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “It is very much so.”

  “Then why didn’t I see—”

  “Are you accusing me of lying?” Barker’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Well, I—”

  “Because if you are, I would think twice about it. The Elders rely on me quite often these days, whereas I don’t believe they have the least notion that you even exist.”

  “Why, you… !”

  “Careful, Woodbine. You’re in a weak and pitifully wounded condition.”

  “Why, you rat-tailed… !”

  Barker backed away. Woodbine might be wounded, but he was not looking very pitiful. He was looking, in fact, as if he might be on the verge of a savage bite.

  “Perhaps we can continue this conversation later, when you are feeling more yourself?” Barker called with a smirk as he fled out of reach.

  “I am feeling exactly like myself!” bellowed Woodbine, his head beginning to spin again.

  Barker was right, though. Woodbine was not acting at all like his usual self, and the trouble was not his wound. What was it about that slippery, scheming, conceited squirrel that always drove him to the brink of violence? Woodbine shivered when he thought of what he might have done—chewed up Barker’s face? bitten off his tail?—if he’d lost control. Without Brown Nut to stop him, he had come closer than ever.

  “I don’t understand it,” Woodbine murmured disgustedly to himself. “Ordinarily, I am the quietest and mildest of mink-tails. Everybody knows I wouldn’t hurt a flea, even if it was crawling up my nose. But Barker is so maddening. He drives me crazy. It is really all his fault. He makes me act like a beast!”

  At this moment a series of thunderous, hollow whacks rang through the air. The assembly was being officially called to order. Three more thuds (the stump was struck in unison by the powerful hind legs of several council guards) heralded the coming of the Elders. They appeared in a gleaming silver wave atop the stump and were rewarded with instant silence.

  “Hear ye! Hear ye! Let it be known that…”

  So began their speech, and the announcement of what the mink-tails of Upper Forest shortly understood to be no less than a call to battle.

  Battle! Everyone looked around at one another uncomfortably. Never, in memory living or inherited, had there been such a call. Fighting was not the mink-tail habit. They were a shy lot, a teasing breed. They could harass cats out of their trees, decoy raccoons away from their nests. But battle? The silence in the trees was deafening. Couldn’t they all just go home instead, and wait to see what the aliens did next?

  They could not. The Elders swirled their tails militantly. Experts had been consulted. The decision was clear. It was a matter of self-protection, not to mention honor.

  “What true mink-tail can sit idly by while the aliens blow friends and families from our trees?” the Elders cried, in aged, outraged voices.

  “No mink-tail!” a voice called from somewhere in the crowd. “We must fight fang and claw for the safety of our wood!”

  This sounded so unlike the easygoing mink-tail point of view—fang and claw? How ridiculous!—that Woodbine leaned forward to see who the voice belonged to. His gaze alighted upon…Barker! That scoundrel. A small group of squirrels who
appeared to be his followers was cheering him loudly. Woodbine suddenly knew who the consulted “experts” were.

  The Elders smiled toward Barker and waggled their long whiskers. They had not felt so powerful in years. Who could doubt now that they were in command? After that stupid mistake about the invader yesterday, some mink-tails might have questioned their fitness to lead. Thank goodness for Barker, who had told them how to fix the problem.

  “What true mink-tail can shrug and turn away when a town resident has been kidnapped, when she has been dragged, kicking and screaming, to her death?” the Elders shouted forcefully together.

  “No true mink-tail,” cried Barker, joined by his chorus of backers. (“Not that Brown Nut was kicking or screaming,” Woodbine muttered to himself, “or is dead…yet….” Apparently the Elders had been given false information.)

  “Fellow mink-tails!” the Elders thundered. “We believe the recent shootings and kidnappings to be part of a secret plot by aliens to eradicate us from the forest! We believe that action must be taken against this enemy. To do nothing will only invite more bloodshed!”

  “Yes!” shrieked a larger mob. “We must protect ourselves!”

