A Taste for Rabbit Page 18

  “It was hard,” Quentin acknowledged, remembering how frightened he was when he saw his friends taken off into the forest. He told Frank about spending the night alone and waiting to be found by the MPs. “They aren’t coming, by the way,” he said. “My draft notice, and probably your guard duty summons,” he said, gesturing to Zack “— both were fakes. I’m positive Wally and Dan are acting alone.”

  “Acting alone?” Zack said. Quentin could see him sorting through the implications. “You mean, the government …!” Zack stopped. “I can’t absorb all this. My mind is numb. Besides, there’s something else,” he said slowly.

  Frank and Zack exchanged looks.

  “The morning after we were taken they picked up a weasel named Martin. He knew we weren’t Wally and Dan — in fact, he saved our lives by vouching for us. I know what you’re thinking,” Frank said quickly. “The weasels can talk and think, but they don’t smell like predators. It’s all hard to believe.”

  “Yes,” Quentin said. “Wait until I tell you about foxes and badgers.”

  Zack was startled. “You know a fox and a badger?”

  Quentin nodded. “And I know about that weasel.” Then, slowly, he told them about Harry, Elton, and the nearby cave.

  Frank was silent. Then he said, “For a while, before I heard that weasel’s story, I thought there might be a chance I’d find my Mary and my children. Now … I’m not going to think about what happened to them. I just know this has to be stopped. No other father or mate must ever go through this.”

  “I agree,” Quentin said.

  “What do you think?” Zack said, standing up and pacing back and forth in the small space. “Frank and I have been talking. There’s not much we can do on our own.”

  “I disagree,” Quentin said firmly. “I think we should go over to the cave and wait for Wally and Dan and whoever else is involved in this. I’m not staying on the outside anymore. I’ve been thinking …. Maybe the gods want me to act.” He looked away. “I hope that doesn’t sound too self-important.”

  “Not at all,” Zack said quickly. “I’m filled with admiration. And I must say, this is a new Quentin. Not the same old friend who was afraid to jump off the wall two nights ago!”

  Frank stood up. “The gods Mary and I believed in would not have allowed this to happen,” he said. “In my opinion, there are no gods, period. We invented them to make us feel safe. What a joke!” he said bitterly.

  “Let’s talk about the gods another time, my friend,” Quentin said. He started rummaging through the sacks that lay on ground. “I was just looking for a weapon,” he said to Zack. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  A few minutes later Quentin picked up the lantern and they joined Frank who had walked outside and stood staring into the forest.

  “Any luck?” Frank asked.

  “No. Maybe we can pick up something on the way.”

  “Is it far?” Zack said.

  “Not very. I was there just a while ago with Harry.”

  “Q?”

  Quentin turned to Zack.

  “Are we doing the right thing?” Zack asked. “Should we wait for the rebels? They’ll be here soon, won’t they? Isn’t there safety in numbers?”

  “Yes, we are, and no, we should not wait,” Frank responded emphatically. “I want the satisfaction of doing this myself. Besides, every minute we waste standing here puts another rabbit family at risk.” He started down the path.

  Quentin and Zack followed. “I’m worried,” Zack said. “We have no weapons. Wally is strong and Dan is smart. They’ll be armed.”

  Quentin nodded.

  “I know it’s the right thing to do,” Zack said, “but I wish I didn’t have to do it.”

  “I know. But we have no choice.”

  “You sound like me,” Zack said.

  “You sound like me.”

  They caught up to Frank and trudged toward the cave. The air was still and the only sound was the soft crunch of their footsteps on the trail, which grew darker as it twisted into the woods. In a few moments, the moon was hidden behind the trees, the sky was black, and only the small glow of the lantern lighted their way.

  It was midnight when they heard the circular stone scrape against the rocky floor of the cave. Quentin, Zack, and Frank had taken shelter nearby against a large fallen fir tree, whose girth was large enough to provide a shield against the cold breeze that had sprung up as the night wore on.

  Quentin sat against the tree, the bark, rough and frozen with snow and particles of ice, jabbing him through his jacket. Zack sat close to him for warmth. They had doused the lantern; Frank had fallen asleep. The grating of stone on stone woke him.

