SHirli Merfi - The Flight Of The Fox

CHAPTER 1

the train slowed beside the woods, ready to enter the townof Skrimville. The door of one freight car stood open two inches, and in thiscrack a mouselike figure stood, knees bent, his body poised to jump. As theengine braked, his tail twitched and his ears flattened in readiness. He tossedout his canvas pack, watched it roll down the steep embankment, then suddenlyhe leaped after it, tail swinging.

He landed rolling, paws over whiskery face, andfetched up against some pinecones. He stood, brushed himself off, and watchedthe train roar by above him. When it had gone, dragging its noise behind, heretrieved his pack and climbed up the embankment, sneezing at the smoke andrubbing his bruised backside. "There ought to be a better way totravel," he muttered irritably. Well at least he'd had the boxcar all tohimself, except for that stretch between Rutledge and Vicksville when those twotramps got on. Then he'd had to stay hidden under the straw so as not to callattention to himself. He'd like to have told those two what he thought of theirtobacco chewing and spitting into the straw right beside him, but he nevertalked to people. Too risky.

He stood between the hot metal tracks staring towardthe town ahead, then surveyed the countryside around him. His six-inch heightdidn't let him see too far, even from the raised embankment. He leaped uptwice, as high as a man's head, and could see more. His leaps were likeexplosions, propelled by his strong hind legs.

He was much bigger than a mouse. He had hind legs likea kangaroo, and short front legs with sharp elbows. His fur was tan, his facetough and shrewd. His tail was extremely long and skinny, with a white tuft atthe end like a dish mop. The old, worn pack he carried had obviously seen manymiles. He continued to study the countryside with interest, for except for theone small town he could see no other houses; and that pleased him. People wereall right in their places, but Rory didn't like to be crowded. What was thatbeyond those low hills? Another part of the town? He glanced at the trees thatgrew beside the embankment, then exploded suddenly in a leap that carried himhalfway up the nearest pine, where he clung a moment, then climbed quicklyuntil he could command a really good view of the surrounding land.

"Nope, no more houses," he said withsatisfaction. "Just open fields. And that's an airport over there!"He gazed off toward the hangar and landing strip that lay beyond the town."Not as big as Turbine Field, though." There was a Cessna 150, an oldNavion, and a nice new Cougar there at the end. "But why is it so flappin'quiet?" There should have been some activity, people walking around, aplane taking off. "There's not even a car parked by the hangar," hesaid, perplexed. "Why, that airfield looks like a flappin' morgue! Andwhat the heck are those things lined up along the runway?" They lookedlike cannon. Six cannon. "Well my gosh, they sure are cannon! Now whywould anyone put cannon beside an airstrip? Well, no accounting forhumans," he said, twitching his whiskers.

That looked like the town dump there beside therunway. "Nice big dump," he muttered, pleased. He hurried down thetree and shouldered his pack. "A good dump, a good camp." He headedalong between the tracks at a fast clip, thinking of a warm fire and a hotmeal. He'd had nothing for breakfast but some cold beans.

CHAPTER 2

the kangaroo rat traveled along the raised railroad trackuntil it came close to the town. Then he left it to strike off through the highgrass, around the town's outskirts. His view from the raised track had beenenough to see a dog or cat approaching, but now he could see nothing but thetall grass through which he pushed. He wasn't unduly concerned, though, andwent along at his ease. The grass bent down with the weight of its seed andsmelled fine. He found a trail that other animals had used, probably mice andmoles. He followed it, pausing occasionally to leap high above the grass,making sure he was keeping in the right direction. And all the time he keptlistening; there were people sounds from the town to his left, but nothing fromthe airfield.

It was well past noon when Rory arrived at a littlemuddy road and could see the dump just ahead. He strode along swinging his packand skirting the deep tire tracks made by trash and garbage trucks. A thin biketrack showed up in the mud here and there. The sun was warm on his back, andthe silence of the dump suited him. It was entirely quiet except for the harsharguing of a flock of birds somewhere farther on. As the path entered the dump,it was plunged into shadow by the mountains of trash, the cliffs of piled-uprusted cars and refrigerators and washing machines that towered on both sides.Limp bike tires hung down like dead snakes, and stained lampshades tiltedrakishly. He wandered along the winding path looking for a possible camp andkeeping an eye out for anything of value. The smells of the dump were familiarand comfortable. Old crankcase grease, sodden leather, sticky paint cans,rotten rubber, mildew. And new grass, for wherever dirt could collect in adented fender or on top a refrigerator, bright green grass had sprouted. Andwherever a dent held rain water, red rust ran down fresh as blood.

He made his way among smashed dolls and broken mophandles, poking into old cars and dark niches. He found three pennies under aworn boot and a good knife blade sticking out of the mud. He noted withsatisfaction the abundance of mushrooms and dandelion greens. And there was norotting garbage to take his appetite. He climbed a mountain of worn tires andcould see the garbage dump farther on and could smell it on the breeze. It wascovered with a flock of dark, quarreling birds busily engorging garbage. Andwhat was that down there at the turn of the path? It looked like a piano crate.Rory descended in three leaps. Yes, a piano crate all right, huge and nearlyempty of trash. Primfoggle Piano Company was stenciled on its side. A fellowcould make a real mansion in a place like that if he was so inclined.

But Rory wasn't inclined. Just a few days rest andhe'd be off. Up toward Allensville, he thought, now the weather was warm. Hestood admiring the crate, though, until the breeze changed and he smelledberries and followed the smell at once.

The blackberry tangle was at the far side of the dump,its vines snaking through truck tires and over moldy sofas. The earliestberries were ripe. Rory picked a few and ate them as he wandered. When he sawthe turned-over Buick, he stopped to look her over, for she was really anold-timer. "Nineteen twenty-eight or twenty-nine! They really built 'em inthose days." The Buick lay on its back with its wheels in the air like acapsized beetle. It's roof was partly buried in the mud. Its hood was suspendedsome three feet off the ground, making a dark cave underneath.

There was a hole in the rear window. Rory slipped inand stood in the dim interior, his muddy feet making prints on the upholsteredceiling. The steering wheel towered above his head. Some stuffing had fallendown out of the seat. The windows were all so cracked he couldn't see muchthrough them. Just shades of dark and light. The milky, shattered glass madethe shadow under the hood look darker, except for a large, pale shape."Likely some trash," Rory said, thinking the shape looked like acrouching cat. "Guess I'd better check, though." He slipped out thehole in the rear window and around to the Buick's windshield, to stand in theshadows and peer into the darkened cave.

And what he saw was not a cat, nor anything like acat. There beneath the ancient Buick was a sight that made Rory catch hisbreath in amazement, made his heart pound wildly with desire.

CHAPTER 3

rory stood staring into the darkness beneath the Buick'ssuspended hood. He couldn't believe what he saw. And when he did believe it, hepoked himself to see if he was dreaming.