  “Therefore, we would like to propose a plan for immediate defense against…”

  The meeting was getting out of control, Woodbine saw. Squirrels were leaping from the trees, surrounding the stump, surging in masses across the ground. Some mink-tails were actually running over the heads of others in their eagerness to get closer to the Elders. There was no concern for the babies and the elderly in the crowd. They were being shoved aside and trampled by the rest.

  Amid the shrieks and cries, the Elders continued to speak, explaining the details of their plan.

  The town was to be divided into sections.

  Special leaders called command minks were to be appointed to take charge of each section.

  Town residents would be asked to volunteer for special section armies, to fight off alien attack if it should come again.

  Section armies would be trained to kill ruthlessly to defend their home trees.

  At this announcement, there was a pause in the scrambling. No one had thought of killing before. And ruthlessly? Hmm…But perhaps, if the home trees were really threatened…

  “I’ll volunteer!” shouted someone in the crowd.

  “So will I!”

  “Me too!”

  There was another rush toward the stump as a horde of volunteers pushed forward. The crowd, having at first hung back, now all followed. It was as if a single mind had been persuaded, and now a single, ten-thousand-footed animal surrounded Great Stump awaiting further orders.

  “May Spring Follow Winter as Day Follows Dark,” the Elders intoned at this juncture, preparing to leave the scene. The chant only drove the crowds wilder.

  Woodbine began to creep away. Armies? Command minks? He looked about in amazement. His ear was throbbing, and perhaps he was not seeing clearly. The assembly seemed to have turned into a riot. Brown Nut was forgotten. Her name was a rallying cry, but not a single plan for her rescue had been put forth. Below, in the clearing, battle troops were beginning to form. The command minks had been named and were in conference with the Elders. Barker was one, of course.

  “Wait!” Woodbine couldn’t help calling out. “What about Brown Nut? And I am not sure the aliens are plotting what you think. Today I had a most unusual meeting with…” His voice was drowned out.

  “Also, they have weapons! Terrible weapons!” he shouted a bit later.

  “Oh, hush yourself,” said a mink-tail who was descending slowly through the beech toward the ground. Woodbine saw it was the old firebrand he’d talked to in the white oak just after Brown Nut had been carried off.

  “You’re too young to know what you’re saying,” the fellow went on. “This sort of thing has happened hundreds of times in other places. I’ve traveled around, and I know. Everybody gets invaders from time to time. Everyone gets kidnappers. They always make a point of doing something about them. All these tall trees have kept Forest in the dark ages when it comes to battle. Nobody’s had to lift a paw. But the world is changing. We can’t afford to sit back anymore. Starting an army is the best idea the Elders have had in years. Come on down with me and join up. It’ll be a great adventure, you’ll see.”

  With a look of disbelief, Woodbine turned and fled toward the pond.

  LOWER FOREST

  “HELLO? I’D LIKE TO speak to Chief Teckstar, please. Is he there?” Mr. Padgett leaned back in his swivel chair, fingering the telephone cord. He was at his desk, at work. Around him, workers at other desks crouched over piles of paper or in front of computer keyboards. The air-conditioning system moaned in the background. Outside, the sun had turned furiously hot. “Hello, Teckstar? Len Padgett here. I just wanted to call and say how much Mrs. Padgett and I appreciate the fine effort you made yesterday trying to find our little runaway…. Yes, I guess they told you. She spent the night in the woods…. No, no, she’s fine. Not a scratch on her. Of course, her mother and I are kind of shot up after…What? Oh no, she was never in any kind of danger. No danger at all. I found her early this morning, stuck up a tree, and brought her home safe and sound. She was mighty glad to see me. But there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about….”

  Mr. Padgett swiveled his chair around so that his back was to a glassed-in compartment on one side of the room. It was the office of the department boss, Mr. Wick. Mr. Padgett was not supposed to use his desk telephone for personal calls.