  “They’re here,” Zack whispered.

  Quentin nodded. He grasped the rock he’d picked up on the way to the cave. It had worked for Zack against Wally at the perimwall, he’d thought. Maybe it will work again. Frank had found a fallen tree branch and had ripped off the thinner twigs to make a cudgel. Zack carried a club made from a heavier branch he now rolled nervously back and forth between his paws.

  Earlier, as they had walked to the cave, Quentin had said to Frank, “At least they won’t be expecting us. Maybe that will work in our favor.”

  Quentin had held up the lantern to Frank’s face as they’d stopped for a moment. Frank’s warm, open expression was now clouded, his eyes deeply sad. At the same time, his large frame appeared more tense, as if he were trying hard to contain his anger; his voice had an edge to it. The benign, jovial warmth Quentin had always found so appealing had vanished.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Frank had said. “If we can separate them we might have a chance, especially if they have weapons. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” Quentin said. Why not? he had thought. I don’t think I’m going to live to tell my friends about this. Wally and Dan are too vicious, too … evil. Those cold blue eyes that never smiled…. It was like looking death in the face. Then why aren’t I afraid? Maybe it’s because I’m so sure of the outcome.

  “Quentin — you should know,” Frank was saying. “We have to be prepared to hurt them — maybe seriously. Can I count on you? What about you, Zack?”

  Zack nodded slowly.

  “Yes,” Quentin said. “I just hope … we don’t have to become like them in order to defeat them.”

  “That will never, ever happen.”

  Now, hearing sounds from the cave, the three rabbits stood slowly; Quentin brushed the snow off his jacket and hefted the stone in his paw. They crouched outside, peering into the darkness, as the stone slid and scraped slowly across the floor. Quentin could barely see the light of a flickering lantern within the tunnel.

  I wonder what happened to the weasel Gerard, he thought. Harry must have found him and distracted him. But for how long?

  “Can’t you hurry?” Dan’s high-pitched voice asked. “Why is it taking you so long? We’re late as it is. They may be gone.”

  “They’ll be there, if they know what’s good for them. And if you weren’t such a delicate little flower,” Wally’s voice growled, “you could be doing this heavy work yourself. Then we’d see how quickly you would move through this damned tunnel.”

  The stone had moved to its farthest point and a paw clutching the handle of a lantern appeared at the edge of the opening. This is it, Quentin thought. His heart was beating fast. Whatever happens now, at least I’ll know I tried. He looked at Zack, who was focused on the opening to the tunnel and the darkness below. Frank was crouched alongside him, staring intently. Zack looked up and Quentin’s eyes met his. Courage! Zack nodded and tightened his grip on the club.

  Dan had emerged from the tunnel with the lantern and was looking back, pulling on something. “You’d think it would have gotten easier for you after all this time,” he said. “Here.” He offered a paw. “The steps are slippery.”

  “I don’t need your help!” Wally shouted. “I never have and I never will.”

  Dan gave a tug anyway, but there was a
sudden bump and a crash, the sound of something heavy falling, a thud. “Now what! Wally? What happened?”

  Dan was turning to go back down the stairs when Frank ran into the cave. Zack followed. Frank grabbed Dan from behind by the collar of his uniform and clapped a paw over his mouth.

  “Not a word,” he whispered furiously to Dan, whose eyes widened in surprise and fear when he twisted around and saw Frank’s face. Frank jammed Dan’s arm behind his back and held him tightly against his own body. “Warn him and I’ll break it.”

  Zack moved toward them, his club raised over Dan’s head. Dan stopped struggling.

  As Quentin watched, he heard Wally’s voice from the tunnel. “Damn those steps! Well, are you going to help me, you sniveling weakling?” When there was no response, he said, “Fine. I’ll do it myself. But don’t expect to get paid for this one, when I’m doing all the work.”

  Dan wrenched himself free from Frank’s paw across his face and shrieked, “Wally! Go back! It’s —”

  “Do it!” Frank ordered, and Zack hesitated, then brought his heavy club down hard on Dan’s head. The rabbit went limp as the blood poured from the blow, and Frank dropped him to the ground. “Good.” He dragged Dan’s body to the far side of the cave, where it crumpled into a heap.

