Читать книгу Raccoon Rampage - Nadia Shireen - Страница 6

The moon was bright and everything in the forest was still. All the action was at Max’s place. Rocky couldn’t help but worry. “It’s b-b-breaking and entering,” he stuttered, pointing at the broken window. “What if the old man hears us?”

Quickpaw’s head poked out from a litter of biscuit wrappers and he wiped crumbs from his whiskers. He stood up, dusted himself down and stifled a burp. “We’ll tidy up before we leave,” he said. “Max won’t know anything about our little raid.” He moved along the shelf and examined a tin. His reading wasn’t the best, but he could recognise a picture of a salmon when he saw one. “Gotcha!” he squealed. “Guys, a tin of our favourite fish!”

Sunshine looked up from his meal, cat food smeared round his mouth. “Cool! Nice find, boss,” he chomped.

Dempsey had scoffed so many apples that his tummy was hurting. He was prowling the top shelf in search of something that always made him feel better – muffins.

“B-But what about Max?” hissed Rocky. “We shouldn’t be here, sneaking around his shop in the dead of night. He’s got a gun, you know.”

“Stop fretting,” scoffed Dempsey from up above. “Max is snoring. And he’ll never hear us, so long as we’re quie—” The small raccoon brushed against a bottle. It wobbled. Dempsey gulped. He was very high up. Not good! He reached to steady the bottle and made things worse. His paws went to his eyes as the bottle fell, smashing on to the concrete floor. All four members of the Hole-in-the-Tree gang froze. Dempsey peeped out from behind his claws. “Sorry!” he whimpered. “Maybe Max is a heavy sleeper?”

Light flooded from the crack under the door. All eyes went to Quickpaw. “What do we do, boss?” squeaked Rocky. “I told you we’d be in trouble.”

“Hide!” instructed Quickpaw, leading by example and diving into a sack of oatmeal. Instinctively, the three other raccoons made for their hiding places. Dempsey squeezed behind a jar of pickles on the top shelf; Sunshine wiped the cat food from his mouth and leaped into a Wellington boot; Rocky looked around frantically. All the hiding places were taken! Max’s footsteps were coming down the stairs. The old man was grumbling. “Either robbers or raccoons,” Rocky heard him mutter. “Either way, they’ll be getting some of this.” Rocky’s panic nearly boiled over as he heard the shopkeeper rummaging in the hallway cabinet. That’s where he keeps his gun!

Rocky remembered casing the joint. There was something that Max called a “cash register”. He remembered Max pressing a button and a little drawer shooting open. Just enough room for a raccoon, he hoped.

Max’s hand was on the door handle as Rocky pressed the button, the cash register opened and he dived in. The till closed and the room fell silent.

Max barged through the door, flicking the light switch as he did so. It was three o’clock in the morning and his eyes were as wild as his hair. The barrel of his gun scanned the room, his brain putting the clues together. Broken window. Glass on the floor. His old-fashioned shop was very cluttered and he figured there were a lot of places for a robber to hide.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” wheezed the shopkeeper. “Anyone burgling Max’s store is going to get what they deserve.” The old man shuffled his slippered feet to the end of the aisle, crunching on the broken glass as he walked. He jumped round the corner, ready to shoot at an intruder. Quickpaw sank deeper into the oats; Sunshine scrunched himself into the foot of the boot and held his breath as the man stalked by; Dempsey dared to peer down from the top shelf. Max was wearing blue-and-white-striped pyjamas and a very angry face.

The raccoons heard a distant voice. “Anyone there?” shouted Max’s wife from the safety of the bedroom.

“Soon see,” muttered the storekeeper to himself. The old man hauled open the door of his storeroom and prodded the gun inside. He pulled the cord and the storeroom light came on. Dempsey gasped from behind the pickle jar. Boxes and boxes of food. A whole treasure trove that we’ve never discovered! Next time, he promised himself. If there is a next time!

Max seemed calmer. The old man assured himself that whoever had tried to burgle his store had disappeared into the night. And, from what he could gather, nothing seemed to be missing. He was pleased that he’d scared them away. “Better check the till,” he croaked. Dempsey’s eyes widened as the old man approached Rocky’s hiding place; Quickpaw’s eyes and nose poked out of the sack; Sunshine’s black-and-white face twitched out of the top of the boot.

Max shuffled behind the counter. His bony finger pressed the cash-register button and the drawer sprang open. Max was used to the satisfying ker-ching noise.

But he dropped his weapon in horror as a screaming black-and-white animal hurled itself at him. Man and beast yelled. Max staggered around the room as he tried to yank the furry intruder from his face. Rocky clung on. The gun hit the floor and went off, a bullet shattering the jar next to Dempsey, splattering pickles against the wall. Yikes!

Dempsey was first out of the door. Quickpaw made for the window, cutting himself as he fled. Rocky was peeled from the man’s face and thrown to the floor. The raccoon was winded. He looked at the shocked man while he got his breath back. Max was reaching for his gun. It’s now or never! Rocky was away, scooting towards the door. The terrified raccoon darted through the legs of Max’s equally terrified wife.

“Burglars?” wailed the lady.

“Worse,” growled her husband. “Thieving raccoons. And if there’re any left in here, they can expect some of this,” he said, pointing to the barrel of his gun. “Five shots left!”

Sunshine was out of the Wellington boot. He was flat against it, working out the odds of making it to the window. He eased one foot from behind the boot and a shot instantly rang out, ricocheting off the stone floor. “There’s one!” yelled Max. “Probably missing a foot by now.”

Not quite, thought Sunshine, his heart thumping. But that was too close for comfort. He heard the old man’s slippers shuffling towards him and he eased round the other side of the boot. “Come out, you varmint,” coaxed the shopkeeper. “I have a little something for you.”

Sunshine tried to think clearly. He picked up a tin of salmon and hurled it across the room. Max twirled and fired in the direction of the noise, blasting several jars of gherkins to smithereens. Sunshine sniffed the air. He could smell the gun and he also sniffed a chance to escape. He knew he didn’t have much time. Max was distracted, so this was his moment. The raccoon’s sharp eyes fixed on a barrel near the door. He wasn’t sure what “live bait” meant, but he liked the look of the picture. Wiggly worms! The raccoon crept across the floor as another shot pinged into the chair next to him. He dodged the wooden splinters and sprinted for all he was worth. Two more shots rang out, but he made it to the barrel, chest heaving. With a mighty shove he managed to push the barrel over. It hit the hard floor and the lid fell off, wriggling worms oozing into the room. The lady screamed and fainted. The floor was alive and the old man slipped. His slippers came off and his toes squelched. He tried to get to his feet, but slipped again, on to his hands and knees in a sea of worms.

Sunshine played it cool. The man’s gun was out of reach. The raccoon smoothed his whiskers and straightened his hat. He loved his trusty cowboy hat. He took a plastic bag and filled it with apples before sidestepping the worms and making his way out into the night.

He stood at the door and saluted the old man. Respect Max, he thought. You came close. But I think we can chalk this one up as another victory for the Hole-in-the-Tree gang.