CHAPTER 18
ALMOST THERE
Despite the Border Collies’ warnings, Max asked for directions to Baton Rouge. Em begrudgingly agreed to aid them and scratched a map in the dirt.
“Thanks so much,” Max told the Border Collies. “This is a big help.”
Em ducked her head. “I hope so. And I hope when you find what you’re looking for, you don’t get hurt.”
“I don’t think any of us wants that,” said Rocky.
With their path memorized, the dogs said their good-byes. Max was ashamed to tell the others that for a moment he’d considered not going after Belle. His dreams lately had seemed almost prophetic, and the most recent seemed to say something was wrong with Belle.
But images of Boss came back to Max, of the old dog lying near death on the shore of a mighty river, saying how sorry he was never to see Belle again. So Max, Rocky, Gizmo, and Georgie followed the Border Collie’s directions out of town.
The rising sun burned away the mist, revealing a blue sky dotted with clouds. The swamp was far behind them now, and the air carried with it no real animal scents save for rabbits, mice, and squirrels hiding in the underbrush. The four dogs chatted about what they’d do when reunited with their families.
Like the others, Max enjoyed being clean and well fed. For the first time in a long while, the journey to find his people felt pleasant. By midday they discovered a gas station that hadn’t been ransacked by other animals. They ate their fill from a bag of kibble and lapped up water that had pooled in a sink behind the checkout counter.
Evening began to fall as Max led them down a wide road between huge parking lots filled with all types of vehicles. Numbers were painted on the car windows, and Max guessed they were passing some sort of car store.
Max was wishing that he and his friends knew how to drive—imagine how easy getting around would be!—when Georgie barked excitedly. “Look!” he bellowed. “I know those buildings. That’s Baton Rouge!”
Craning his neck, Max saw the silhouettes of tall buildings to the north.
“Em and the other dogs were right,” Gizmo said. “We didn’t have far to go at all.”
“Maybe not,” Rocky said, sizing up the skyline, “but this road is heading west. The city is north.”
Max trotted up. “We just need to find the road that takes us in that direction, like in Em’s map.”
“This way!” Georgie barked, loping into a car lot. “I bet I can find it!”
As the other dogs watched in surprise, the giant Saint Bernard leaped onto the hood of a silver truck. Then Georgie howled. Though as loud as the wail of the Mudlurker, this howl was different, less desperate, speaking of friendship and hope.
Max, Rocky, and Gizmo stood in front of the truck, looking up at Georgie in awe. The howl seemed to last forever, but finally he lowered his snout.
Georgie angled his head to the side, waiting. Max, Rocky, and Gizmo glanced at one another, confused.
And then a distant howl pierced the evening sky. Another joined in, and another, each one echoing from the north. Soon they heard several barks, and Georgie nodded. Thumping his tail against the top of the truck, he looked down at his friends.
“The dogs say there’s a shortcut up ahead. We just have to find a tunnel, go through it, and then we’ll be on our way to the farm where I was born.”
“That’s amazing!” Gizmo said as Georgie leaped down into the parking lot. “How did you know they would answer you?”
“A lot of us grew up together,” Georgie said. “We used to practice call-and-response like that for fun. It sure came in handy today.”
Rocky said, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go find this tunnel!”
Georgie looked at Max, who said, “This is your hometown, so you lead the way.”
The big dog didn’t need to be told twice. He bounded forward through the maze of dusty, dirty cars to a tall chain-link fence. There they found a rusted gate that was easy to shove open for all four dogs to slip through. Next, Georgie led them through a field, periodically raising his fleshy snout in another howl. Every time he did, a bark would echo through the night sky, and Georgie would change their course slightly.
“This way,” he woofed, disappearing into a small grove of trees.
Seconds later, Max heard the Saint Bernard let out a startled cry.
“Georgie!” Gizmo yipped, darting ahead. She, too, vanished into the trees—and then cried out as well.
“What’s going on?” Rocky shouted. He barked, “Are you all right? Answer me, Giz!”
“We’re fine!” Gizmo’s voice rose up. “But there’s a steep drop just past the trees. Watch your step!”
Rocky sighed in relief. “You first, big guy. If I slip on the way down, you’ll give me a soft landing.”
Max chuckled. “Glad to be of service.” Carefully, he walked between two of the tall trees, taking each step slowly. All he could think about was his tumble into the massive sinkhole.
Finally, Max raised his left paw in the air—and when he tried to set it down, there was nothing. “Right here is the drop-off,” Max said.
“Got it,” Rocky said.
Max stepped forward once more, this time prepared. And then, the dirt crumbled beneath his paws.
“Whoa!” Max cried.
The dirt and pebbles beneath him cascaded, and Max had no choice but to run as fast as he could, his legs splashing into an ankle-deep stream of water.
