Chihuawolf (10 page)

N
ever
give
up. Never. Never. Never.

Trotting up the white road toward the junkyard, B-Boy stayed at Paco's side. The cats scampered behind in fits and starts. The evening light weakened, but the sun had not yet set. The way was bright and easy, but oh so very long. They had short legs. There was nothing they could do about it.

Finally the dank, dark tunnel of trees appeared ahead. They were approaching dangerous ground.

“
Alto!
” Paco yelled. Everyone stopped. “Let's review the plan before we get closer.”

“I know it.” Little Annie raised her hand. “Once we find Natasha and the werewolf, Norma-Jean and I will go off and find a very tall tree. Then we come back and get close to the werewolf. We make sure he spots us. We make sure he chases us. Then we make sure we climb all the way up to the top of the tree. To be safe. We tease him from there. We keep him busy while you get Natasha and escape.”

“And how will you know that Natasha is free?” Paco prompted.

“You'll give a signal—three short yips and one long bark. That's Morse code for V…V for victory.” The cats and Paco watched shows about World War II on the History Channel quite a bit.

“
Sí! Claro!
You got it,” Paco agreed. “Then what?”

“We stop teasing the werewolf. When he leaves, we get out of the tree. We run behind you down the white road and catch up to you at the highway,” Norma-Jean added.

Paco frowned.
When
he
leaves…
He had thought the cats could keep the werewolf busy until he and B-Boy had safely rescued Natasha. But now something felt heavy in his belly, like a cannonball of doubt. What if the werewolf got suspicious and didn't stay by the tree? What if he spotted the dogs? What if he chased them—before the rest of Paco's plan could be put into place?

And what if Pewy didn't arrange the most important piece of the whole operation?

Paco gave himself a shake, and his dog tags jingled. He puffed out his chest. He straightened his tail. He must keep up morale. He must look like the commander-in-chief of this rescue mission.

He nodded. “
Sí.
Claro.
That's it. We'd better get going.”

And they did.

They entered the tunnel of trees. The daylight disappeared. Paco hadn't brought a flashlight. He had forgotten it. He was almost blind. He and B-Boy held on to the cats' tails as Norma-Jean and Little Annie, who could see very well in the dark, led the way.

They went deeper and deeper into the gloom. The nasty trash of the junkyard lurked along the edge of the road. Paco was back in the place of broken things. Then a glimmer of light appeared ahead. They saw the end of the tunnel.

Right before they returned into the light, where they could see but also be seen, Paco signaled that the group of four should stop.

He stood up on his hind legs and sniffed. He smelled something terrible, as terrible as the smell he and Coco had whiffed the other night. The creature—the
werewolf
—must be somewhere close. But Paco searched for another scent, one he knew very well: the sweet shampoo of Natasha's fresh-washed fur and the lovely odor of her doggy self.

His nose twitched. He inhaled deeply. The rank and rotten odor of the werewolf made him gasp, but underneath the ugliness lay a hint of something beautiful. With a tremble of excitement, he realized Natasha must be there.

“Straight ahead,” he whispered.

The trees with their overhanging branches quickly thinned out. The dogs could again see in the weak evening sunlight reflected by the white road. Using their noses, they followed the awful smell down a narrow path that snaked through piles of broken household appliances, cement culverts big enough for a man to walk through, and smaller drainage pipes that lay like pick-up sticks in huge heaps.

When the smell—like rotten eggs and rotten cabbage and musty basements—became very strong, they knew the werewolf must be close. The four friends got down on their bellies. They crawled forward. Inch by inch, they moved forward until they got to the edge of a clearing. In the clearing, an old easy chair sat next to a potbellied stove. Next to that, a three-legged table held a huge pile of bones.

Paco and his friends froze where they were and didn't dare move. Fear raced through Paco's blood like a lightning strike. This was the lair of the werewolf, and the werewolf was right there in front of them! It sat on a three-legged stool in front of the three-legged table. It was munching, crunching, and wolfing down a bone.

Snap
went the bone.
Slurp
went the werewolf.

Ay, ay, ay
, went Paco.

The creature looked nothing like a real wolf. Wolves were handsome canines. The werewolf was loathsome. Dirty, tangled hair like curling gray wires covered it from head to toe—except where single coarse strands sprouted from the gigantic warts on its face. Long, brutal fangs glistened white in a huge, gaping mouth, and from these terrible teeth, spit dripped down in strings. Cruel, beady eyes shone red in the firelight. And at the end of a nose as square and black as a lump of coal were nostrils as wide as the barrel of a shotgun.