  “What? What did you say?” Wally’s voice called from the tunnel. Then, in the ensuing silence, they heard Wally’s heavy footsteps clumping back through the tunnel, the sound diminishing until there was nothing.

  Quentin ran into the cave. “I’m going after him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Zack said. He looked at Frank.

  “Go ahead. We were going to separate them anyway. I’ll be here with this one,” he said, gesturing. “Be careful. We know what he’s capable of.”

  * * *

  Quentin held the lantern high for Zack as they tumbled down the slippery stairs into the tunnel, which was very dark and barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. The smell of mold and cold stone surrounded them like a shroud as they ran, their footsteps echoing wetly around them. Quentin heard running water. As he held up the lantern he could see the walls of the tunnel dripping with melting ice. Above him the moss-covered stones were cracked and chipped and leaking. How old is this tunnel? How long before it collapses? Don’t think about it.

  After a moment he stopped to catch his breath. Zack stopped behind him, breathing hard. In the silence, as their own breathing slowed, they heard a moaning and cursing ahead of them.

  Wally.

  Quentin lowered the lantern and they walked toward the sound. Suddenly his foot hit something; he nearly fell and put a paw out to stop Zack from running into him. The dim lantern light revealed a large, lumpy burlap sack that had been dropped on the path before them.

  Quentin gasped.

  “What is it?” Zack whispered. “Oh. Oh, gods.”

  “Zack,” Quentin said quietly, pointing to the sack. “We can’t leave this here. Take it to the cave and wait for me. I’m going to find Wally. If I’m not back soon, go home with Frank and tell them …”

  “Forget it, Q. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Please, Zack,” Quentin whispered. “If something happens to me you can be there to help Frank. Otherwise we could all die.”

  “All right. But if you’re not back in a reasonable amount of time, I’m coming for you.” He grabbed the sack and lifted it. “Gods. It’s not even that heavy.” He put it down, then wiped his eyes, turning away. “I don’t know if I can.”

  Quentin grabbed Zack by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You have to do this.”

  Zack nodded and picked up the sack again. “I’ll need the lantern,” he said.

  “Take it. I’ll find Wally. I can smell him.”

  Quentin watched Zack’s dark shape and the lantern light fade until the blackness of the tunnel enveloped him again.

  He walked cautiously ahead in the dark, keeping his paw on the tunnel wall for balance. It’s a good thing small, dark places don’t bother me, he thought. Compared to the perimwall, this is a carrot soufflé. He went slowly, placing one foot tentatively ahead to be sure the ground was solid and there were no more sacks (but there wouldn’t be), then stepping forward. In a few moments he saw a faint light ahead. The groaning grew louder.

  The tunnel curved slightly and when Quentin rounded the bend he saw a lantern on the floor and beside it Wally, his left leg folded beneath him, his face contorted. Wally looked up. “You!” he growled. “Vole-hole!”

  “Wally,” Quentin said, “it’s over. This disgusting trade, the murders, the gold — it’s over.”

  Wally looked up at him with hate-filled eyes.

  “What’s over? What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about a trade. Besides, it was all Dan’s idea, that sniveling little flower.” He struggled to get up, but fell back. “Ow. Ow! My ankle! I think it’s broken,” he said with a whimper. “It hurts like hell.”

  Quentin had not expected this. Earlier in the evening they had talked about fighting, about self-defense, about using their weapons. Frank had reminded them to protect their heads and at the same time try to use the cudgel or stone to break an arm or leg. But Wally’s ankle was already broken.

  Was it? Then how had he managed to get this far back into the tunnel so quickly?

  Quentin stepped closer, his shadow growing large against the opposite wall as he approached the lantern, his arm raised. Wally, who had turned away from him, was leaning over, looking down at his ankle. As Quentin stood alongside him, Wally suddenly grabbed his legs and yanked. Quentin fell to the ground. Wally kicked him in the side, then, jumping to his feet, he pulled Quentin up and punched him in the face, hard.

  “Fooled you, Vole-hole!” he growled triumphantly.