Panting, Max turned to find Georgie and Gizmo rolling in the water to clean the dirt off their fur.
“That wasn’t so bad.” Rocky waddled casually into the ditch, having followed Max’s path. “Just have to maintain your balance.”
Gizmo jumped to her feet and shook herself, sending water flying through the air.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she splashed through the water to Rocky’s side. “You were prepared!”
Georgie hung his head. “Sorry about that. None of the dogs mentioned that drop. But—we’re here!”
Max looked past Georgie, hoping that here meant the city. But what Georgie was referring to was the tunnel, a giant concrete pipe built under a hill, big enough for a car to drive through. The ditch was an extension of the pipe. Max had never seen one quite this big.
The tunnel was dark and smelled of moldering plants and rotten food. The stench was almost like that of the swamp, and Max half expected to see one of the gators step out of the darkness.
“So, that’s our shortcut, huh?” Rocky said. “Your friends don’t know any other routes, do they, Georgie?”
Georgie’s face drooped. “No. Did I do bad?”
“Of course not!” Gizmo said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. The dogs wouldn’t have sent us here if it wasn’t safe. Right, Max?”
Max felt uneasy. After all the terrors they’d faced, why should he be scared of what lay ahead? They’d come this far, he reminded himself. They just had to hold on a little longer.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Max said. “Let’s just get through it so we can find Belle.”
Reassured by Max’s show of confidence, Rocky, Gizmo, and Georgie fell in line behind him.
A dead tree lay half in the ditch, and a rusting shopping cart lay on its side. Max wound past the debris, crinkling his nose. At least the tunnel was so big they wouldn’t have to brush up against the slimy walls.
It was not quite pitch-black in the tunnel—moonlight streamed in from the far end—but it was dark enough that they had no choice but to walk forward blindly and hope nothing was in their way.
They were about halfway through the tunnel, with the patch of light at the other end growing steadily larger, when Max felt something brush past his ankle. He stopped, his heart pounding.
“What is it?” Rocky whispered. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh!” Gizmo yipped before Max could answer. “I felt something.”
The skittering of claws echoed through the tunnel, followed by dozens of tiny splashes. Shadowy shapes popped out of a crack in the wall up ahead.
“Oh, no,” Georgie wailed. “I did do bad. I heard the directions wrong and led us into a trap!” Blubbering, the giant dog spun away from the group, as more of the creatures appeared in the tunnel.
Hissing voices rose up to join the skittering and splashes in a roar like the swelling ocean.
Hundreds of tiny, beady eyes seemed to glow red. In the dim light, Max could barely make out sharp snouts and long, hairless tails.
“Rats,” he gasped.
“Rats!” Rocky yipped, sounding excited. The Dachshund nipped Georgie’s tail to get the sobbing dog’s attention and said, “Hey, big guy, don’t freak out. I can handle this.”
“Do it, Rocky,” Gizmo barked, her tail wagging.
The hissing rats surrounded the dogs in an endless sea of gray-and-black fur. Clearing his throat, Rocky barked loudly. “Oh, great and wonderful rats! You have outsmarted us lowly, worthless dogs. Truly you are the most magnificent of all creatures.” Ducking his head, he said, “I, Rocky, bow before you in respect. I am most definitely not worthy.”
The hissing stopped, replaced by gasps.
“Could it be?” one rat squeaked.
“Is it him?” another asked.
“It’s Rocky! He’s here!”
The mass of rats began to chatter excitedly. “I love you, Rocky!” one screamed. “Aaah! I love yoooou!”
Sniffling, Georgie whispered, “What is going on?”
Overhearing him, one of the rats said, “Don’t you know?” he asked. “Rocky is legendary! Our cousin Longtooth up north spread word of how amazing he is!”
Max remembered Longtooth very well. Rocky, Gizmo, and Max had fled into a darkened subway tunnel in the Chairman’s city after being chased by dozens of feral, crazed dogs. It was there they’d encountered an army of rats who’d taken refuge from the Chairman’s Corporation.
But Rocky had managed to sweet-talk the rats and their leader, Longtooth, and they’d escaped unharmed. Longtooth had said he’d spread word of the dogs to his fellow rats, but Max hadn’t expected the message to travel this far south.
Puffing up his chest, Rocky said, “Didn’t we tell you, Georgie? I’m famous!”
Gizmo giggled. “Oh, hush.”
The rat who’d spoken to Georgie cupped his paws around his snout. “This is no place for Silver-Tongued Rocky and his Less Impressive Friends!” he squealed loudly. “To the junkyard!”
“The junkyard!” roared the crowd.
And as Max watched in amazement, the swarm of rats parted in the middle, clearing a path through the tunnel and leading the dogs one step closer to Belle.