Ugly the werewolf was, but it was also as big as a grizzly bear—and even scarier. Hard muscles rippled under its wiry coat. A big, curved knife hung from a belt around its protruding belly. And while the little animals watched, not daring to even breathe, it stood up and looked around. It grabbed a bone from the pile and used it as a toothpick to clean its cruel white teeth.

Then it paced to the far side of the clearing. It stood up on its two back legs. Its front legs hung down like a gorilla's long arms and ended in hairy knuckles that touched the ground. It growled a growl that made the ground shake. It hacked, coughed up a gob as big as a teacup, and spat it onto the ground. Then came a rumble from the werewolf's big belly, followed by the trumpet call of the loudest, longest, and stinkiest fart Paco had ever experienced.

This was not an ordinary animal.

This was a monster.

Ay, caramba! I wouldn't want to be anything like that!
Paco thought. He was grateful he hadn't drunk rainwater out of a werewolf's footprint as the Internet had instructed him to.

Then he heard a whimper, and his heart nearly broke. Tied to a stake by a thick rope attached to her collar, Natasha lay at the far edge of the clearing. Her beautiful long coat hung down, matted and dull. Her eyes held a heartbreaking sorrow. She clearly did not want to stay here. Her whimper said she wanted to go home.

But how could he and B-Boy get her loose? Paco hadn't thought to bring a knife when he devised his wonderful plan. He suddenly realized that plans could be made, but they sometimes could not be made to work.

And time was running out. The children were on their way. They must be getting close by now. Paco needed to come up with an idea in a hurry. But the harder he tried to think, the less he thought of anything helpful.

Just then, one of the cats poked him on the shoulder. She used sign language to show him that the sisters were going off to look for a very tall tree—and then she pointed. The only trees in view were the ones that lined the white road.

Paco nodded, and the two felines scampered off.

Another problem with the plan! How could the dogs sneak back to the road if the werewolf were already on it? Paco shrugged. He didn't have a solution. Yet he couldn't let that stop him. They were so close to saving Natasha, they just had to succeed. Determination fueled his courage. He needed the heart of lion, not a dandelion.

His body trembling, his nerves tight, but his will strong, Paco hunkered down behind some pipes with B-Boy to wait for the cats to make their move.

And he looked around for the help he had requested from Professor Pewmount. He didn't see anything. He listened carefully. He didn't hear anything. He needed that help. And he needed it now.

Paco's nerves danced a jig inside his skin. His mouth became parched, his tongue dry. He was very thirsty. He had not only forgotten a flashlight and a knife, he had forgotten bottled water. He sniffed. He looked around. He noticed clear water dripping into a puddle from one of the pipes right behind them. He crawled over and began to lap it up. It was cool and wet on his tongue.

“Paco! Stop!” B-Boy whispered as loudly as he dared.

Paco picked up his head and whispered back. “Why? It's just rainwater. It's a little rusty, but it tastes fine.”

“No, not that. Look!” B-Boy pointed. “Look at the puddle.”

Paco did. He stared for minute, until he realized he wasn't drinking out of a puddle at all. The water was pooled in a footprint—a dog-like footprint, but much bigger than a dog's paw.

“You're drinking from the werewolf's footprint!” B-Boy hissed.

Paco's eyes got very wide. His heart thudded. “Oh no! What have I done?” he gasped. “What have I done?”

Meanwhile, in town, an elderly woman was sweeping her front walk. She had almost finished when she noticed four children riding bikes down the street. She stared at them. They lifted their heads and stared at her too. One raised a hand to wave.

The old woman hoped they weren't out to make trouble. She gripped her broom tighter.

They came closer and closer. They stopped at her gate and got off their bicycles.

She peered through her spectacles at them. They didn't look like bad children, except maybe the red-haired boy with a face covered with freckles. He might not be bad, but he carried mischief in his eyes. She meant Tommy Thompson, and of course she was right.

“Hello,” Tommy called out through a megaphone, which made his voice very loud.

The old woman leaned on her broom and gave him a sour look. “I ain't deaf. I can hear ya, boy.” Her voice was sharp. “What do you want?”

Tommy lowered the megaphone. “Sorry. We're trying to find my friend's dog.”