  The pain was shocking and intense; the force of the blow staggered Quentin back and he fell again. The stone dropped from his paw. His face throbbed and he felt the blood drip down his neck. Wally reached and grabbed his jacket, but Quentin turned aside and kicked. Grunting with the impact, Wally lost his balance and fell toward him. Quentin pulled himself up as Wally reached for his legs and dragged him down again. Trying to roll away, Quentin smacked up against the wall of the tunnel. Wally heaved himself to his feet and kicked, connecting with Quentin’s barely healed shoulder. The burning pain was terrible.

  Wally leaned over him, breathing hard and pressing him firmly against the ground. “Did you think I didn’t know what you called me?” he said. “Did you think the others didn’t know? Well, they did.” He tightened his grip on Quentin’s throat. “Dan wanted to make you one of the first, but I told him I had to save you for myself. And I would have done it too, on the perimwall.” He punched Quentin in the face, again. “You walked right into my trap. Now who’s the dumb one, Vole-hole?”

  “You know why the name stuck, Small Ears?” Quentin gasped, trying to twist out of Wally’s grasp. “Because it was true!” Gods, I despise you, you pathetic monster! He reached out with his good arm and grabbed Wally around the neck, pulling him close. Then, tightening his grip, he tried at the same time to pull himself over Wally, but the injured arm was almost useless and he could get no leverage. He squeezed harder, as hard as he could. Wally’s face was close to his ear; he struggled; he punched Quentin around the face and neck and kicked his knees, but the blows were weak; his breathing became thick.

  Then Quentin felt a sharp pain in his ear. Wally had bitten him and the shock of it caused Quentin to release his grasp. Wally rolled away, knocking over the lantern, and the tunnel went completely black.

  “Damn!” Wally said, breathing hard. “Damn! Where are you, Vole-hole? I’m going to beat you until you beg for mercy, and then I’m going to beat you some more, and then I’m going to kill you.”

  You’ll have to find me first, Quentin thought, as he lay on the ground, trying to control his ragged breath. He felt for the tunnel wall, dragged himself to it, and gradually stood. The blood poured from his ear, his arm was numb, his f
ace throbbed, and he could only see out of one eye. He was feeling his way along the wall when his foot stubbed against something and he almost fell — the stone. Quentin slowly reached down for it, trying to keep his head vertical to minimize the pounding in his face that made him nauseated and nearly faint.

  Gripping the rock in his good paw, he listened for Wally’s breathing, but the tunnel was silent except for the sound of dripping water. Wally must be holding his breath. As long as I can’t hear him he’s safe. But I have to find him before he finds me. He took the chance. “Come and get me, Small Ears,” Quentin whispered into the darkness.

  Wally gave an outraged cry and lunged toward him, grabbing desperately for his throat and barely missing his shoulder. With one mighty last effort, Quentin swung the arm holding the rock toward where he thought Wally’s head might be. This is for Charlie. His arm connected with a sickening crunch, and Wally fell to the ground. Quentin leaned against the tunnel wall, panting. He stood for a moment, the blood pouring down his face. Then he dropped like a stone.

  It was very late when Harry saw the faint lights of the Inn far ahead of him. His stomach growled with hunger, and he quickened his pace. The moon was very bright and floated low in the sky, illuminating the icy, winding path. It was quiet, except for the sound of his own footsteps and the thump of Isaac’s walking stick.

  Harry stopped suddenly and listened. Someone was coming toward him. He moved quickly into the shadows and waited.

  Much to his surprise, it was his brother’s distinctive form that came into view. Isaac wore a dark fur hat with a brim that shaded his eyes, and a long, heavy coat of rabbit fur that fell below his knees. A large knapsack was slung over one shoulder, and he poked the ground with the mahogany cane Harry had seen before. He trotted briskly and purposefully on the snowy trail.

  He was not limping.

  Harry was stunned. He waited until Isaac had passed him, watching him closely for a sign of the old disability, but there was not a trace of it. Then he leaped out onto the path, grabbed Isaac by the shoulders, turned him around, and punched him in the face. “You lying hypocrite!” he cried as Isaac staggered back and fell to the ground. Harry reached for him again, but Isaac jumped up and grabbed Harry by the throat, drawing Harry’s face close and raising his cane above his head.