  “I wonder if,” Mr. Padgett began, “I wonder if, by any chance, you’ve noticed a rather frightening surge in Forest’s squirrel population lately? Yes…well…perhaps frightening is the wrong word. Nevertheless, there seem to be many more of the mangy little pests than usual. I was thinking we men might get together to see if we can’t bring the number down a bit, for the safety of our town and our children and our…

  “What?…Well, a shooting party was what I had in mind. We could put aside a weekend and make a point of going after them. I’ve got a shotgun, and a good many other men in town have them, too…. Oh, I see….”

  Mr. Padgett swiveled around in his chair to check on Mr. Wick. The old geezer seemed to have wandered out of his office. There was no sign of him anywhere.

  “Look, Teckstar. I’m not suggesting a ‘massacre,’ as you put it,” Mr. Padgett went on, his voice rising. “Just a little sensible shooting with the idea of cutting the head count down to where the poor things won’t have to starve to death this winter. There’s too many of them, that’s the trouble. Why, I was out in my yard this morning and saw several huge packs sitting up in the tress. And that’s nothing compared to what’s back there in the woods. There’s thousands back there, and they’re strong breeders, let me say. Nothing stops a red-blooded squirrel from…What’s that?”

  Mr. Padgett began to swivel his chair rapidly back and forth. He had never liked Chief Teckstar. The man couldn’t take an honest suggestion. He didn’t like to listen to reason.

  “I know that Mother Nature takes care of things like squirrel populations!” Mr. Padgett bellowed into the receiver. “Do you think I’ve got the brain of a beetle? I just thought we might like to help her out a little, before the situation gets any worse!”

  Mr. Padgett gave one final, powerful swivel that spun his chair all the way around. Then he glanced up. Good grief! Every face in the room was turned toward his desk. Everyone was staring straight at him. It was just like the scene in his yard that morning, when all those pesky squirrels had surrounded him and stared at him as if he’d done something terrible. And then he had! He’d gone out and almost shot his own daughter! Those horrid pests had gone and made him shoot his own…

  “Mr. Padgett, may I please have a word with you in my office?” said a quiet voice behind him.

  Mr. Padgett jumped and whirled around. “Uh, Mr. Wick!” The old turnip was quick as a cat. He’d crept up behind him without the smallest noise. Mr. Padgett’s
face turned bright red. Forgetting to say good-bye to Chief Teckstar, he hung up the phone.

  “This way, Mr. Padgett, if you would be so kind,” said Mr. Wick in his quietest and most deadly voice.

  Mr. Padgett stood up with pounding heart. He hadn’t felt so frightened since the sixth grade, when Mrs. Ramsbottom had caught him and sent him to the principal’s office for drawing those awful pictures of her during math class.

  “So, Dad, did you have to take the pictures with you to the principal’s office?” Amber asked at dinner that night, after Mr. Padgett had told them all about Mr. Wick and Mrs. Ramsbottom and his dreadful day at work. Luckily, he had not been fired, only shamed and dishonored and publicly cut down to beetle size.

  “Huh? What?” Mr. Padgett looked exhausted. There were circles under his eyes.

  “You know, the bad pictures you drew,” said Wendell, sitting forward eagerly. “Did you have to show them to the principal?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Now, children,” Mrs. Padgett broke in. “That is not something you need to know. That is something from the deep, dark past. Your father is upset and—”

  “Well, at least tell us what the bad pictures looked like!” Wendell couldn’t help exclaiming. “Was Mrs. Ramsbottom topless, or bottomless, or wearing purple underwear, or—”

  “Wendell! Please hush!” said his mother, but Wendell went right on.

  “Listen, yesterday I saw this picture in a magazine at the drugstore? It was of a lady in a sports car advertisement who was completely naked except for the teeniest, weeniest, little pair of pink—”

  “Wendell! That is quite enough!”

  “They weren’t what you think,” Wendell said indignantly. “They were only—”

  “Wendell!” Mrs. Padgett’s fork clattered to her plate.

  Mr. Padgett stood up abruptly and left the table.

  Amber pushed her chair back and got up, too.

  “Come on, Wendell, we’ve got work to do,” she said. “But first let’s help Mom with the dishes. Looks like everybody’s had a hard day today.”