“She's missing,” Victoria added. “A policeman said someone who lived on this corner saw her. Was it you?”

“That was your dog, was it now?” the old woman asked, suspicion in her voice. “Did you give her a reason to run away?”

“Oh no!” Victoria cried. “I love her very much. I take very good care of her. The policeman said another dog was with her. I think she was dog-napped!”

“You do, do you?” the woman said. “Well, I saw her, and the ugly big dog too. I don't think he was a dog. Never saw a dog like that, anyway. Looked more like a wolf, you know.”

Olivia glanced at Sandy. Sandy returned her look.
A
wolf?
Olivia mouthed, her face going pale.

“Where were they going?” Tommy became impatient to leave.

“Hard to say,” the woman snapped at him. “They didn't stop to chat.”

“Did you notice which way they ran?” Victoria jumped in with her sweet voice. “We're trying to find Natasha—that's my dog's name—before it gets dark.”

“You think that's a good idea, little girl? You children, all alone, following those dogs? The one looked pretty mean.” The old lady frowned.

Olivia felt uneasy. She thought the same thing.

“We'll be careful. We promise,” Victoria pleaded. “Just tell us which way they went, please. It means a lot to me.”

“Since you're asking nice,” the woman said, “they was running toward the highway, going north toward Mount Diablo.”

Neither the old woman nor the children paid any attention to a very small bird calling
fee
beee,
fee
beee
right over their heads.

The children got back on their bikes. “Thank you,” Victoria called to the old woman. “We'd better be going.”

“Don't look like you're going nowhere.” The woman pointed to the street. “Now ain't that something.”

The children turned their heads, and their eyes opened wide. The street was filled with a huge flock of wild turkeys: Hen turkeys; tom turkeys; and lots of chicks, all going
gobble
gobble
gobble
.

More than two hundred wild turkeys covered the sidewalks. They crowded onto the lawns. They blocked the corner in both directions.

A car coming down the street braked to a stop and blew its horn. The turkeys didn't move. A man stuck his head out of the car window. His face got very red. He yelled at the birds. A tom turkey stretched out his neck, fanned out his tail feathers, and gobbled angrily. The man beeped the car horn again. The turkeys didn't budge.

The car finally backed up, turned around, and went off the way it had come.

“Can we get through those birds?” Sandy asked.

“Do they bite?” Victoria looked at the turkeys' dark beaks.

“I don't know if they bite,” Tommy admitted. “But I bet they kick. The big ones have sharp bony spurs on the back of their legs. We'll have to backtrack just like the car did and make a detour. We can ride a couple of streets down, then come back on the other side. It shouldn't take too long.”

“Another bad omen.” Sandy shook his head. “We're losing more time.” He looked at the sky. The sun sat closer to the horizon. Evening was falling. Dark would come soon. He didn't want to be in the woods when nighttime arrived.

“You're acting like a wimp again, Sandy,” Tommy shouted. “Come on, we can ride fast.” And the four children, pedaling hard with their backs hunched down over their handlebars, rode their bikes back down the street.

The old woman watched the children until they turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Then she looked at the turkeys, who stopped gobbling and started to move into a line. As if following a signal, they suddenly flapped their large wings. Like a squadron of jet fighters, one after another, they lifted from the ground and flew upward, as high as the rooftops. They turned to the left and took to the open skies, and within a moment they had vanished into the deepening blue. All they left behind as proof that they had been there was a feather, or maybe two.

Back in the junkyard, up on Mount Diablo, Paco and B-Boy waited for the cats to come back. To make the most of the time, they decided to crawl around the edge of the campsite. They wanted to come up behind Natasha and get as close as possible.

Paco realized that being two
small
dogs instead of two bigger ones put them at an advantage. They would be hard to spot, and chances were, if the werewolf did hear any rustling or catch a glimpse of something moving, he would think it was one of the large, hungry junkyard rats. He certainly wouldn't be expecting a rescue party, especially one made up of a Chihuahua, a Jack Russell terrier, and two skinny cats.

Carefully, quietly, the two dogs slunk close to the ground, crawled on their bellies, and made their way toward the spot where Natasha lay. Her head rested on her paws. Her ears folded down. Her eyes squeezed closed. She looked as unhappy as a dog could look.

Paco and B-Boy stopped behind some rusted corrugated roofing not ten feet away from their captured friend. Paco clearly detected her scent now. Its sweet fragrance lifted his spirits. He didn't stop to think that she would be able to smell him too.

