Читать книгу Raccoon Rampage - The Raid - Nadia Shireen - Страница 7

Max woke with a start. He was nimble for an old man and burglars always gave him an extra spring in his step. He thumped the light switch and leapt from his bed. He was sprinting across the landing before his wife realised what was going on. The dog was barking wildly. “What’s happening?” she wailed.

“Thieving raccoons,” shouted Max as a series of massive crashes and smashes were heard from the shop. Max yanked open his gun cupboard and pulled out his favourite 12-bore shotgun. He cocked it and inserted two cartridges, his hands shaking with excitement. He snapped his gun shut and made for the shop. The old man yanked open the door and the dog flew towards him, its tail between its legs. Max was surprised. Why would his dog be scared of raccoons?

He pointed the muzzle of the gun inside the shop and pulled the light cord. Light flooded the shop, illuminating a scene of total devastation. The front door had been bashed in and his shelves pulled over. “What on earth?” muttered Max under his breath. Cold air blasted through the smashed windows and Max felt a chill under his pyjama collar. “This ain’t no raccoon raid.” There was glass everywhere so Max stepped his bare feet into a pair of wellington boots. He crunched around the shop, gun pointing and his trigger finger itching.

He heard a yell outside and it made him jump. He pulled the trigger and a shot rang out, blasting a hole in the ceiling. “Who’s there?” he yelled, edging towards the broken window.

“It’s me, Uncle Max. Don’t shoot.”

“What on earth was that?” puffed Rocky, huddled in the safety of a redwood tree with the rest of the Hole-in-the-Tree gang. They had an excellent view of the village and watched as the action unfurled below. They saw the village begin to light up as people were woken by the commotion. Windows opened and heads peered out. A man walked out of the forest and headed towards Max’s store.

“Raymond?” shouted Max into the darkness. “Is that you, Raymond? Are you OK?”

“I think I’m OK, Uncle Max,” yelled the voice. “Did you see the bear?”

Max crunched his way to the shattered window and peered out into the snowy night. He took a flashlight and shone it out into the street. A young man came into view, his face ashen. “There was a bear, Unc,” he stammered. “A big, brown grizzly. And he sure was in a bad mood.”

Max stepped outside on to the veranda and his nephew limped up the steps to meet him. The men were wearing identical blue and white stripy pyjamas. “I heard a noise,” explained Raymond, panting like a steam train. “And I came downstairs, Unc. Thought it might be raccoons.”

Max nodded. “A menace,” he agreed.

“But it weren’t raccoons, Uncle Max. The door caved in and a bear threw me around the shop. I got your bat, Unc – the one you keep for burglars – and whacked him good and proper. ‘Take that, you grizzly monster. You ain’t stealing my Unc’s food.’ And I keeped on hitting him, Uncle Max. But he chased me and I think he knocked some shelves over.”

Max’s eyes were wild. He nodded in amazement. “And he escaped through the winda, Unc, so I keeped on chasin’ him. Out into the snow. Looky here. Here’s his big grizzly footprints.”

Max’s torch picked out the bear’s prints. “And he headed for the trees. And that’s when you showed up and I heard the gunshot and everything.”

A small crowd had gathered, villagers in pyjamas and dressing gowns; some carrying torches, some pitchforks. “Sounds like your young nephew saved your shop,” panted Miriam from the cafe. “He’s a hero! If he hadn’t chased that old grizzly into the forest, who knows what might have happened?”

Max lowered his shotgun and hugged his nephew. “Raymond,” he said. “Your ma’s wrong about you. You’re a good boy.”

“But it’s still winter,” said Tyrone from the hardware store. “Grizzlies don’t surface till the spring. They should be hibernating.”

“W—well this one most certainly wasn’t sleeping,” stammered Raymond. “My uncle’s shop proves that. And the footprints in the snow. And it’s nearly spring, ain’t it? Maybe this old critter just woke early. Maybe it’s global warmin’?”

“I guess he was just plain old hungry,” nodded Max. “Hungry enough to trash my shop,” he said, casting a rueful glance at the damage. “Come on, nephew, let’s get you back inside. Maybe things will look better in the daylight.”

The raccoons watched as the humans went back to their houses and one by one the lights went out. Sunshine persuaded the gang to go back for their supplies. “Just one bag,” he said. “Otherwise our raid was for nothing.”

“But what about the bear?” asked Rocky.

“Stay on red alert, boys,” suggested Quickpaw. “One bag and we’ll be away.”

The four raccoons slunk back to Max’s, remaining in the shadows at all times. Rocky was extra nervous now that a bear had been added to the hazards. They picked up the heaviest carrier bag and carried it aloft. They made their way silently across the road and followed the bear’s pawprints. “He’s a big fella,” said Dempsey, looking at the size of the prints.

Quickpaw stopped and sniffed the air. “Waddaya smell, guys?” he asked, his nose twitching in the crisp mountain breeze.

The gang stopped, noses to the breeze. “Nothing, boss,” replied Dempsey.

“And what’s the one thing we know about bears?”

“That they’re always in a bad mood?” piped up Dempsey. “That’s why we call them grizzly.”

“And the other thing?” prompted Quickpaw.

“They stink,” said Rocky, pinching his nose. “Everyone knows that bears poo in the woods.”

Quickpaw’s nose went to one of the pawprints. He put his keen raccoon nose to the ground and sniffed again. “And nothing here either,” he said, his raccoon eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Very curious. This bear has no smell.”