But she did. All of a sudden, Natasha's ears stood tall. Her eyes snapped open. She lifted her nose and sniffed. She twisted her head around and looked right at the spot where B-Boy and Paco hid. A bark of joy came out of her mouth. She leaped to her feet.

Ay, ay, ay,
thought Paco.
This
isn't good.

The bark caught the werewolf's attention. A puzzled look crossed over his ugly face. He curled his lip and showed his huge white fangs. He took a step toward Natasha. Paco tensed. He got ready to charge the huge beast. He'd fight, even if he could never win.

All of a sudden came the clear high sound of a meow.

Another meow rang out, this one defiant and taunting. The werewolf's head whipped around. He spotted two cats swishing their tails back and forth at the edge of the clearing.

“Hey, homely looking!” the black cat yelled.

“I'll get you!” the creature growled.

“Bet you couldn't even catch your own mother!” Norma-Jean spat at him. She turned tail and ran as fast as she could, Little Annie at her side. They scooted across an old washing machine. They jumped over a bicycle with only one wheel. They zigged and zagged, going one way, then switching course and going another.

The werewolf roared. He got madder and madder as they outran him. He couldn't catch those two doggone cats, who were—yes, they were—laughing at him.

Not wanting him to give up the chase, Norma-Jean and Little Annie slowed down so that the beast could nearly grab them. When he got very close, they made a beeline for a mud puddle. They easily leaped over it. The werewolf splashed through, getting even dirtier and getting his feet very wet. Now, he made a squishy sound when he ran.

Next, the cats scampered up a huge, gooey mountain of old newspapers and rotting vegetables. They stopped at the very top. “Yoo ooo! Mr. Funny Looking. Where did you learn to run? At a turtle race?”

The werewolf bellowed, “I'll get you! I'll get you right now.” He started climbing up the pile of garbage. But his feet were wet. He slipped and slid all the way up the mound. When he reached the top, he took a mighty swipe at the cats with his long arms and razor-sharp claws.

They just giggled and jumped away, heading down the other side of the garbage hill, graceful as gazelles.

The werewolf plunged after them. He didn't realize until it was too late that his wet feet acted like skis, pulling out from under him. “Aiiiiii!” he screamed.

Whack!
He fell, coming down hard on the slimy mountain of trash. Suddenly his body acted like a sled on ice. He zoomed out of control down the garbage hill on his back. At the bottom, he smacked into a discarded entertainment center. His feet smashed into the screen of an old TV set.

He pulled himself loose and stood up. He roared. His temper exploded. He thought about nothing but getting hold of those two cats. He'd tear them to pieces. He'd munch on their bones. They'd never laugh at him again.

But they were laughing at him now. Laughing and pointing at a potato peel hanging off one of his ears.

He raced after the cats, going farther and farther from the clearing, toward the row of trees along the white road.

Paco and B-Boy didn't waste a second. They rushed to Natasha's side. Her face brightened with joy, and her eyes filled with tears. “I knew you'd come. I knew you would,” she said. “It was all I had to hope for.”

“Shhh, shhh. We're here.” Paco gave her face a lick on one side, and B-Boy gave her a lick with his little pink tongue on the other side, just to make her feel better.

“Get me loose, please,” Natasha pleaded.

“But how?” Paco said. “I didn't bring a knife. Maybe we can chew through the rope.”

“There's no time for that,” Natasha told them. “I think you can unbuckle my collar, though. You have such small teeth, Paco, I know you can do it. It's my favorite designer suede collar, but I don't care. I just want to go home.” A sob choked her, and she couldn't say anything else.

Paco had unbuckled lots of things. He had attacked many a shoe. He had undone several purse straps. He was a professional safecracker when it came to buckles. His lips turned up in a happy grin. He certainly could do it.

“Lie down Natasha, so I can reach it,” he told her, and she did.

“Hurry, Paco, hurry!” B-Boy raced around and around the two dogs. His nerves jangled. His feet needed to move. He thought he was going to jump out of his skin.

Paco hurried. He grasped the leather of the collar where it went through the buckle. His teeth were just the right size to do it. He tugged. He pulled. He got the toggle out of the hole in the leather. He pulled again. It was easy for Paco, yes it was. Being a small dog meant he could do things a big dog couldn't. In a few seconds, Natasha's collar fell to the ground. She was free!